#Sunlight ff

[simplydnp]

love spending $100 on merch i cant wear because they changed clothing suppliers and didn't say anything ://

[mycological-mariner]

2nd night watching Poldark and 1) they’ve mentioned the riots and they’re showing the unrest, I just really hope they don’t bungle it. Like, somehow the Poldark Mine is the only sustainable one or something and all the miners love their work so much, that kind of story, ya know? I don’t think they will because that would be ridiculously dishonest and I’ll just be pissed off. Also, once it starts moving along, I REALLY REALLY hope they make mention of the St. Just Liberty Tree and the taking in of French refugees and giving them English names and suchlike so they’re not deported. Also there was a lighthouse in one shot and I had to look it up because I could’ve SWORN it wasn’t built (at least not to that shape and height) until much later on. That’s just me being nit picky though

2) Verity continues to be my fave and by god do I want her to just snap and break her brother’s nose or something.

Honourable mention goes to the physician friend because finally the show mentioned in passing mine illnesses (that’s it’s whole other post though I’m already in my wormhole)

[liroyalty]

The recurring theme of Ann being okay with suffering if it's inflected on her, because she knows she can take it, but not okay if it's to anyone else is showing itself in these FF verses.

[icharchivist]

i have every Sandalphon and two of his outfits. i almost had to spark for his summer version but he came home during the process and i used the spark on Drang instead. Grand Sandalphon came home on the first pull when he came out which i think is the prize i get for always saying he did absolutely nothing wrong during part 1 and i would have done the same thing in his situation. if i could buy the merch easier i would have all of his outfits--

oh my god that's lucky!!! i'm so glad at least he comes to you at a pretty good rate!! a nice boy at least for once.

can't believe being a Sandy apologist is the way to get his bullshit.

I never got his summer version, i had to spark for his grand and this bastard came on pull 290th (so i sparked Lucio as a revenge), and i had to spark his vday as well. He's never been nice to me.

.... probably because meanwhile i think i got like 5 copies of Belial summons at random and even got his summon on release by total chance while doing my freebies, so maybe Sandalphon feels the stink on me and have been avoiding me ever since.

but yeah, i'm a bit jealous he's been this nice with you smh.

as for the outfits, his outfits are gorgeous so that's a great choice from you.

if his merch was easier... that'd be nice wouldn't it be. I hope you can get all sort of goodies down the line!!!!

Sandy good. end of message.

[wolfcat-hybrid]

Trying to remember what humans eat after spending 5 years in a basement is HARD, okay?

(apartment anon here!) I forgot to add this, but I think it's so cute to think of mc buying/trying to learn how to cook meals for Nathan, putting them of the freezer with sticky notes like "EAT -BW" (adds little face with fangs)

I think I might not have gotten the first half of this ask, but I will say I love the implication that MC has forgotten how to cook human food.

MC: "I have prepared some human food for you."

Nathan: "Is this... just a single unchopped lettuce?"

MC: *lizard blink*

[hearth-of-olympus]

we had 15c last week why is it fucking snowing.

[novaursa]

The Northern Heart (1/2)

- Summary: Your father, King Robert, gives your hand to Eddard's oldest son. A decision that might change the future of the North.

- Paring: baratheon!lannister!reader/Robb Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The journey north had been long and tiring, and the wind was colder than you’d imagined. Winterfell loomed ahead, dark stone against an overcast sky, its towers casting jagged shadows. The North was starkly beautiful in a way the warm halls of the Red Keep could never match. You adjusted the fur-lined cloak clasped at your neck, the black of House Baratheon contrasting with the lion clasp, a quiet nod to the Lannister blood that ran through you, though it was not yours to display openly.

Your mother, Cersei, rode beside you, her green eyes scanning Winterfell with an air of disdain barely hidden beneath her serene mask. She sat tall, ever the queen, her golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. Your brothers, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, rode behind, their bright golden heads standing out against the muted grays of Winterfell’s walls. And your father—no, King Robert—was ahead, already bellowing greetings at the sight of the Stark family awaiting them in the courtyard.

As the procession slowed to a halt, you dismounted gracefully, though your legs ached from days of riding. Your mother’s eyes swept over you, a flicker of approval in them as you adjusted your cloak, falling in line with her and your siblings. As Robert strode forward, eager to greet his old friend Eddard Stark, you remained back, your place clear beside Cersei. You caught her eye, and she offered a subtle nod, a reminder to stay poised, as she always did.

Ahead, Robert greeted Eddard with a boisterous hug, their laughter carrying through the courtyard. Your gaze wandered to the family gathered at Lord Stark’s side. Lady Stark, her auburn hair swept back, her expression cool but welcoming. The young ones were gathered around her, curiosity and interest clear in their eyes. But it was the young man at Eddard Stark’s side, tall and broad-shouldered, that drew your attention.

Robb Stark.

His auburn hair matched his mother’s, and his face, though youthful, already held the strength and quiet intensity of his father. He was watching you—or rather, he’d been looking toward your family in general, but now his gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes tracing your features with a kind of hesitant awe. He was handsome, undeniably so, and the confidence you’d honed over years of court life faltered, just slightly, under the weight of that gaze.

You looked away, hoping the color rising in your cheeks wasn’t too obvious. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joffrey watching the Starks with open disdain, but you ignored him. Instead, you found yourself glancing back at Robb, curious despite yourself, and caught him still looking at you.

“What do you think of the Starks, sister?” Myrcella asked beside you, her sweet voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned closer to her, eyes flickering toward Cersei before answering. “They seem… honorable,” you murmured, struggling for a word that felt right. The North was a world apart from King’s Landing, and the weight of the Northern air, the forthright gazes, all of it felt different—real.

Meanwhile, Robert’s booming laughter filled the air as he clapped Eddard on the back. “It’s been too damn long, Ned!” he declared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “Seven hells, I’ve missed this place. And your family—look at them, already grown!”

Lord Stark’s smile was reserved, but you could see warmth in his eyes. “The years have been kind to us both, Robert. And you’ve brought your own family north. It’s an honor to welcome them here.”

Robert looked back over his shoulder, waving an arm toward you, Cersei, and the children. “Aye, they’re a fine brood, aren’t they?” His gaze settled on you briefly, pride flickering there. “My eldest,” he said, his tone softening. “She takes after her mother in beauty, but she’s got her father’s spirit, I’d say.”

Your mother’s lips curved into a perfect, practiced smile at his words, though you could sense the strain in her. She inclined her head gracefully, accepting the compliment on your behalf.

“Princess Y/N,” Eddard said, nodding in your direction, “Winterfell welcomes you.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” you replied, keeping your tone formal, though your voice was soft. Cersei’s fingers brushed your arm briefly, a reminder not to be too bold or warm. “The honor is ours.”

But it was not Eddard’s gaze you felt lingering on you. Robb stood a step behind his father, his blue eyes keen and watchful. There was something gentle, almost reverent in the way he looked at you, and for reasons you couldn’t quite place, that small expression made your heart race.

“Robb,” Eddard said, his voice low but carrying the authority of a father and lord, “come and meet the king’s family.”

Robb stepped forward, his movements steady, though he appeared young and nervous beneath his composure. He nodded to Robert first and then looked back at you with an intensity that seemed almost out of place in the quiet courtyard. “Princess,” he said, his voice steady though softer than you’d expected. “It’s an honor.”

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips, but you fought it back, simply inclining your head. “The honor is shared, Lord Robb,” you replied.

It was a simple exchange, but in that moment, it felt like more.

The air in the crypts was cold and heavy with the scent of stone and earth, the silence settling thickly around Eddard and Robert as they descended the worn steps into the shadows. Torches flickered in their iron brackets, casting long, twisting shadows over the figures immortalized in stone, ancient Stark kings and lords gazing solemnly from their resting places.

Robert paused in front of a statue, his face softened by the flickering light. His eyes, usually sharp with mirth or tempered with anger, now held something else—a quiet, lingering sadness that Ned hadn’t seen in years. Robert reached out and placed a rough hand against the face of the woman immortalized there in cold stone: Lyanna Stark, her face carved with a gentle beauty that no craftsman’s hands could ever fully capture. Flowers lay scattered at the base of her statue, their colors muted in the dim torchlight. Ned had left them there just the day before, a gesture of memory and honor.

“She was always so damn beautiful, wasn’t she?” Robert’s voice was low, almost reverent. “And all of this, everything, might have been different if she’d been mine. If Rhaegar hadn’t…” He trailed off, bitterness tightening his jaw.

“Aye,” Eddard replied, his voice as soft as the stillness around them. “The gods saw fit to tear us all down that day.”

Robert nodded slowly, lost in thought, his fingers brushing over the stone flowers woven into Lyanna’s statue. “I asked you here for more than just memories, Ned.” He turned, his gaze sharpening. “The realm is… not as it should be. I am surrounded by vipers and whisperers. I need someone I can trust.” His voice lowered, taking on a familiar intensity. “I need you, Ned. I want you to be my Hand.”

Eddard met Robert’s gaze, his heart heavy. “Robert… I’m no statesman. The North is my place. I don’t belong in the South, nor do my children.”

“That’s exactly why I need you.” Robert stepped closer, his face earnest, imploring. “You’re honest, Ned. You’ll do what’s right, even if it’s hard, even if it costs you. The realm needs someone like you. I need someone like you.”

Ned sighed, his eyes drifting back to Lyanna’s statue, the ache of old wounds stirring within him. “And what of the North? My children… they need me too.”

Robert nodded, understanding yet unyielding. “Bring them with you,” he said, voice steady. “Let them know the court. Let them see the world beyond the walls of Winterfell.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting, something almost hesitant in his expression. “In fact… I have an idea. A way to unite our Houses, as we should have done, as Lyanna and I would have done.”

Eddard turned back to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Robert’s eyes gleamed, a spark of hope breaking through the sorrow that lingered in them. “A marriage pact, Ned. We unite our bloodlines, our families.” He straightened, his voice taking on the tone of a king. “My son, Joffrey, and your daughter, Sansa. And…” He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. “My eldest daughter, Y/N, to your son, Robb.”

Eddard’s expression tightened, surprise flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth, hesitating, his mind racing with the implications of Robert’s proposal. “A match between our children…” he murmured, almost to himself. “You truly wish this, Robert?”

Robert nodded, his voice softening. “It’s what I always wanted, Ned. To be part of your family, for our blood to be bound together.” He glanced back at Lyanna’s statue, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “I wanted your sister… and though the gods were cruel enough to take that from me, this… this could be a way to bring our houses together, as it should have been.”

Ned felt the weight of the proposal settling on him, his mind turning over the idea of Sansa with Joffrey and Robb with Y/N. “Sansa is still a child,” he began carefully, “and Robb… he’s young yet. I’d want to speak with them both. And Catelyn.”

Robert nodded. “Of course. But think of it, Ned. You have a son and a daughter, and I have a son and a daughter of age.” He straightened, the gleam of determination in his eyes returning. “Sansa would be queen one day. And your son… Robb would be heir to the North, united to the blood of both Baratheon and Lannister.”

Ned frowned. “The girl… Y/N,” he began, choosing his words carefully. “She has Lannister blood, Robert. I know how you feel about her mother’s family.”

Robert’s face darkened briefly, his gaze hardening. “Aye, Cersei is a Lannister. But Y/N is my daughter too. She carries the blood of my House, and though she bears the lion on her face, there’s stag in her heart.” His tone softened, almost pleading. “Ned, she’s not her mother. She’s…” He paused, searching for words, “She’s got fire, spirit, and I want her to know a man like your son. One of true honor, not some… viper of the South.”

Eddard considered this, his mind drifting to Robb. His son, dutiful, strong, and honorable—a match for any in the realm. And Y/N… she’d seemed poised, striking in the courtyard, with that quiet grace he’d seen in only a few women. He thought of Sansa, who had dreamed of becoming queen since she was a little girl, and his heart ached.

“Let me speak with Catelyn,” he said finally, his voice steady. “And with my children.”

Robert clapped a hand on his shoulder, a grin breaking through his somber expression. “I knew I could count on you, Ned. Together, our families could be what the realm needs. Strong, united.”

They turned to leave, but Robert lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on Lyanna’s stone face, his eyes shadowed with memories.

“Tell me, Ned,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper, “do you think she would have loved me?”

Eddard’s heart ached, the answer lodged somewhere deep, known only to him. “She was her own woman, Robert,” he replied softly. “And the gods alone know what lies in the hearts of the dead.”

Robert nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, tinged with sorrow. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his voice growing firmer. He tore his gaze away from Lyanna’s statue, focusing on the path ahead.

“Come then,” he said, his tone lightening as he turned to face the stairs. “Let us speak of the future and leave the past to rest.”

And together, they left the crypts, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the silent halls where shadows lingered, bearing witness to the choices that would shape their families and the realm.

Here, by the fire’s light of private chambers, shadows softened, and the familiar scents of woodsmoke and winter roses made the space feel like a retreat. Catelyn sat across from Eddard, her brow furrowed as she listened to his words, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Nearby, Robb and Sansa sat side by side, both listening intently. Bran, Arya, and Rickon were sprawled around the room, though Arya’s restless gaze and occasional sharp glances made it clear she was as engaged as her older siblings.

Eddard took a breath, letting his gaze move from his wife to each of his children in turn. “King Robert has suggested a marriage pact to unite our families,” he began, his voice steady, though he felt the weight of the decision pressing down. “He has offered Joffrey’s hand to Sansa… and Y/N’s hand to Robb.”

Sansa’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile breaking across her features. “I would be honored, Father,” she said, her voice filled with excitement. “To be Queen someday, to be married to Joffrey… it’s everything I’ve dreamed of.”

Catelyn’s face softened as she looked at her daughter. “Are you certain, Sansa? It is a serious decision, one that would take you far from home, to the capital.”

Sansa nodded, almost eagerly. “I understand, Mother. But I’ve dreamed of King’s Landing—the court, the feasts, the tournaments.” Her cheeks flushed with excitement. “And Joffrey… he’s handsome, and he’s a prince.”

Ned exchanged a glance with Catelyn, her expression mirroring the concern he felt. Sansa’s eagerness was not unexpected, but it still struck a chord. He was about to speak when Robb cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“I would accept the match as well,” Robb said, his voice calm, though there was a quiet intensity to his gaze. “To join our Houses… it would be an honor.” He hesitated, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. “And… I saw her today. Y/N. She seems… dignified.” His cheeks colored slightly, a rare vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a match with her, Father. I think I could be happy.”

Eddard raised an eyebrow, surprised by Robb’s swift acceptance. Robb was young, and Ned had half-expected resistance or at least more hesitation. Catelyn, too, looked taken aback, her mouth parting slightly as she considered her son.

“It’s a big decision,” Catelyn said gently, her voice measured. “You would be bound to her for life, Robb. Have you truly thought about this?”

Robb nodded, his gaze meeting hers with quiet conviction. “I have, Mother. She seems strong, and I would welcome the chance to learn more about her. If it’s what the realm and our House needs, I am willing.”

“Robb, you’re not actually thinking of marrying her, are you?” Arya’s voice broke through the quiet, incredulous and disapproving. She scrunched her face, her expression mirroring her distaste. “And Sansa, Joffrey’s awful. He’s arrogant and cruel.”

“Arya!” Catelyn chided, though her tone was soft, almost indulgent.

But Arya only shrugged, crossing her arms. “It’s true. I’ve seen him, Mother. He’s unkind to everyone around him just because he’s a prince. I’d never want a marriage like that.”

Sansa’s expression tightened, her smile fading as she glanced at her sister. “You don’t know him, Arya. Joffrey is a prince. He’s noble and brave. You just don’t understand.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but her expression softened slightly as she turned her attention to Robb. “But… I like Y/N. She doesn’t act like the rest of them. I saw her today, and she didn’t look down on anyone.” She looked at her father, her gaze challenging but hopeful. “If Robb has to marry someone, I’d rather it be her.”

Rickon, sitting on the floor beside Bran, looked up, his young face alight with curiosity. “What’s she like?” he asked, his voice filled with innocent wonder.

Bran shrugged, glancing at Arya. “She looked quiet, I guess,” he said, thoughtful. “Not like Joffrey, anyway.”

Ned sighed, feeling the weight of his children’s varied reactions. He’d expected Sansa’s enthusiasm and Arya’s protests, but Robb’s quiet acceptance had caught him off guard. The North had always been his family’s home; the thought of binding them so closely to the South troubled him.

He looked at Catelyn, catching her eye. She nodded, understanding his silent request, and rose from her seat, placing a comforting hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Robb, Sansa,” she said softly, “this is a decision that will shape your futures. We don’t take this lightly.”

Sansa nodded, her eyes bright with anticipation, while Robb simply inclined his head, calm and steady. Arya huffed, but Catelyn silenced her with a look, and Arya fell back, though her gaze remained defiant.

As the children continued to murmur among themselves, Ned took Catelyn’s arm and led her a little way from them, lowering his voice. “There’s something more,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting back to his children, his heart heavy. “Robert asked me to be his Hand.”

Catelyn’s face tightened, her concern immediate and clear. “Ned… the Hand? I thought you’d never return to court.”

He nodded, his voice low. “Neither did I. But Robert… he says he needs me. And with Jon Arryn gone…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “The realm is troubled, Cat. If I can help Robert, I feel I must. But I would bring all of you, as Robert suggested.”

Her hand tightened in his, her expression a mix of worry and resignation. “You know what lies in the South, Ned,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Whispers, plots. I fear for you—and for our children. They’d be far from the safety of the North.”

“Aye, I know,” he replied, his heart heavy. “But if I refuse him… Robert will be left to those who would only drag him down further. I owe him my loyalty, Cat.”

Catelyn studied his face, her eyes searching. She knew his sense of duty ran deep, and she understood the bonds that held him to Robert, the memories of war and brotherhood that could not be so easily dismissed. “Then let us think on it,” she said finally, her voice steady. “We’ll decide together, Ned. For our family.”

He nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand grounding him amid the storm of decisions and uncertainties. For now, they would hold to each other and to the North. 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was alive with music and laughter, the warm glow of firelight casting rich hues across the long tables laden with food and drink. The Northern lords and ladies feasted heartily, their voices mingling in a cheerful cacophony. At the high table, you sat beside your mother, your attire shining like a jewel against the muted, sturdy colors of Winterfell.

You sat poised, your gaze serene yet attentive as you watched the revelry unfold around you. From time to time, you’d lean in to speak to your mother, Cersei, your smile soft but polite. You laughed at something your younger sister Myrcella said, the sound gentle, like a secret shared with the night. Across the hall, Robb Stark found himself wondering what it would be like to be the one to make you smile, to hear your laughter up close.

“You’re staring, Robb,” Theon Greyjoy’s voice interrupted his thoughts, a teasing grin on his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? The lady staring at the lord?”

Robb gave him a playful shove but felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I’m not staring.”

“Oh, but you are,” piped up one of his other friends, a grinning Northern lad named Domeric Bolton. “She’s certainly caught your eye.”

Robb sighed, shaking his head but unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. “She’s… well, she’s different,” he admitted, his voice low. “Not like the Northern girls.”

“Then go speak to her,” Theon urged, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Ask her for a dance.”

Robb hesitated, glancing back at you. Your presence was poised and refined in a way that made him suddenly feel rough and unpolished. But then he met your eyes, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the noise of the hall faded away. You gave him a shy smile, your eyes meeting his across the distance with a glimmer of interest.

Taking a deep breath, Robb rose from his seat, ignoring Theon and Domeric’s encouraging grins. He made his way through the hall toward the high table, his heart pounding with each step. When he reached you, he bowed slightly, his gaze meeting yours.

“Princess,” he said, his voice steady despite the quickening of his heart. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

You looked up at him, your expression one of mild surprise before your lips curved into a soft smile. You glanced at your mother, who gave a curt nod, her gaze unreadable, before you turned back to Robb and inclined your head. “I’d be delighted, my lord.”

He offered his hand, and as you took it, the warmth of his touch sent a thrill through you. Together, you stepped onto the floor as the musicians struck up a new tune, a melody both gentle and lively, and Robb led you into the first steps of the dance.

“You seem well-versed in Northern customs, my lady,” he said, his voice warm with amusement as you moved through the steps. “I hadn’t expected a girl from the South to dance so well to Northern music.”

You laughed, your eyes sparkling as you met his gaze. “It seems the North is full of surprises. But I’ve had a lifetime of lessons in court dances. I only hope my dancing is… acceptable.”

“More than acceptable,” he replied, his own voice softening as he looked at you. “I’d wager even the most graceful Northern ladies would be envious.”

You lowered your gaze, a light blush coloring your cheeks. “You flatter me, my lord.”

He shook his head, unable to tear his eyes from you. “No, I speak the truth.” He hesitated, then leaned in slightly, his voice lowered. “I hope you’re finding Winterfell… welcoming. I know it must be different from King’s Landing.”

You looked up at him, your expression thoughtful. “It is different,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I find I like it here. There’s… a warmth here that I hadn’t expected.”

“That pleases me to hear,” he said, his tone earnest. “This is my home, and one day… well, I hope to make it a place that someone like you could be happy in.”

Your gaze softened, and you felt the connection between you both grow as you moved through the steps, as if the hall and the people around you had faded into the background. “I believe I could be happy here,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s… quieter than I’m used to, yes, but there’s something about Winterfell. A sense of peace.”

Robb looked at you, his expression earnest as he gathered the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind since he’d learned of Robert’s proposal. “And… do you think you could see yourself here one day, as the Lady of Winterfell?”

For a heartbeat, you felt surprise flicker in your gaze. But then you smiled, a shy, genuine smile that made his heart race. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice as soft as snowfall. “If the North would have me.”

You shared a quiet, lingering look, the unspoken promise between you both as delicate as the touch of his hand in yours. For a moment, Robb could imagine a future where you walked these halls as his wife, where your laughter and warmth brought light to Winterfell even in the deepest winter.

Robb led you through the steps of the dance, his touch gentle yet firm, his eyes locked on yours with a sincerity that warmed you even amidst Winterfell’s drafty stone walls. Around you, lords and ladies cheered and clapped, voices blending into the joyous hum that filled the hall.

But just beyond the laughter, at the high table where the royal family sat, an animosity simmered.

Cersei sat rigid, her fingers clenched around her goblet as she watched you move across the hall in Robb’s arms. Her green eyes were sharp, like cold emeralds, and her displeasure was barely hidden behind her carefully composed mask. Robert, beside her, laughed heartily with Eddard Stark, his voice booming over the din as he recounted tales from their youth. But Cersei’s simmering anger finally spilled over, and she leaned toward him, her voice low and venomous.

“So, this is your grand plan?” she hissed, her eyes never leaving you. “To bind our daughter to this… Northern boy without so much as a word to me?”

Robert’s laughter cut short, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at her, irritation flaring in his gaze. “What are you going on about, woman?”

She turned to him fully, her voice barely louder than a whisper, though her anger crackled beneath each word. “You’ve condemned her to this cold, dark place. My daughter, Robert. You would give her to a Stark—to live in this fortress far from court, from her family, from me. And you did this without consulting me?”

Robert took a long drink from his goblet, his brow furrowing as he tried to keep his voice steady, though a vein ticked at his temple. “Our daughter is old enough to wed, Cersei. And a match with the Starks would make her the future Lady of Winterfell. She’ll have a strong husband, and her place will be secure. What more do you want?”

“What more?” Cersei’s voice tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “She is my daughter, Robert. Do you understand that? My blood. And you’d give her away as if she were some toy in your games with Eddard. She was supposed to be in King’s Landing, to be part of the court, to learn her place. But here…” Her gaze flicked toward you with something like desperation. “You’ve taken her from me.”

Robert’s face grew dark, his patience wearing thin. “Taken her from you?” he muttered, shaking his head. “She is my daughter, too, Cersei. Or have you forgotten that? I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“Best for her,” Cersei repeated, bitterness coating her words. “And you think binding her to the North is what’s best? To send her to this frozen wasteland, where she will be as isolated as I am?”

Robert’s jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his goblet. “Enough,” he growled, his voice low. “This is not the time or place.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes blazing. “Oh, so now you find restraint? Now, when it suits you to ignore the voices that oppose you?”

His gaze flicked back to you and Robb, who were laughing softly as you spun in perfect rhythm to the music, the two of you oblivious to the conflict boiling at the high table. Robert’s irritation softened slightly, replaced by a look of contemplation. “Look at her,” he muttered. “She’s happy, Cersei. You would deny her that because you think this match is beneath her?”

“Beneath her?” Cersei scoffed, her gaze icy. “I would deny her nothing, Robert. I would give her everything. A place in court, a life of comfort, of power.” She turned back to him, her voice low and scathing. “But you would cast her away to the ends of the realm, to live out her days as some Stark’s quiet wife in the cold.”

“Enough, Cersei,” he said again, this time more forcefully. “Our daughter is a Baratheon, and this is what I’ve chosen for her. The North is good for her. It’ll give her strength, and a place to call her own.”

Cersei’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression tight with fury barely held in check. “You would know little of what’s good for her,” she spat. “When have you ever thought of what’s best for her? For any of us?” She cast a sharp glance toward the hall, where Robb was speaking softly to you, your face illuminated by a soft smile that made you appear every inch the regal lady Cersei had trained you to be. “That smile,” she murmured bitterly, “is what you think will last here?”

Robert’s expression shifted, his face darkening as he met her gaze. “Do not presume to lecture me on what’s best for our daughter, Cersei,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ve let you have your way with her long enough. This match is good for her and good for the realm.”

Cersei leaned back, her gaze hard and unyielding, her lips pressed into a grim line. “And when she comes to hate you for this—when she realizes you tore her from her family, her home—don’t expect me to soften her heart toward you.”

Robert’s patience snapped, his voice rising just enough for a few heads to turn in his direction. “She’ll come to understand, and she’ll thank me. You may not see it, but I know what I’m doing.”

At that, Cersei gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “If only you ever knew what you were doing, Robert.”

With that, she turned away, her gaze icy as she stared out over the hall, the tension between them leaving a chill in the air despite the warmth of the feast. Robert returned to his drink, the brief flash of guilt in his eyes fading as he watched you dance with Robb, your smile and laughter filling the hall as you swayed together in time to the music.

Though a bitter silence now lay between Robert and Cersei, neither could deny the spark that lit up the hall as you danced.

The early morning air was crisp, and a light mist clung to the ground as you walked beside Robb through the godswood, surrounded by towering trees that stretched their branches skyward. Robb had invited you out for a quiet walk, promising you a glimpse of the heart of Winterfell, where even the lords and ladies came to find peace. In the early light, the godswood was serene, the scent of pine and earth mingling with the soft murmur of the nearby stream.

You found yourself laughing easily with him as he recounted tales of his childhood in Winterfell, his face lighting up as he described the antics he and his brothers would get into. There was a warmth in his smile, a genuine ease that seemed to set you at ease in return.

“And then,” he was saying, barely containing his laughter, “Theon got the idea to sneak into the kitchens at midnight for pies, but Jon and I told him we had to outsmart Old Nan first. Well, we barely made it through the kitchen door before she caught us. Sent us all back to our beds with an earful.” Robb chuckled, shaking his head. “Theon tried to blame me, of course.”

You laughed, covering your mouth to stifle the sound, imagining a young Robb caught in the act, eyes wide with guilt. “And what about you? What did you do to make up for it?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eye. “What every good brother would do—I blamed Jon.” He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He took it rather well, actually.”

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet as you walked side by side. Every so often, your eyes would meet, and you’d find yourself caught in his gaze a moment longer than expected. There was an openness in Robb that felt… different from the formality of the court and the rigid politeness you were used to in King’s Landing. Here, it felt easy to just be yourself.

“So,” Robb said, his voice softer, “are you finding Winterfell to your liking?”

You hesitated, feeling his gaze on you, before nodding. “I am. It’s… quiet. Peaceful. I think I could grow to love it here.”

Robb’s smile softened. “I hope you do.” He looked out over the godswood, as if envisioning a future that included you here, walking these paths together in the years to come. “I’ve spent my whole life here, you know. These woods, this castle… it’s in my blood. I can’t imagine calling anywhere else home.”

You glanced at him, feeling a strange tug in your heart as he spoke. “You speak of Winterfell the way a poet would speak of his muse.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy smile. “I suppose I do. I never thought of it that way.” He paused, turning to look at you, his expression growing serious. “But I think, perhaps, if you were here… Winterfell would be all the more beautiful.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your cheeks flush as his words hung in the air between you. You opened your mouth to reply, but just as you were about to speak, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the quiet.

A servant, breathless and wide-eyed, came rushing toward you. “My lord!” he gasped, his face pale. “My lord Robb—it’s your brother. It’s Bran.”

Robb’s smile vanished instantly, his expression tightening as he turned to the servant. “What happened?” His voice was sharp, tinged with fear.

The servant swallowed hard, catching his breath. “Young Bran… he fell from the tower, my lord. The Maester… they’re with him now.”

Robb’s face went pale, and his hand dropped from where it had been resting near yours. For a moment, he seemed frozen, his eyes wide as he processed the words. But then, as if a switch had flipped, he straightened, his features hardening with determination.

“Take me to him,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency.

The servant nodded, glancing between you both before hurrying back toward the keep. Robb took a shaky breath, looking at you, the vulnerability in his eyes making your heart ache.

“I’m sorry… I have to—”

“Go,” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Your brother needs you.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and strode quickly in the direction of the tower. You watched him go, feeling a pang of worry settle in your chest as you thought of young Bran, whom you’d only just met, a lively boy with a boundless curiosity.

Left alone in the godswood, the peace and warmth of your morning with Robb faded, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press down on you. You glanced back in the direction of the keep, a sinking feeling in your stomach as you considered what had happened.

After a moment, you began to make your way back toward the castle, hoping, praying, that the news awaiting you would be better than what you feared.

[formationlapsz]

so do I stay awake for tonight's bengals v chiefs game and look like a zombie tomorrow or do I put an alarm for 1.30 am in the doubts of me even hearing it and sleeping through it and miss the game

[hallofhelios]

coffee or tea • canon or fanfiction (fanon) • batman or superman • hot or cold • meadows or forests • lakes or the sea • water w/ ice or water w/ no ice • baths or showers • black or white • soup or salad • gold or silver • jewelry or no jewelry • money or power • kindness or respect • apples or oranges • flowers or succulents • digital notes or handwritten notes • science or history • ancient greece or ancient rome (Ancient Greece seems like a fake and magical place whereas I know far too many dirty details abt Ancient Rome) • jeans or sweats (leggings or comfortable trousers tbh. I’ve forgotten what it means to dress up and go out)

[cactus-cuddler]

bartender female!reader x bodyguard!Bucky Barnes

You work in a small bar but you don't like your job, you don't feel safe and the uniform you are forced to wear doesn't help.

One day, during one of your shifts, a mysterious man comes in asking you for the most alcoholic drink you sell. After glass after glass you decide to stop him, your heart's too big to watch a man get drunk in the sunlight.

With your kindness and your sweetness you will little by little penetrate the heart of this man who will decide to become the bodyguard of the bar where you work just to protect you from other men, no one knows like a man what they are capable of doing.

Warnings: man being man

Genre: fluff, romantic

Word count: 9296 (all the ff)

ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ

series' masterlist

╰┈➤chapter 1: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

╰┈➤chapter 2: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝?

╰┈➤chapter 3: 𝐀 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫

╰┈➤chapter 4: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫?

╰┈➤chapter 5: 𝐈𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬

╰┈➤𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Last update: 10/08/2024

[heartfullofleeches]

Lambchop is the love of my life. I'm going to take them home, thats my new bbygrl, we have 20 kids now.

Lambchpp really is a sweetie.....for a demon goat that may or may not turn people into ground meat. Now that I think about it I'm fairly sure Lambchop has never been off restaurant property. Your ask makes me think of Lambchop following FF Reader home one of the few nights they're allowed to go home. They'd probably never go back to be honest-

-

Fast Food Reader: Since you're here.... Wanna watch a movie or something?

[Lambchop lies motionless in Reader's bed - sniffing their sheets]

Fast Food Reader: .... You keep doing that- I'm gonna go enjoy sunlight for the few hours I have it

[Lambchop grabs Reader and pulls them into bed with them.]

Fast Food Reader: ... Or I'll just stay here with you.

[valkyriexo]

Invasion of Privacy | Ep. 8 -If the Shoe fits

ᑉ³SYNOPSIS; In the dazzling world of fame, you have it all—a beautiful home, devoted fans, and Chan, the love of your life. But when cryptic messages start arriving, the line between adoration and obsession blurs. With each note, you feel increasingly unsafe. Now, you're on a dangerous journey to uncover the truth before it's too late.

ᑉ³PAIRING; Chan x Idol! reader. Ft. Stray Kids

ᑉ³GENRE; Smau, FF , Angst, Hurt, Comfort, mystery

ᑉ³GENERAL WARNINGS ;Violence, Sasaeng (Stalker). Mentions of a knife, mentions of blood, Home invasion, cursing, Kissing, Pain, death, Implied female reader, Certain episodes may be Suggestive MDNI ᑉ³EPISODE WARNINGS : Violence, Sasaeng (Stalker). Mentions of a knife, Home invasion, cursing, Home invasion

EPISODE WORD COUNT; 7.9k Words

AUTHOR'S NOTE ; Thank you for joining me on this journey.<3 Your support and enthusiasm mean the world to me. I hope you've enjoyed the series as much as I've enjoyed creating it. I hope this is a resolution you'll enjoy... Happy season finale!!

If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Whether it's through comments, reblogs, or sending an ask, your feedback means the world to me. Remember, none of this is real. It is a story. It is fiction. You can choose not to read it if it will make you uncomfortable.

Master Post | Teaser | Suspect Cards

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, peeking through the blinds. You blinked awake, feeling Chan's steady breathing beside you. The events of the previous night rushed back, and your mind immediately began to churn with thoughts of the gift, the unsettling letters, and Hyunjin.

You turned to see Chan still asleep, his face relaxed in peaceful slumber. You carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake him just yet, making your way to the bathroom to freshen up.

After getting dressed, you quietly made your way to the living room. You glanced at the clock—it was early, but you needed to reach out to Hyunjin and Minho and get some answers.

You picked up your phone and sent a quick text to both of them, separately.

You quickly grabbed your things, ensuring you had the letters you took from Hyunjin's room and the box Minho had left last night.

You left a note for Chan, letting him know you’d be back soon and that you were heading out for a moment.

The early morning air was cool and crisp as you stepped outside. You made your way to the dorms, your mind racing with thoughts and questions.

When you arrived, you found Hyunjin and Minho waiting outside, each looking concerned. They seemed surprised to see each other.

“What are you doing here?” Minho asked, glancing at Hyunjin.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Hyunjin replied, frowning.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, looking at Minho with mock suspicion. "First you try to take over my dorm. Now your following me everywhere, huh?"

Minho chuckled, shaking his head. "Please, I have better things to do than follow you around."

Hyunjin crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "Could've fooled me. What's next? You going to start stealing my clothes?"

Minho sighed. "I don't have time for this. Can you leave? I have a private meeting with Y/N."

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m meeting with Y/N.”

You stepped between them before the tension could escalate. “Actually, I’m meeting with both of you.” They both looked at you, their expressions shifting from surprise to curiosity. “We need to talk about a few things and its important your both there."

Hyunjin and Minho exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. "Alright," Minho said, gesturing towards the entrance. "Let's go inside and talk."

Once inside, you were led into the living room, and Minho and Hyunjin sat next to each other, while you sat across from them.

You placed the box next to you, the letters hidden inside. You didn't know where else to start other than what you found in Hyunjin's room.

Hyunjin hesitated, glancing at you with a mixture of surprise and hurt. "You went through my things?" His voice was low, tinged with disappointment.

You swallowed, realizing your mistake. "I... I had to. After everything that's been happening, I needed to understand what was going on."

"You... read the letters, didn't you?"

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt for invading his privacy. "I did... I'm sorry, Hyunjin. I had to understand what was going on."

Minho glanced between you and Hyunjin, sensing the need to clear things up. "What letters are you talking about?"

Hyunjin's expression was a mix of surprise and embarrassment, his cheeks faintly flushed as he glanced at Minho.

You took a deep breath, then reached into the box, retrieving the letters carefully. You handed them to Minho, who took them with a furrowed brow, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting on the pages.

Hyunjin covered his face briefly with his hand, his embarrassment evident. "I can't believe you found those," he murmured, voice muffled against his palm.

Minho glanced up from the letters, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern as he realized the implications. "Hyunjin..."

You nodded quietly, understanding the weight of the moment. "I found them while trying to piece together everything that's been happening."

Hyunjin shifted uncomfortably under the collective gaze of everyone present.

"Hyunjin… youve been… helping Stay?"

Hyunjin glanced up, meeting your eyes with a mix of confusion and frustration. His earlier embarrassment now gave way to a defensive stance, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. "Helping STAY? No, I haven't been helping them," he replied firmly. "I've been trying to figure out who they are just as much as you."

Minho's eyebrows furrowed deeply, skepticism evident in his expression. He held the letters out towards Hyunjin. "Then how do you explain these letters, Hyunjin? They talk about your feelings for Y/N... your actions... What do you know? Who is STAY?!"

Hyunjin's eyes darted to the letters, his hands visibly trembling as he hesitated to take them out of Minho's hands. "I... I don't know," he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of Minho's accusation. "I... I swear, I don't know who 'STAY' is. I've never met them," he insisted.

"What did you do?" you asked, your voice edged with concern.

Hyunjin remained quiet, his gaze fixed on the floor, clearly struggling to find the right words.

"You better start talking," Minho threatened, his tone sharp and demanding. He moved closer to Hyunjin, his frustration palpable.

Hyunjin swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. "I never wanted you to find out like this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know who STAY was. They... they found out about my feelings...and my drawings. They threatened to expose everything if I didn't do what they said. They would send me messages, telling me to put letters in specific places or go to certain locations.... I never knew what they were planning, but they made it clear they could ruin everything if I didn't cooperate."

Minho's frustration turned into disbelief mixed with anger. "So, you let yourself be blackmailed? You didn't think to come to me? Or any of us?!"

Hyunjin shook his head, his shoulders tense with guilt. "I was scared, Minho. I didn't want to drag you into this mess. I thought I could handle it on my own."

Minho paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair. "Handling it on your own nearly got all of us into deeper trouble," he muttered, more to himself than to Hyunjin.

You stood beside Minho, feeling torn between anger at the situation and sympathy for Hyunjin's predicament. "Hyunjin, why didn't you tell me?" you asked softly, trying to understand.

Hyunjin looked up at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I didn't want to lose your trust," he admitted. "I didn't want you to see me like this, or for us to lose our friendship."

Minho exhaled sharply, his features softening slightly as he glanced at you. "We need to figure out who STAY is," he said firmly, refocusing on the task at hand. "We can't let them continue to manipulate us."

"We?" You turned and looked at him. "We need to figure out who STAY is?"

Minho looked at you with confusion. "Yes, we. Why wouldn't I help you?"

"Oh yeah?" you replied in disbelief. "I think you've done more than enough helping."

"What are you talking about, Y/N?"

You pulled out your phone, navigating to the security footage from the previous night. "Last night, someone was at my door. I have it on camera."

As the video played, it showed a figure approaching your doorstep. The dim light revealed enough to identify Minho's distinct features.

Minho's eyes widened as he watched himself on the screen, caught in the act. He ran a hand through his hair, his face flushing with embarrassment and guilt. "I... I was there," he admitted quietly, avoiding your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "And seconds after you left, I received a text from STAY about the gift," you continued, showing him the message on your phone. "How do you explain that?"

"The box appeared on my bed with your name on it. I thought you had forgotten it there because you stayed at the dorm the night Seungmin went to the hospital. Maybe you had slept in my bed? I don't know… so I brought it over. I didn't open it or know anything about it."

You frowned, processing his explanation. It made sense, but .... did it?

"So you weren't involved with STAY at all?" you asked, wanting to clarify.

Minho shook his head vehemently. "No, I swear," he replied earnestly. "I had no idea about STAY or the letters. I just wanted to return the box because I thought it was a mix-up."

Hyunjin, who had been listening intently, spoke up cautiously. "Wait, so you didn't know about the text from STAY either?"

Minho looked genuinely surprised. "No," he said, "I had no idea. I just thought I was helping out."

"You better not be lying to me. So help me God...." you snap at him.

Minho's expression turned solemn as he met your gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and determination. "I swear, I'm not lying," he insisted. "I didn't know anything about it. I was just trying to do what I thought was right."

You studied him for a moment, searching his eyes for any sign of deception. After a tense pause, you nodded slowly. "Alright," you said firmly, though the uncertainty still lingered. "Let's focus on finding out who STAY is. We need to put an end to this."

Hyunjin nodded in agreement, his earlier defensiveness now replaced with a shared sentiment. "We'll need to be careful," he cautioned, glancing between you and Minho. "STAY seems to know a lot about us."

"If we're going to work together, you have to be honest. What else do you two know? You can't hide anything from me. Who else received letters?"

Minho and Hyunjin exchanged a glance, silently communicating their shared concern. Minho spoke up first, his voice measured. "I... don't know who else received letters," he admitted, his brows furrowing with worry. "I didn't even know about these until now."

Suddenly the attention was suddenly diverted by the arrival of Felix.

"Good Morning everyone!" he said walking by. Then he hesitated, sensing the seriousness in the air. "Why's everyone so serious? Am I interrupting something?" Felix asked, looking around with curiosity.

"You're not interrupting," you said firmly, motioning for Felix to sit down. "Come. Lets chat."

Felix took a seat, his brow furrowing slightly at the atmosphere. "Okay... What's going on?"

"Felix, do you remember the day we went to the warehouse?" you say to him.

"Yes.. why?" he replied cautiously.

"Why did you show up there?" you said. Felix shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting around the room as he avoided direct eye contact. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.

"Was there a letter telling you to go there?" you continued.

His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, twisting the fabric nervously. Felix's usual easygoing demeanor was replaced with a tense, uneasy energy. His shoulders were slightly hunched, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other as if he wanted to get up and leave but was forcing himself to stay put.

"No... no letter," he said, his voice wavering.

You relaxed slightly, feeling a bit of relief. Maybe Felix was telling the truth. Maybe you could trust him and all his actions.

"I....I-I got a text," Felix added, his voice barely above a whisper.

Just kidding! He's a liar just like the others.

"OH?? SO FOR YOU THEY TOOK THE MODERN ROUTE," Hyunjin said with a bitter laugh. "I had to keep letters like we were fucking pen pals."

"You got a text?!" you exclaimed, your shock evident in your tone.

Felix nodded reluctantly, his gaze darting between you, Minho, and Hyunjin. "It just said to go to Y/N's house, that there was something she wanted to tell me."

You blinked, surprised by Felix's revelation. The implications sank in as you exchanged looks with Minho and Hyunjin, all equally puzzled by this new development.

"To my house?" you repeated, trying to process it.

"Yeah. That's when I saw all of you dressed in black heading out."

"Did you get any more texts after that?" you asked.

"No, I didn't. I didn't know anything else. That's when we went to the warehouse and we saw all of Hyunjin's things there. Which, by the way, why is he here if it's clearly him?" Felix said, his voice now tinged with suspicion.

"Excuse me?" Hyunjin said, his eyes narrowing. "Me? You're saying this is my fault?"

"Your camera was at the crime scene, your drawings were at the crime scene… two plus two definitely equals four," Felix shot back, his voice rising.

Hyunjin's frustration boiled over at Felix's accusation. His hands clenched into fists, ready to confront Felix, but Minho swiftly stepped in, holding Hyunjin back.

"Hey, calm down," Minho said firmly, his voice cutting through the rising tension.

"Felix, think about it," Minho continued, keeping a firm grip on Hyunjin's shoulder. "If Hyunjin was behind this, why would he be here trying to help us figure out who STAY is? He’s been manipulated just like the rest of us."

"He could be lying." He said.

Minho shook his head. "Maybe, but Hyunjin has an alibi. Right, Hyunjin?"

Hyunjin's face went pale, and he looked down, unable to meet anyone's gaze. The room fell silent, the tension palpable.

"Hyunjin?" you prompted, your voice a mix of concern and confusion.

Hyunjin swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… I was at the warehouse. But it wasn't what you think. STAY told me to set the stuff up for someone to view. I didn't know all of you would show up....." he said. "I thought I had more time to leave.... Then I saw someone chasing after me, so I ran."

"You?" you said, your voice barely above a whisper yet filled with disbelief. "It was you?"

Hyunjin froze, the weight of your words hitting him hard. He met your gaze, his expression a mix of guilt and remorse, knowing what would come next.

"You're the one who hurt Seungmin?" The question hung in the air, heavy with accusation and the need for clarity.

Hyunjin swallowed hard, his jaw tight as he struggled to find the right words. "I... I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he finally admitted, his voice strained with emotion. "STAY told me to set things up, but I never intended for anyone to get hurt... God I'm sorry..."

His eyes pleaded for understanding, but the pain in your heart overshadowed any immediate forgiveness. " Please dont tell any of this to Chan." he said quietly.

You took a step back, needing to distance yourself from the situation. The room felt suffocating, filled with accusations and revelations that shattered the fragile peace you had desperately clung to.

"I can't," you managed to say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. "I need to go."

Minho reached out, trying to stop you. "Y/N, please, we need to figure this out together. You can't just—"

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. "I just... I can't right now," your tone final as you turned away, unable to bear the weight of their presence any longer. Your mind raced with unanswered questions and the painful realization that everything you thought you knew had been turned upside down.

Without another word, you took the box and hurried out of the dorm, the sound of their voices fading behind you, each one grappling with their own guilt and the devastating consequences of their actions. The truth had finally surfaced, but it had come at a cost none of them could have anticipated. The world outside seemed distant and surreal as you walked in the direction of your house.

You arrived home feeling utterly devastated. Every step felt heavier as you walked through the door, the familiar comfort of your home offering little solace in the face of betrayal and deceit.

Chan was in the living room, a wide smile spreading across his face as he saw you enter. "Good afteroon, Y/N!" he exclaimed cheerfully, his eyes bright with happiness. "Where did you disappear off to?"

You couldn't find the words to answer immediately. The truth threatened to spill out, but the pain was still too raw, too overwhelming to articulate.

"I just needed a breather," you replied with a fake smile. "Nothing too adventurous, I promise."

You collapsed onto the nearest couch. Chan's gaze shifted back to the box in your hands, his brow furrowing slightly. "What's in your hands there?" he asked gently, noticing your hesitation.

You looked down at the box in your hands and then back up at Chan with a small smile. "Just what I'm wearing for the date," you replied softly, hoping to steer the conversation away from the heavier thoughts weighing on your mind.

Chan's eyes widened slightly in surprise, his expression turning curious. "Oh, really?" he asked, his tone filled with interest. I've been looking forward to our date tonight. Are you excited?"

His enthusiasm was contagious, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to be swept up in his positivity.

"Yeah," you replied softly, managing a more genuine smile now. "I am. It'll be nice to just relax and enjoy some time together."

"That's great to hear. I can't wait." As he continued talking, his excitement filled the room. "I actually need to head out soon. I have a photoshoot in a few minutes," he explained apologetically, glancing at the clock. "But I'll meet you at the restaurant tonight, okay?"

Despite the heaviness in your heart, Chan's genuine enthusiasm lifted your spirits.

"Sounds perfect," you replied, grateful for his understanding and support. "I'll see you there."

Chan leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before heading towards the door. "Take care of yourself, Y/N. I love you."

With that, he left, his infectious positivity lingering in the air.

As Chan left, his words echoed in your mind. "I love you." The weight of those three words mingled with the sea of emotions you were feeling. You wanted to believe in the simplicity of his love, in the comfort it promised amidst the chaos.

But the truth you had just confronted threatened to overshadow everything. The betrayal, the deceit—it was a shadow you couldn't escape, even in Chan's loving embrace.

You set the box down on the coffee table, its contents a reminder of the tangled web of lies and secrets. With a heavy sigh, you sank deeper into the couch, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you.

Minutes passed like hours as you sat there, lost in thoughts that refused to quiet. The sound of Chan's departure lingered in the silence, leaving behind a hollow ache in your chest.

Eventually, you roused yourself, realizing that dwelling on the pain wouldn't change the reality you faced. Tonight's date with Chan loomed ahead.

With a mix of curiosity and defiance, you opened the box and pulled out the dress. The emerald green dress shimmered in the light.

Why this dress? Why did Stay want me to have it?

Running your fingers over the fabric, you decided to wear it, feeling a strange pull to engage with the mystery rather than shy away from it.

After a quick shower and a bit of makeup, you slipped into the dress, its smooth texture clinging comfortably to your figure. Standing before the mirror, you assessed the overall look. The dress seemed to carry an air of intrigue, as if it held secrets yet to be uncovered. It was as if by donning this dress, you were stepping into a role—a role that STAY had laid out for you.

You hailed a cab to La Lumière, an exquisite restaurant known for its luxurious ambiance and gourmet cuisine. The cab ride was a blur of thoughts and emotions, the dress's presence a constant reminder of the enigmatic message from STAY.

As you arrived at the restaurant, the evening sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the elegant facade of La Lumière. The valet greeted you with a smile as you stepped out of the cab, feeling a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Inside, the restaurant dazzled with its crystal chandeliers, soft music, and the murmur of patrons enjoying their meals. The maître d' welcomed you warmly and escorted you to a table set in a secluded corner, overlooking a garden.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. As you settled into your seat, your eyes scanned the room, searching for Chan. Moments later, you spotted him approaching with a smile that softened the edges of your unease.

Chan approached you with confident strides, dressed in a tailored black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and lean frame. The soft lighting of the restaurant's ambiance cast a subtle glow on his features. His dark hair was neatly styled, adding to his effortlessly sophisticated appearance.

"Y/N," Chan greeted you warmly, his eyes alight with affection as he took your hand in his. "You look absolutely stunning."

You couldn't help but return his smile, feeling a flutter of warmth in your chest at his compliment. "Thank you," you replied softly, the tension of the evening slowly easing in his presence. "I'm glad you think so."

Chan leaned in slightly, his gaze lingering on you with an affectionate glow. "I always think so," he murmured sincerely, his thumb gently brushing against the back of your hand.

You smiled at Chan's sincere words, feeling a sense of comfort and security in his presence. The ambient music and soft murmur of other diners seemed to fade into the background as you focused on him.

"How was your photoshoot?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation to lighter topics, at least for now.

"It went really well," Chan replied, his smile widening. "We got some great shots. I can't wait for you to see them. What about you? How was your day?"

You hesitated, not wanting to dive into the emotional morning you had been through. "It was... eventful," you said with a faint smile, hoping to keep things vague.

Chan seemed to sense your reluctance and didn't press further. Instead, he squeezed your hand gently and changed the topic. "I'm really glad we're doing this tonight. We both needed a break."

The waiter arrived to take your orders, and you both chose your meals with ease. As he left, Chan's eyes lingered on you, a tender expression on his face.

"You know," he said softly, "when I saw you tonight, it reminded me of why I fell in love with you in the first place. You just have this way of making my eyes light up whenever I see you.

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You're just saying that."

"No, I mean it," Chan insisted, his gaze steady. "You've become my heart, and I can't imagine my life without you. I love you more than words can express, and I want to spend every moment showing you just how much you mean to me."

You felt your heart skip a beat at Chan's heartfelt words, his sincerity washing over you like a warm embrace. His gaze held yours, unwavering and filled with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own feelings.

"I love you too, Chan," you replied softly, your voice laced with affection. "More than you know."

A tender smile spread across Chan's face, his eyes crinkling at the corners with happiness. He leaned in closer, his hand reaching across the table to gently cup your cheek.

The first course arrived, beautifully presented and enticing. As you both began to eat, Chan kept the conversation light, talking about funny moments from his photoshoot and sharing amusing anecdotes that had you laughing despite yourself.

"So, there was this one pose they wanted me to do," Chan said with an amused grin, leaning in to share the story. "I had to hold this giant lollipop for the shoot. The thing was, I kept dropping it. They must have brought me like 40 lollipops! It was like a curse or something. Every time I tried to strike a pose, down went the lollipop."

You giggled, imagining the scene. "I wish I could have seen that."

"Oh, there are pictures," Chan assured you with a grin. "I'm sure they'll surface eventually."

As the evening progressed, the conversation flowed naturally, moving from light-hearted anecdotes to deeper, more meaningful topics. Chan's presence was like a balm to your troubled heart, his warmth and care enveloping you in a sense of safety you had almost forgotten.

As dessert was served—a decadent chocolate fondant with vanilla ice cream—Chan leaned in, his voice soft. "Remember our first date? How nervous we both were?"

You smiled at the memory. "Yes, you kept knocking over your glass.,,, and dropping your fork"

"So did you! we both reached down and knocked out heads togehter under the table." he chuckled. "We've come a long way since then."

"Yeah instead of forks your dropping lolipops now," you said

"I guess some things never change," he said.

As the last bites of dessert disappeared and the evening began to wind down, Chan glanced at his watch with a slight frown. "I just realized, I left my laptop at the studio," he admitted, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I need to go back and get it."

You nodded understandingly, though a part of you felt a pang of disappointment that the evening was ending sooner than expected. "It's alright," you reassured him with a smile, trying to hide any hint of sadness. "I can take a cab home. Don't worry about it."

Chan's expression softened, and he reached across the table to squeeze your hand gently. "I'm really sorry," he apologized sincerely. "I didn't mean for our night to end like this."

"It's okay, really," you replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze in return.

With a lingering touch and a final exchange of affectionate glances, you both stood up from the table, ready to part ways for the night.

As Chan hailed a cab for you outside the restaurant, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within you—gratitude for the evening spent together, a lingering sadness that it had to end so abruptly, and a deep affection for Chan, whose presence had comforted you through the turmoil of the day.

As you settled into the backseat of the cab, Chan leaned in through the window, his warm gaze fixed on yours. "I'll call you as soon as I get home with the laptop," he promised softly, his voice filled with sincerity.

You nodded, a small smile gracing your lips. "Take care," you said, your voice betraying a hint of reluctance to part ways.

"I will," Chan replied with a gentle smile, his hand resting briefly on the window before he stepped back.

The cab pulled away from the curb, and you watched Chan's figure recede in the distance, a bittersweet feeling settling over you. As the city lights blurred outside the window, you reflected on the evening—the laughter, the heartfelt conversations, and the love you had for Chan.

Arriving home, you thanked the driver and stepped out onto the familiar street, the cool night air enveloping you.

As you approached your doorstep, your mind still lingering on the evening with Chan, you reached for the doorknob out of habit. To your surprise, it turned easily under your touch. You blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing your features. You never left the door unlocked—it was a simple precaution you always took.

Entering cautiously, your senses heightened, you scanned the living room. Everything seemed undisturbed, yet a feeling of unease lingered. The air felt charged, as if something had shifted in your absence. A soft rustling sound from the direction of the stairs drew your attention, setting your nerves on edge.

Your phone, suddenly, blinked out of existence, leaving you stranded in the dark room. You stared at it, praying it would come back to life.

But as seconds stretched on, it became painfully clear that your phone wasn't coming back. Its sudden death left you exposed, vulnerable to whatever dangers lurked in the shadows of your home.

Minutes tick by, each one stretching into an eternity as you strain to hear any sign of the intruder's presence. Your breath catches in your throat with every creak of the floorboards, every subtle shift in the air. The tension is palpable, suffocating, as you wait in the confined space of the closet, your heart pounding in your chest.

And then, just when you're starting to believe you imagined it all, you hear footsteps approaching. Each footfall reverberates through the floor, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your heart lurches into your throat as the closet door swings open, flooding the small space with blinding light. There they stand—the intruder—their eyes wild with fervor as they gaze down at you, cowering in the darkness.

"You're finally here," they breathe, their voice a mixture of awe and desperation. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long."

With trembling hands, you quickly move, darting past them as fast as you can and rushing into the kitchen. Your heart pounds in your chest as you grab a knife, the cold metal offering little help in the face of danger. "Stay back!" you yell out. "Dont come any closer."

But as you turn around, ready to defend yourself, you find the intruder standing in the doorway, their posture relaxed, almost casual, a mask covering their face.

The mask worn by the intruder is unsettlingly intricate. It's made of smooth, white porcelain, molded into a serene, almost doll-like face. The features are delicate yet haunting—the eyes hollow and dark, giving an impression of endless depth. Thin, painted lips are set in a neutral expression, devoid of emotion. The mask covers the entirety of the intruder's face, leaving no hint of their true identity behind its eerie facade.

"I see you wore the dress" they say suddenly.

You recongnize their voice. But why?

"Why are you here?" you manage to ask, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed. You know you need to keep them talking, buying time to figure out who they are and what they want.

The intruder pauses for a moment as if considering their response. "I've come to ensure things are how they were supposed be," they finally reply, their voice carrying an eerie calmness that sends a shiver down your spine. They take one step closer.

You instinctively take a step back, your mind racing as you try to piece together the puzzle of their identity.

"Stay? Is that what you call yourself?"

The intruder remains silent for a tense moment, seemingly unmoved by your words.

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?" they reply calmly, their tone sending a chill through your bones.

You continue to stall, hoping to glean more information that might help unravel this mystery. "What do you want from me?" you ask, your voice steadier now as you press for clarity.

The intruder's gaze behind the porcelain mask lingers on you for a moment longer, their expression inscrutable. "Everything," they say.

The intruder's laughter echoes in the room, a chilling sound that sends a shiver down your spine. It's a laugh you've heard before, but distorted by the mask and the eerie circumstances. As they laugh, you strain to place the familiar cadence, trying to ignore the fear creeping into your mind.

And then it clicks.

"Aera," you gasp, the name escaping your lips in a mix of disbelief and horror.

The laughter abruptly stops, replaced by an eerie silence that hangs heavily in the air. Aera stands before you, still masked and unnervingly composed, her gaze piercing through the porcelain facade.

"Why?" you manage to ask, your voice trembling as you struggle to comprehend the betrayal unfolding before you.

Aera removes the mask confirming your guess.

"Bingo," she mocks, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she echoes your earlier realization. "You finally figured it out."

Your heart sinks at her callous response, the sting of betrayal cutting deep. You struggle to comprehend her motives, the lack of empathy or regret hardening your resolve.

"You finally see me now, huh?" Aera's words carry a bitter edge, mocking and cold.

"See...you? What?" You stare at her, confusion furrowing your brow.

Aera's gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing with resentment. "You don't remember, do you?" Her voice drips with disdain. "No, of course you don't. You only cared about yourself."

Confusion clouds your thoughts as you try to recall any significant moments between you and Aera.

" We grew up in the same neighborhood, attended the same schools, and even shared dance and vocal lessons, " She said.

But your paths had rarely intersected beyond casual acquaintance.

"We weren't close," you finally manage to say, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Aera scoffs, the sound cutting through the tension in the room. "Close enough for you to take everything I ever wanted," she retorts bitterly.

You struggle to comprehend her accusation. "What do you mean?"

Aera's bitterness spills over as she recounts years of shared aspirations and unspoken rivalry. "We were always competing, whether you realized it or not," she admits harshly. "I should've had your life. I went through the same programs, the same auditions."

You listen intently, the pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle starting to click into place. Memories of school performances, talent shows, and the buzz surrounding Aera's undeniable talent begin to resurface. She had always been the standout, the star trainee whose potential had drawn the attention of talent scouts.

"I was the star of our school," Aera continues bitterly, her words painting a picture of missed opportunities and unfulfilled promises. "Everyone knew about me. I had dreams of making it big, just like you.....And then JYP came," Aera says, her voice lowering as she recounts the turning point. "They were interested in me. They saw my potential, just like everyone else did."

The realization dawns on you as Aera's story unfolds. You rememember that day...

"But they signed you instead," Aera concludes bitterly, her gaze locked on yours with a mix of resentment and resignation. "They chose you over me."

...It was the day you met Zayne, your manager.

The weight of her words settles heavily on your shoulders. The twist of fate that had catapulted you into the spotlight while leaving Aera behind, despite her undeniable talent and years of hard work.

"I didn't know," you say softly, your voice filled with genuine remorse. "I didn't know it was supposed to be you."

Aera's expression softens slightly, her eyes reflecting years of hurt and longing. "You got signed," she continues bitterly, her voice tinged with resignation. "You became the biggest star. And then you met Chan."

"I met Chan when we were young," Aera explains, a hint of nostalgia softening her tone. "We hit it off immediately. He was the one I dreamed of building a future with. But then both of you got signed, became trainees for JYP, and everything changed."

Her words hang between you like an accusation, echoing the unspoken truth of lost opportunities and shattered dreams. Aera's gaze, once soft with nostalgia, now hardened with years of pent-up frustration.

"I watched as you both soared to heights I could only dream of," she continues bitterly, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion. "Stray Kids, Chan, Zayne, everything that should have been mine."

"But why? Why do all this?" you say.

"Because, you conceeded little bitch, If I cant have this life then neither can you. You dont deserve it. I'm the onle who worked hard for it, I'm the reason why zayne was there in the first place." she said bitterly.

"So if its between the two of us, why bring all the members throught it. Hyunjin, minho, seungmin, they didnt deserve any of that."

"because they were all in love with you. Your everything to all of them..."

"And your nothing to anybody."

She is quiet. The room feels suffocating, the tension palpable as you both stand there, trapped in the aftermath of years of unspoken grievances. Aera's silence speaks of years of watching from the sidelines, of dreams shattered and hearts broken. It's a silence that speaks louder than any words could, revealing the depth of her feelings and the wounds that may never fully heal.

"I didn't recognize you," you whisper, the realization hitting you like a wave of regret. "When you became my assistant, I didn't see who you really were."

Aera stops in her tracks, her back still turned to you. The bitterness in her voice seeps through her words. "Of course you didn't," she scoffs softly. "To you, I was just another face in the crowd, someone who was supposed to fade into the background."

You struggle to find the right words, wanting to explain, to make amends somehow. "I didn't mean to overlook you," you say, your voice tinged with sorrow. "I was caught up in my own world, chasing after what I thought was success....I'm sorry," you say, the words feeling inadequate in the face of Aera's pain.

Her gaze softens momentarily, a flicker of resignation crossing her features. "It's too late for sorry now," she replies quietly. "You have what you wanted. Everything I thought should have been mine."

You struggle to find the words to respond.

Her eyes, once filled with hurt and bitterness, now narrow with determination as she launches herself into action.

With startling speed, Aera lunges forward, her fists a blur of motion aimed directly at you. You barely manage to block her initial strikes, the impact jolting you backwards. The fight intensifies as you desperately parry her relentless assault, each blow ringing out like a bell in the confined space.

In a desperate move, Aera maneuvers you towards the cupboards, her strength and determination surprising you. With a powerful shove, she sends you crashing into the wooden cabinets, the impact reverberating through your body. Pain shoots through your back as the force knocks the wind out of you.

Gritting your teeth against the pain, you push back with equal fervor. Adrenaline courses through your veins, fueling your determination to end the confrontation. You muster every ounce of skill and agility, countering Aera's attacks with precision and ferocity.

The room echoes with the clash of bodies and the sound of splintering wood as the fight rages on. Sweat beads on your brow, mingling with the sting of exertion. Aera fights with a fervor fueled by years of resentment and perceived injustice, her strikes relentless and focused.

The battle with your emotions was just as intense as the physical struggle with Aera. You didnt want to hurt her. But you had to defend yourself. You knew you had to make a choice, the knife you had grabbed earlier gleaming in the kitchen light.

But before you can make a decision, you hear the distant wail of sirens approaching, the sound a stark reminder of the danger lurking just beyond your doorstep.

She flinches at the sound, her eyes darting towards the door with a mix of fear and resignation. For a moment, the facade of confidence slips, revealing the vulnerable girl beneath.

"I have to go," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I'll be back. I promise."

And with that, she turns and begins to run as fast as she can towards the back door. With a swift motion, she disappears into the night, leaving you alone in the darkness, the echoes of her words lingering like a haunting refrain.

As tears stream down your cheeks, you step back, your slowly back banging against the cupboard, and you slide down onto the floor, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. The events of the night felt like a nightmare, each moment etched into your memory with vivid clarity.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and in rush Chan, Changbin, and Minho, their faces a mix of concern and panic. Chan's eyes widen in alarm as he spots you on the floor, and he rushes towards you, dropping to his knees beside you.

"Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?" he bombards you with questions, his voice trembling with worry as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

You bury your face in Chan's chest, seeking comfort in his embrace as you try to steady your breathing.

Changbin and Minho hover nearby, their expressions mirroring Chan's concern as they scan the room for any signs of danger.

Before you can respond, the sound of heavy footsteps of approaching police officers fill the room.

Their voices loud and authoritative as they demand to know what's going on. For a moment, there's chaos as the officers mistake Chan, Changbin, and Minho for the intruders, their hands moving to their holsters in anticipation of danger.

But you quickly intervene, your voice shaky but firm as you clarify that they're your boyfriend and friends, not the ones who broke into your home. The tension in the room dissipates as the officers realize their mistake, and they quickly shift their focus to ensuring your safety and apprehending the real intruder.

Trembling in Chan's embrace, you find the courage to speak up, your voice still quivering with fear.

"Stay" you whisper.

"Of course baby...Im not going anywhere" he replies as his hand runs through your hair.

"No.. Stay," you repeat.

"Stay.......- Oh my God." He says, the words finally clicking. " They were here?"

You nod your head. He could not do anything more then stare at you in disbelief.

"I was so scared, Chan. I didn't know what to do." You recount the events of the night, the sense of violation still fresh in your mind.

"It was Aera," you whisper, the words tumbling out in a rush. "She broke into the house... She knew everything about me, Chan. It was like she was obsessed. Not only with me, but with you.... She was in love with you"

Chan's grip tightens around you, his expression darkening with anger and concern.

"That explains the letters…" Chan murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, his words hanging in the air as he tries to make sense of the connection.

"..What letters?" you say quietly.

"They were addressed to me, but they… they felt like love letters. Like someone was watching me, wanting something more…"

"Chan... you got letters and didn't tell me?" you say.

Chan sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I didn't think much of them," he admits, his voice tinged with regret. "They seemed harmless—compliments, admiration, nothing threatening."

Suddenlt, Two officers enter the kitchen area, their expressions serious yet professional. One introduces herself as Officer Jin, while her partner, Officer Kang, takes note of the surroundings.

"Thank you for coming," Chan says.

Officer Jin nods, her gaze shifting between you and Chan. "Can you please tell us what happened tonight?" she asks, her tone gentle yet authoritative.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to recount the events. "I.. got home and the door was unlocked," you begin, your voice steady despite the lingering unease. "I thought it was an intruder, so I texted Chan."

You continue. "I hid in the closet.. but they found me anyways. It was Aera.. my assistant. She had broken in. " he explains, his brow furrowing with concern. "She seemed... unstable."

Officer Kang scribbles notes in his pad, his expression focused as he listens intently. "Did she say why she was here?" he prompts, his eyes flicking up to gauge your reactions.

"She mentioned something about wanting what I have," you answer, recalling Aera's bitter words with a shiver. "She seemed fixated on the idea that my life should have been hers."

Officer Jin nods thoughtfully, her expression sympathetic. "And did she threaten you in any way?"

You hesitate, the memory of Aera's unsettling presence vivid in your mind. "She attacked me." you respond quietly.

His brow furrows ever so slightly, a shadow of concern darkening his features. You notice his jaw tighten, a telltale sign of his anger.

"I tried to defend myself... But she only stopped when we heard the sirens. Then she ran out the backdoor." With that, one of the other officers immediently left towards the backdoor.

Chan's gaze softens, his thumb gently wiping away your tears as he pulls you closer.

"Im sorry you had to go through that. In the meantime, we'll increase patrol in your area and provide you with a direct line to reach us if anything else happens."

You nod gratefully, feeling a sense of relief knowing that the authorities are taking the situation seriously. As the officers continue to ask detailed questions and jot down notes, Chan remains by your side.

You thank the officers and they leave, leaving you alone in the house with the other 3 boys. Chan pulls you into a tight embrace, whispering words of reassurance and comfort in your ear.

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace and the support of your friends, you begin to feel a glimmer of hope that you'll be able to put this terrifying ordeal behind you.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight tonight," he says, his tone firm yet gentle. "You're coming with me. I'll pack a bag for you." He moves to get up, but you cling to him tighter, the thought of being separated from him filling you with a deep sense of unease.

"Please, don't leave me," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan's expression changes, his eyes reflecting the depth of his love and concern for you. "Okay..I won't, I promise," he assures you, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

With a sense of urgency, he gestures to Minho, who understands what is being asked of him.

Minho nods silently, understanding the gravity of the situation, and hurries off to gather your belongings. Meanwhile, Chan remains by your side.

As he returns with the bag packed, Chan helps you to your feet, his touch gentle yet reassuring. "Let's go," he says softly, his voice filled with determination.

With trembling limbs, you follow Chan out of the house, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and gratitude. But as his hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together, you find solace in the warmth of his touch.

You get into the car, Changbin in the driver's seat, Minho in the front, and you and Chan in the back. You lean on Chan's shoulder as the car moves forward, finding comfort in his presence.

Your ready to put all this behind you. You allow yourself to close your eyes and rest.

Buzz

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[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller's ff) - chapter 5

chapter 4 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 6

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: after what happened a couple of months ago, you are ready to move forward. joel? not so much. he might need a little... prodding.

warnings: 18+, mdni. internal and verbal discussions of feelings, trauma and past relationships. some jealousy (if you squint very hard). porn with plot or plot with porn (however you wanna look at it). again, absolutely filthy smut because i don’t know any better (sorry not sorry). fluff. voyeurism (you spy on joel). masturbation (f and m). oral (f and m receiving). finger sucking. unprotected piv. praise kink. sir kink. size kink. cum eating. a bit of cum play. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. squirting. dirty talk. you are very needy in this one and joel is very possessive over you. soft!dom!joel. aftercare. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, honey). i'm sure i'm forgetting something lol. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 36. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

a/n: hiya! first i want to thank you all for the positive feedback this series has gotten! [: i started writing this for myself mainly, and decided to post it here thinking that if a couple of people liked it, it'd make my heart happy. also, i have taken some licenses with joel's past, as neither the game nor the tv show gives many details (you'll understand what i mean). anyways! after the last chapter, our two protagonists (you!) deserve a bit of calm, peace and quiet... right? 😈 as always, thank you all for engaging. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! even asks/requests/side stories if you want to! take care lovelies <3 x

w/c: ~6.3k (sorry?).

tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

August came around relatively quickly. Tommy had proposed you got closer to civilisation, which meant long trekking trips while the sunlight was still up. Joel agreed reluctantly, as he still thought that was dangerous. You just went along with it, letting them decide ― you didn’t really care where you ended up as long as the Millers were by your side.

Well, one of them especially.

At daytime you barely had time to yourself. However, the story was completely different at nighttime. The second you closed your eyes, snippets of what had happened two months ago flooded your memory. For the first few weeks, the nightmares were unbearable. You would wake up in the dead of night, sweaty and shaking.

And every time you woke up, Joel was by your side. He would hug you while you both laid on improvised beds, no matter how uncomfortable it was. Neither of you would talk, you would just cry in silence while your panic attack subsided ― Joel holding you throughout the whole episode. He had truly been a rock you could hold onto in the middle of a sea storm.

It got to the point where Tommy had started to realise that something was up between you two. Neither you nor Joel denied nor confirmed anything, although Tommy never asked. He would just look away when his brother would attend to you if you fell behind or would offer to do the first night shifts so Joel could be by your side at bedtime.

You were somewhat sure that Joel really cared about you. The way he would look at you… it sent shivers down your spine. The intensity in his eyes was hypnotising ― sometimes you would find yourself lost in his brown orbs, unable to look away. You also really cared about him.

You didn’t want to put a label to your feelings, mainly because you were not sure how Joel would react. You had come to understand that the man was prone to evade any topic about his feelings in general ― physical, emotional or otherwise. You could still not get him to tell you whenever he felt off. Since the blow to his head a couple of months back, Joel had been suffering with horrible headaches, to the point where he had fainted in a couple of instances.

The man was such a closed book you found out about his deceased wife the same way you knew about Sarah ― through Tommy. You assumed he had one or at least a partner at some point in time before the outbreak. The younger brother didn’t give you many details though, not that you asked either ― some wounds were better left untouched.

You liked Tommy a lot. He was a godsend ― so very different to Joel, but so similar in many ways. He was talkative and filled in long silences with stories about how they would cause mayhem at home when they were kids. You didn’t know if they were true or not, but they were entertaining nonetheless. You were under the impression that Tommy was the one who got into sticky situations and Joel was the one who had to fix them.

“I’m gonna go to the lake for a bit”, Joel told you, derailing your train of thought.

“No worries, I’ll get the fire going. Poor Tommy is always the one setting up camp”, you replied with a slight smile.

“Yeah, poor me, relegated to such unsignificant tasks”, said Tommy with a chuckle.

You smiled back and then looked in Joel’s direction. He was frowning at both of you, but quickly controlled his face expression.

“I’ll be back soon”, Joel crouched to look through his backpack, grabbing a couple of towels.

Something inside of you twisted. But you pushed the thought to the back of your head. You had already volunteered to start the fire.

You really tried to focus on the bonfire. And after a few attempts, you finally got it going. Joel had not come back yet from the lake ― it had only been ten minutes, but you were slightly worried in case he had lost consciousness again while no one was around.

“I’ll go check on him”, you told Tommy.

He looked at you with a sarcastic smile.

“Sure thing”, he replied while he started to skin a rabbit.

You rolled your eyes before you left in the direction Joel had gone.

You walked the hundred metres that separated the camp and the lake. The brothers had ensured the area was completely devoid of human existence before they decided to settle there for the night. You were now in Mark Twain National Forest, near St. Louis. You had checked out Kansas City a week ago, but both Tommy and Joel had deemed it too unsafe. So Chicago was your final destination. None of you knew what you would encounter there, but it was worth a try. The wilderness had not proven to be any safer.

Before you got to the bank of the lake, you spotted Joel in the water. He had his back towards you, your eager eyes checking out his broad shoulders, the water level up to his hips. He ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back.

You stopped walking, somewhat mesmerised, your head slightly tilted to one side with curiosity. In the last two months, you had discovered a new side to Joel you didn’t know he had.

You guessed that what happened that night also affected him in a different way it did you. After he almost decapitated that man, you saw guilt in his eyes when he looked at you ― you still sometimes caught a glimpse of it to this day. As you found out later, that culpability was because he felt responsible for what those men did to you ― he really thought he could have done more. And he did in a sense, because for the next couple of days he hunted down every man in that group until there was no one left to hurt you. Apparently, that was not enough in his eyes, although it was in yours. But as much as you tried to explain that to him, it just wouldn’t sink in. He was so stubborn it made you go crazy sometimes.

Although Joel had been there for you emotionally, he had not touched you for the last two months. You managed to steal a few kisses from him and that was it. He had been extremely cautious with you in that respect. You were relieved he was as you tried to come to terms with what had happened, but after a few weeks it started to feel… frustrating. You were not broken and despite what he thought, you still had needs.

He suddenly looked over his right shoulder, offering you his side profile ― to you, he was gorgeous. Feeling like a child caught causing mischief, you quickly hid behind a tree. Joel looked around, eyebrows touching in confusion, but then he shook his head as if he was imagining things and proceeded to cup his hands in the water to wet his face.

You couldn’t not watch. You instantly realised that was the first time you saw him naked. The last ―and, regrettably, the only― time you two had sex, he was fully clothed. There was something very intimate about seeing him washing up.

You were so transfixed on the picture in front of you it was like the world had disappeared around you. Joel rubbed his skin with a hand towel ― his strong arms, his chest, his back, his lower stomach… Your breath quickened a bit, your heart picking up a pace. Everything about him invited you in ― it wasn’t only his rugged appearance that appealed to you, but also his character.

You started to feel hot. Had the temperature suddenly gone up? It seemed like it. Joel put the hand towel on his left shoulder. When you saw his right hand disappear below the water in front of him, your mouth went dry wishing it was your hand. You wanted to help him clean his manhood so badly ― memories of his delightful cock rocking you into a trance short-circuited your brain.

Before you could stop yourself, you placed one hand on your belly, biting your bottom lip. You finally gave in to temptation, pushing past the edge of your panties. You dipped two fingers in your slit, doing circular movements around your clit. Your eyes, albeit halfway closed in pleasure, could not leave Joel as he kept on freshening up. You pushed down your fingers a bit more, sliding one of them in your needy hole.

You closed your eyes, a half-smile showing on the corner of your lips. That felt so good. If Joel was going to do nothing about it ― fine, you would. Still behind the tree, out of sight, you held on to the bark with your free hand, upping the rhythm of your wet fingers, your thumb rubbing that tight knot in your fold. Then you slightly opened your eyes again ― you wanted to stare at Joel while you came.

But he wasn’t there anymore. You frowned, confused, but you were too busy to worry about that right now. So you closed your eyes again to fully focus on the task at hand. You leaned your forehead against the tree, feeling your orgasm wash over you with intensity. You pressed your lips, suppressing a moan as to not alert Joel of your presence.

“Am I interrupting?”, his soft voice forced you to glance in his direction with starry eyes.

He was on your righthand side, just half a metre away from you. Entirely naked in all his glory, an erection creeping up on him. You were speechless, partially because you had been caught spying on him and partially because you were still feeling the last remnants of your climax, your inner walls crying for something to choke.

“I―I…”, you really tried to excuse yourself, but your voice faltered when your eyes checked him out from top to bottom.

His body was chiselled, his muscles somewhat defined, especially around his waist. He had a pronounced V line with a hairy, happy trail which you avidly followed with your eyes until you were gifted with the sight of his veiny cock. You unconsciously licked your bottom lip.

Your fingers were still dunked in your warm pussy. Joel grabbed your wrist and took your hand out of your underwear, raising it to eye level. Your digits were sticky, covered in your own cum. You should feel ashamed, but you definitely didn’t. Not with him. Joel looked into your eyes, and, without breaking visual contact, he brought your slick fingers closer to his face. With no hesitation, he opened his mouth and pushed them into it, licking them clean. You felt your cunt gushing, eyelids half closed. You could have easily come again for him, but he released your fingers far too quickly for your liking.

“You naughty girl”, he whispered as he pulled you from the wrist to get you closer to his chest. “You taste even better than what I imagined”.

“I didn’t think you were…”

“Aware of your presence? Always, darlin’”, he finished for you.

Your cheeks blushed when he freed your wrist and lifted your chin up. His thumb caressed your bottom lip, his mouth just an inch away from yours. You bowed to kiss him, but he backed up a little, denying you.

“Are you sure you wanna do this, sweetheart?”, he asked, you could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

You nodded vehemently.

“Yes, please, Joel, I really need to feel you, to have you fuck me senseless”, you emphasized, short-breathed.

He seemed to consider your words for longer than what was acceptable. You saw his eyes flying between yours and your lips.

“Please?”, you begged.

Your prayers might have been heard, because he leaned forward, brushing your mouth with his.

“Then go down on your knees, darlin’”, he whispered against your lips.

You silently gasped as your clit pulsed at his words. You were delighted to follow his command, and so you kneeled compliantly.

When your knees touched the grass, his cock was at eye level. You couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. His dick was as big as you remembered, the memory of it filling you up still haunted you. It was so erected now that the tip touched his belly button. Joel looked so strained you thought he had to be in pain. And you were more than willing to help him alleviate it.

You moved your hand forward, but before you could try to wrap your fingers around him, Joel stopped you.

“No, with your mouth”, was his order.

You intertwined your fingers on your lower back and inclined your heard towards him. You gazed up at him, his jawline very tense. You let your tongue out and shyly tapped his glans with the tip. Joel closed his eyes immediately and grumbled loudly as his cock twitched in front of you.

That was all you needed to spur you on. You widely opened your mouth to house his manhood and sealed your lips around the head, the tip of your tongue trying to push open the slit on his foreskin. You played with him for a bit while your jaw relaxed. Then you started to push him in further and further down your mouth, as far as you could take him. His glans pushed past your uvula, you could barely breathe, just as you had imagined a few months ago ― a dream come true. You bobbed your head back and forth, feeling him in your throat, your eyes watering. But you were still not close to have his dick entirely in your mouth ― he was so damn big.

Joel growled in ecstasy as he looked down to you. The sight of you on your knees with your mouth stuffed, bright beautiful eyes, your tongue maliciously inciting him… He just couldn’t believe how giving you were.

“Look at you with your mouth so full”, he said placing one of his hands under your chin. He could feel his own cock expanding your throat. “You look so damn pretty, baby”.

You leaned back a bit, releasing most of his erection except for the tip. With the help of one hand you started pumping his shaft, the other gently massaging his balls. Joel eyed you intensely while you ate him up like a lollypop. His salty flavour inundated all your senses, your eyes pinned on his.

His fingers clenched in frustration.

“Shit, stop, I’m gonna come”, he mumbled as he pushed back to free his dick from your wicked lips.

No way in hell, you thought. He was not about to deny you that. You had been thinking about this moment for fucking months, you wouldn’t let him take that pleasure away from you.

You grasped him by his ass, your palms firmly pressing on his buttocks to take his cock even deeper. You then gave him head as best as you knew how, fastening the rhythm when you felt the pulsation coming from him.

“Fuck, baby―”, he moaned your name as he came in your hot, wet cavity.

You felt his spent hit the back of your throat. It was so tangy and musky. You swallowed all of it. Ah, delicious, you thought gleefully. You let go of his ass and released his dick from the prison of your lips.

You placed the palms of your hands on your knees, still on the ground, and glanced up at him innocently with a sweet smile painting your face. You then opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show Joel you had eaten all his cum ― a bridge of spit connecting the tip of your tongue to his glans.

He dropped one hand to break off the arch of saliva between you and him with his index, and fed it to you ― you gladly accepted, sucking his finger clean.

“Did I do good, sir?”, you asked with a small voice, looking for praise.

“Good? You did fucking splendid, sweetheart”, you beamed with the compliment and got up to your feet when he offered you a hand.

He took your hand, walking behind him as he headed towards the lake. He turned around to face you and kissed you slowly, his tongue caressing your palate. He then took a step back. The sun was setting on his back, the orange and red lighting reflecting off the waterbed. His brown eyes, bearded jaw, hooked nose, his hair curling at the nape of his neck… He looked like a roman God ― Mars, you thought. Joel looked like a man about to fight for his life and yours on the battlefield.

He sat down on a massive flat rock one metre away from the bank of the lake, which was approximately two metres wide in both directions.

“Now undress for me, baby”, he instructed.

You did not hesitate ― all your clothing fell to your feet, piece by piece, while Joel eagerly watched the show you put on. He wetted his bottom lip while he readjusted his cock on his lap. You stood there with dreamy eyes, awaiting. He motioned one hand towards the rock he was sat on, an invitation for you to join him.

Once you were sat on his right, he placed his left hand around the front of your neck ― a very slight touch that forced you to flatten your back against the rock while he positioned himself on top of you. He bit your chin while his left hand put a sweet amount of pressure on your throat. You could tell he was controlling himself.

“My turn”, he whispered, coming off you.

He got off the rock, kneeling on the ground in front of you. You put your elbows down on the rock to lift your torso and be able to look at him, your knees bent, the sole of your feet against the cold surface of the rocky platform. Joel grabbed you by the hips and scooted your ass over to the edge of the rock. Your legs were firmly pressed against each other, trying to hide your quivering cunt ― suddenly you felt shy.

“Spread your legs open for me, darlin’, lemme see”, he commended you with his hands on your knees.

You couldn’t say no to him, you didn’t want to. So you obeyed, dropping your legs to the sides, offering him your dripping fold. He traced your slit with his index, and you moaned.

“You’re so fucking wet already. So receptive, aren’t you?”, he asked looking at you dead in the eye, his finger sinking in between your legs, looking for the entrance. “Who gets your pussy so wet?”, he pushed his fingertip in your hole, and you groaned loudly. “Who, darlin’? Use your words”.

“You, only you, sir”, you gasped.

“This is mine”. He pushed in the second phalange.

You closed your eyes, trying to control your breathing.

“All yours, yes”.

His finger got completely sucked in down to his knuckle, stroking your g-spot. You harshly pressed your lips.

“Exactly, don’t you dare forget that”, his tone was so serious you looked at him enigmatically, not really understanding where that sudden possessiveness came from, but you loved every bit of it. And you were more than happy to put his doubts to rest.

You nodded frantically.

“I would never, sir, I swear my pussy is all yours”, you really meant it.

“As it should be”, he added a second finger as he leaned forward and kissed your mound.

You sighed, eyes teary, and flattened your back against the rock again, as Joel made out with the fatty skin above your clit. He introduced a third finger, all of them rubbing your anterior wall. Then his mouth dropped and sucked in your clit. Your knees trembled while you held both of your breasts, playing with your nipples and biting down your lip to stop your wanton screams. He insisted with his kissing until your wet cunt started fluttering around his fingers, a clear tell you were about to come. He stroked your clit with his teeth, very lightly, sending shivers up your spine. Your legs pressed against his head, tension building up. And then, finally, sweet release. You came so hard on his mouth, and he drank it all.

He unburied his head from in between your legs and glanced at you with a sufficient smile.

“You taste even better directly from your creamy cunt, baby”, you were glad he was so talkative during sex, especially if it was to praise you.

Joel placed the palm of his hand over your mound, his fingers covering your damp pussy, and rubbed with just the right amount of friction. You exhaled slowly.

“I’m gonna make you come again”, he promised.

You pursed your lips, your cunt palpitating at the prospect.

“I don’t know if I can―”, you uttered under your breath.

He raised an eyebrow, almost as if he was offended. Joel grabbed your thighs and pulled towards him; the back of your knees placed on his shoulders.

“Don’t doubt me, of course you can. I said I’ll make you”, his mouth was so close to your moist pussy you felt his cool breath on your damp skin.

You whimpered when his tongue swept your entire slit unhurriedly, from your perineum to your clit, his hand climbing up your body to squeeze one of your breasts firmly. Joel repeated that move a few times ― and your brain chemistry would be changed forever after that. He briefly pinched your nipple while he paid special attention to the core of your pleasure. Joel smothered your clit with his lips ― you closed your eyes while placing a hand over his on your boob.

Joel’s tongue stopped torturing you for a second. He nudged your clit with the tip of his hooked nose and then inhaled your sweet smell. That scent was making him go wild with lust to the point where he started fisting his cock, the tip already leaking with precum. He flattened his tongue against your swollen lips, wiggling it through the slit to touch your needy hole. He could not believe you were this wet for him ― if he had the chance, he would drink from your seeping fold every single day. This was how ambrosia tasted like ― he was damn sure of it.

He placed his hands to each side of your puffy flaps to spread your pussy open, while the tip of his tongue slipped inside of you. Your free hand flew to his head, fisting a handful of hair. Your toes clenched as he started to fuck your hole with his tongue. You felt your whole uterus contracting so hard it was almost painful. Your cum started to ooze out as a new orgasm hit you with full force, yelling his name. Joel did not waste any of it, licking it off you shamelessly.

What just happened ― that felt like sin, the most beautiful sin you had ever experienced. Your breathing was so irregular you thought you were going to have a heart attack. Then you heard Joel snickering as he got back up to his feet.

“See? Told ya”, he said smugly as you placed the elbows on the rock to lift your chest and glance at him.

He was jerking off, his cock ready for you again. You sat back up and leaned forward, your hands on his muscular thighs as you kissed the slippery tip, the shaft, then his balls. You showered pecks all over his manhood, worshipping it.

“S-sorry, sir, can I ask? Is your cock only mine? P-please?”, you asked in between smooches, almost panting, looking at him with puppy eyes.

Joel’s irises were swirling with desire, his hips slightly slanted forward towards your mouth, his dick visibly spasming while he caressed your cheek.

“All yours, yes”, he replicated your exact words, your heart fluttering with contempt.

You smiled at him before licking his testicles again ― your hand pushing his shaft against his lower belly to give you better access. Your eyes never abandoned his as your saliva covered his soft ball sacks.

This time he did step back, and you let him.

“I need you inside me, please”, you murmured.

His jaw was so tight he didn’t dare to speak. Joel could feel his heartbeat on his cock, all because of you and your wanton mouth. You looked so damn beautiful ― on your knees, staring at him through your eyelashes, patiently waiting. He knew you very well by now, fully conscious that as sweet as you were acting now, that was it ― an act. And he loved every bit of it. He liked the way you replied to him when sex wasn’t involved, taking no shit from anyone, your snarky remarks driving him crazy.

Joel sat down on the rock and motioned for you to join him on his lap. You joyfully obliged, sitting atop of him. Your knees to each side of his waist, your bust against his, skin to skin. Your nipples grazed his chest, becoming harder at the electric contact. He cupped both of your boobs and pushed them up, so he could kiss them tenderly. You sighed, your mouth against his ear. Still holding your breasts, he unattached his lips from your nipples to peck your chin.

“Fuck me, darlin’”.

You looked down between you two. His erection was so prominent you knew it was hurting him. And you could ease that pain for him. Heaving, you lifted your hips up and grabbed his dick. It was hard but soft at the same time, velvety, very warm and beating. So sensitive to the touch he groaned ― music to your ears. You hugged his neck with your free arm as you guided his tip to your leaking entrance.

With a sudden drop of your hips, you impaled yourself harshly ― his bollocks kissing your tumid lips. You circled your hips against his, very slowly, which made you both moan in unison. Then you raised your body, his cock slipping out completely. Holding him from the base, you came down on him sharply again.

Joel was close to losing his mind. If you did that one more time, he wasn’t going to be able to hold it for much longer. You seemed to understand that, because you started to rock your hips back and forth, up and down. He kneaded your ass, feeling your rhythm, spurring you on. His fingers squeezed the skin under them while he kissed your collarbone. His mind was completely blank ― he could only focus on your sweet pussy hugging him, choking him. His dick felt so wet, so hot, throbbing for release… You kept on riding him, your movements growing erratic as you both were close to climax.

You surrounded Joel’s neck with both arms, pressing your breasts against his handsome face, your hips flushed with his, as your cunt angrily convulsed around his erection in blissful liberation. Joel held it together while you recovered, his hands still on your ass cheeks, fingers so clutched they were close to dislocating.

“Baby, if you don’t get off, I’m―”, pain smeared his tone. He was really fighting for his life right there and then.

“Oh, sorry”, you said with a small voice, still feeling your own pleasure. You elevated your hips, so his manhood popped out with a squelching sound.

You were not going to leave him hanging, obviously. So you kneeled before him, in between his strong legs, and kissed his tip. Joel sighed loudly when you closed off your lips around him for the second time today and pumped his shaft fast and strong, milking him dry. A minute later, your throat was clogged with his spent. A drop of it trickled down the corner of your mouth.

Joel leaned forward and caught the cum off the corner of your mouth with his thumb before rubbing it on your lips. Then he kissed you wetly, devouring you. He could never have enough of you.

“Thank you, sir”, you whispered with a smile when he was done assaulting your mouth.

He just smiled back. A genuine smile, the first you had seen from him. It tugged at your heart a little.

You were still feeling restless. Although you had orgasmed four times already, your pussy lips were so inflamed you thought you were on your way down to hell. Still on your knees in front of him, you softly massaged your sensitive clit. It was burning ― you suppressed a sob as you glanced up at him, lips slightly parted.

“What is it? Is your tight pussy still gushing, sweetheart?”, he asked you, cupping your chin.

You nodded, tears of frustration blurring your vision.

“I need more, I can’t ― my pussy is on fire, sir”, you muttered, feeling sorry for yourself. You were in a heightened state of sensory overload.

“Let me help you with that then”, you almost cried of relief at his words.

You quickly got up and kneeled on top of his lap again. He slipped a hand in between your bodies to caress your core. Your flesh trembled at the touch. Suddenly you realised you desperately needed to find your own rhythm ― you didn’t have to communicate it, Joel understood it in a second. He stopped and let you do what you had to do. You placed the palm of your hands on his shoulders and started rubbing your pussy against the side of his still hand. You slid your cunt further up to his elbow, and then returned back to his wrist. Your clit greedily welcomed the tingling sensation of the hair on his forearm against your wet slit.

You kept on rocking your hips back and forth on his forearm, pressing hard against it, sliding, rubbing and causing as much friction as you could, the heat in your belly flowing down to your crotch. You buried your fingers in his wet hair and tilted his head backwards so you could rest your forehead against his. Your inner walls contracted extremely hard and then you let go, squirting plentifully for a few never-ending seconds on Joel’s forearm. Your overstimulated cunt was leaking on top of him as if someone had opened the tap of your pleasure and couldn’t close it. When the last wave of your climax abandoned you, you looked down to see how it all trickled down from his forearm onto his lap.

You closed your eyes, content, when he gently tapped your pussy a few times. You breathed in deeply, feeling completely satisfied, finally at peace. Then you pecked his lips with gratitude.

“Better now, baby?”.

“Yes, infinitely better. I―I’m sorry I made a mess”.

“Don’t you apologise for that”.

You both remained in that position for a few minutes ― his now relaxed, wet cock warmly lodged between the flaps of your still dribbling cunt. He hugged your waist to bring you closer to him, his mouth brushing yours in a moment of calmness you had not experienced with him yet.

When his lips released yours, you placed your cheek against his right shoulder, your fingertips tracing the scar on it. Silence ensued, neither of you felt the need to fill it with words.

As much as you fought against yourself, you had feelings for Joel. Although you probably didn’t know all his faces, you knew enough about him to love him. The way he would have you on your tiptoes with his sarcastic comments, his bluntness, his rudeness, the way he would snap back at you when you pressed his buttons ― but also his kindness, his caring side, his softness, how he worried about you making sure you were okay, his demanding sexual needs, the way he made you feel when his hands mapped out your skin.

But you were not sure what he thought about all of this. In some respects, his mind was inscrutable. It was part of his charming personality, you guessed. You kissed the scar on his shoulder as he buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“I love how you smell”, he murmured.

“Is that the only thing you love about me?”, you couldn’t resist, the words just slipped out of your mouth. You wished you could take them back, but it was too late for that.

Joel slightly froze in place at your question. He couldn’t deny that he had started to develop feelings for you. The way you looked at him made him want to be a better person. Although you drove him crazy sometimes, you made his days bearable, a shining beautiful light amongst so much darkness. You were his lighthouse, guiding him to shore. He just needed to learn how to surf through the violent waves before he could safely approach the coast.

Knowing how close he had been to losing you had opened his eyes to a new, unknown reality. He would literally kill for you if he had to ― he had already done it and would do it all over again without blinking. No regrets whatsoever.

But he had some unresolved trust issues when it came to romantic relationships. Joel married Sarah’s mother, Charlotte, when they were both twenty-one years old, as soon as they knew they were expecting. The first two years were very hard on them both, parenthood was not a piece of cake. Resentment had grown between them, to the point where Charlotte had accused him of robbing her of her fun years, which led her to cheat on him. They tried to salvage their marriage for the sake of Sarah, but they never did ― Charlotte died in a car accident while on a heated, angry phone call with Joel.

He locked away those thoughts ― it wasn’t the time nor the place to dwell on the past. Not when he had you with him.

“I… well, no. I love everything about you, sweetheart”, he conceded.

Your heart skipped a beat with joy. No, it wasn’t a love confession, but it was much more than what you were expecting of him. You turned your face against his neck and placed a kiss on his Adam’s apple.

“C’mon, let’s freshen up, I want to clean my mess off you, I do feel a bit bad”, you said with a chuckle.

You got off his lap, the cool breeze touching your sweaty skin. You offered him a hand, which he took, standing up behind you. Without letting go of his fingers interlaced with yours, you guided him to the water. It was cold, but you ventured inside with Joel following you. When the level was up to your waist, you turned around in Joel’s embrace.

You proceeded to wash off your cum and his off his cock, his lap, his forearm. When you were done, he kissed the top of your head. His left hand did the same to you, his fingers caressing your pussy, cleaning the proof of your shared pleasure. He did so not in a sexual way, but in a caring, intimate way. A minute later, you both disappeared beneath the water to emerge a second later, to wash off all the sweat. You found yourself in his arms again, your cheek against his chest ― you could hear his heart beating loudly but steadily.

“Joel, I―”, you didn’t know where to start. There were thoughts you had been wanting to put into words for a while now. “What happened to me sucks and I still die a bit inside when the memories come back at night. But none of it was your fault, nor mine. I do not want those bastards to win, to ruin my life. And my life with you. And I know it will take time to heal that part of me, or maybe it will never heal, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want you. I want you so badly, Joel, but what I do not want is you walking on eggshells around me. I’m not broken, I want to move forward, not get stuck in the past. Do you understand what I mean?”, you asked, your cheek still against his chest, looking up at him.

His eyes were focused on yours. His heart shrunk a bit, sharing your pain. If he could, he would take it away, all of it ― the fear, the panic attacks, the agony, the memories, the nightmares. But he couldn’t change the past. So, he nodded.

“I do, honey”, he whispered as he bowed down to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

You both stood there for a few more minutes, hugging each other in silence. Then Joel grumpily ended the embrace.

“We should get back, Tommy is going to kill us”.

You laughed because it was so true. You both got out of the lake, towelled down and got dressed. You started walking towards the campsite besides him ― your hand in his, fingers entangled. When you saw the tent and Tommy’s outline against the fire, you got ready to release his hand. But he didn’t let go when Tommy turned around to look at both of you.

You tried to hide a soft smile ― and failed.

The younger Miller noticed you holding hands but made no comment about it. But he did smile. A very wide smile.

“Well, about damn time, dinner is almost ready”, he said with amusement, pointing to the rabbit impaled with a stick roasting on top of the fire. “If you took any longer, the rabbit was going to come back to life and run away”.

“Always so theatrical, Tommy”, you chuckled.

[doormatty3]

Pushing Further (Josh Lambert x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Josh Lambert x Female Reader] [Josh Lambert x You] There is nothing more stressful than moving day - the campus is packed with freshmen and their parents. And you just want some peace and quiet. However, amidst the tumult, a tall, broad, and handsome man grabs your attention that is until he sends you sprawling to the floor. Annoyed you go on with your life and meet Dalton who you soon befriend. When you find out that the stranger is his father - you're doomed. Josh Lambert is everything you want in a man but there are reasons why you should not give in: He's almost two decades your senior, divorced and most importantly your friend's dad So you go out of your way to avoid him and walk the tightrope between attraction and avoidance. That doesn't make him any less hot though - even more when you discover that the attraction is mutual. OR: And they were friends - except you fucked his dad.

Wordcount: 7,134

Warnings: 18+, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, smut, dirty talk, older man/ younger woman, daddy issues

A/N: There is a criminally small amount of Josh Lambert ffs, so I decided to change that

ALSO: Insidious 5 plot (Josh Lambert) >>>>

You hate move-in day. 

The college campus swirls with a kaleidoscope of emotions. Freshmen, wide-eyed and eager, navigate through the labyrinth of unfamiliar buildings, their parents hovering nearby, taking in the scenery, a mix of pride and reluctance in their gaze as they prepare to part with their newly-minted scholars.

The sun bathes the bustling scene in its warm rays, transforming the campus into a vibrant panorama. The old grey stone building looms tall and resolute against the canvas of the sky. It wears the patina of years with a dignified charm, its weathered facade a testament to the countless stories etched into its walls.

As you observe this annual rite of passage, a sense of nostalgia mingles with a tinge of wistfulness. Your own move-in day, with its mix of excitement and trepidation, feels like a distant reverie. Now a senior, the campus teeming with eager newcomers stirs conflicting emotions. The excitement and youthful energy are heartening, yet the multitude of people and the bustling activity feel almost too much, too overwhelming.

You sit at a secluded spot beneath the sprawling canopy of one of the many trees that grace the campus. From this vantage point, you observe the ebb and flow of people, hesitant to venture into the dorms that will surely be crowded.

The leaves above gently rustle in the breeze as you sit, absorbing the sights and sounds of the day. 

Your attention is drawn to a cluster of fellow students distributing flyers, unmistakably advertising a fraternity event that you have never attended and will never attend - the frat boys just creep you out. Self-assured and arrogant has never been your type to hang out with.

However, amidst the lively scene, your gaze lingers on a lanky young man strolling by, seemingly impervious to the flyers being thrust into the hands of passersby. 

Artist, you think. Everything about him just extrudes an artistic flair and you’re sure that your assumption would be right if you were to ask him.

You watch him stride away from the frat boys and you can’t help but think that he made a good choice by not interacting with them.

Your attention shifts from the bustling crowd to the presence of a man making his way down the path. Intrigued, you furrow your brow, momentarily curious about whose father he is. Your eyes linger on him, drawn by a magnetic quality.

As he walks, you find it hard not to notice his striking appearance. Despite the rough edges, there’s a rugged handsomeness about him. He is tall, with broad shoulders and his short, wispy light brown hair catches the sunlight, adding a subtle sparkle to his presence. A scruffy stubble grazes his face, enhancing that rugged charm.

Your gaze can’t help but follow the flex of his muscles as he carries a considerable amount of stuff for his child. The hot summer day is a blessing, you think, since it prompted him to don a tight polo shirt and shorts. You silently appreciate the view - the way his biceps and triceps tense with each step, and the way the shirt accentuates the breadth of his shoulders and chest.

Silently observing, you witness him engaging in conversation with the fraternity members, taking one of their flyers, presumably for his child. You can see him being a frat boy in his younger years - he certainly has the looks. 

As he walks away, the flyer securely in his grasp, your eyes remain fixed on him. The contrast between his mature, composed stature and the frat boys is striking. His steps are deliberate, and everything about his presence seems secure and strong.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you watch him and you’re somewhat surprised - even if also glad - that he doesn’t acknowledge your burning gaze since you’re practically undressing him.

Part of you hopes that you’ll see him more often on the campus and that that won’t be the last time your paths cross - maybe you’ll be able to strike up a conversation with him.

Your gaze lingers in the direction where the broad man disappeared and you find yourself momentarily lost. The vibrant energy of those who come after him seems to pale in comparison, they fail to capture your interest and it begins to feel boring.

With a sigh, you stretch your limbs, the pull of your muscles urging you to stand up. The prospect of a quieter atmosphere within the dorms becomes increasingly tempting, and hope that the flow of people there will have dulled. 

_____

Rounding the corner and approaching your dorm, you eagerly open the door, hoping for a reprieve from the bustling crowds. However, your optimism is quickly diminished as you find the space still densely packed with a mix of eager freshmen, parents, and the occasional irritated senior, annoyed at the number of people - a hive of activity and a melting pot of an array of voices.

Undeterred, you press forward, determined to make your way to your room despite the persistent throng. 

Navigating through the diverse sea of faces you make your way down the corridor. The air is charged with a blend of anticipation, familial warmth, and a touch of exasperation from those who had hoped for a quieter return to their familiar living spaces.

The sounds of conversations, laughter, and occasional sighs create a lively symphony that fills the air, providing a vivid backdrop to the varied emotions playing out in the cramped dormitory corridor. 

Turning another corner, your curiosity is piqued, and you slow your pace to observe the activity around you. As you walk past a series of doors, your attention is drawn to the scenes unfolding in each room - freshmen unpacking with enthusiasm and parents offering last-minute advice.

Lost in this observational moment, you’re caught off guard as someone collides with you, sending you sprawling to the floor suddenly. A breath escapes you and you blink disoriented.

In the abrupt stillness that follows, you glance up to see the source of the collision, and to your surprise, it’s the handsome man from earlier. In the fleeting seconds your eyes lock, and you notice the striking shade of blue in his gaze and the sadness that seems to emanate from him.

Rather than offering a hand to help you up, he mumbles a quick apology and resumes his stride without missing a beat. A sense of frustration flares within you - as handsome as he is, his manners are clearly lacking.

Arsehole, you think as. you gather yourself from the floor with a shake of your head.

The brief encounter leaves you with a mix of bewilderment and a lingering sense of irritation as you make your way to your room.

______

Professor Armagan’s voice reverberates through the expansive art studio, commanding the attention of her assembled freshman class as she introduces you. 

“Today, I want you to meet one of our seniors—she’s really gifted, and it’s important to me that you get to know more students of mine,“ she declares, her enthusiasm evident in the cadence of her words.

You raise your hand in acknowledgement, a subtle greeting to the newcomers, and take a moment to let your eyes wander across the room. The art studio, a sanctuary of creativity, is filled with eager faces, each potentially harbouring a unique artistic voice.

As your gaze travels through the room, you spot the lanky boy from the first day. 

Ha, I knew it, a quiet sense of validation washes over you - your intuition about him being an artist appears spot-on and judging by the strokes on his canvas, a talented one at that.

The lesson unfolds with a straightforward tempo, and your role is mainly confined to sharing insights about the college and providing a glimpse into how art functions in Professor Armagan’s class. The information is delivered efficiently, and you find yourself relieved as the session concludes.

“Hi, I’m Dalton,“ the lanky boy strides up to you, extending a hand in greeting.

You reciprocate with a friendly smile, taking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Dalton,“ 

As your eyes fall upon Dalton’s pencil drawing, you can’t help but offer a genuine compliment. “Wow, this is really good. You’ve got some serious talent,“ you remark, appreciating the skill evident in his work.

Dalton’s face lights up with a grateful smile. “Thanks, I appreciate that,“ he replies, the sincerity in his tone confirming your initial impression of him as a genuinely nice individual, and you find yourself thinking that Dalton is the kind of person you could see yourself being friends with. 

“You have to work on your disguise though - I could tell from a mile away that you chose the art program and was just wondering whether you made it to her class,“ with a playful grin, you jest to Dalton.

Dalton chuckles at your remark, and there’s a warmth in his response, “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty obvious, huh? Can’t hide the artist in me, I suppose.“

As you both exit the art studio together, the door softly closes behind you, the ambient sounds of the campus filling the air. The sunlight casts a warm glow over the pathway as you begin to make your way through the bustling campus, the occasional laughter and conversations of students blending into the lively background.

Turning to Dalton, you initiate a conversation about his college experience so far. 

“So, how are you finding college so far? How’s it treating you?“ you inquire, a casual smile accompanying your words.

Dalton reflects, “It’s been an interesting ride. Meeting new people, navigating through classes, and, of course, diving into the art program. It’s everything I hoped for, honestly.“

The two of you continue to stroll, the campus unfolds around you. 

Dalton shares more about his classes and the artistic projects he’s eager to explore, and you reciprocate with your own anecdotes.

Continuing your conversation, you find a natural segue to inquire about Dalton’s residence on campus. “By the way, which dorm are you in?“ you ask curiously with a casual tone.

Dalton smiles, “Oh, I’m in the last one down the path. How about you?“

As he reveals his dormitory, you can’t help but feel a spark of excitement. “No way! Me too,“ you respond, a genuine grin spreading across your face.

Dalton’s eyes light up with joy, and you pick up on the enthusiasm that suggests he might not have a large circle of friends. 

He suggests, “We should totally hang out sometime. And you’ve got to meet my roommate, Chris – she’s really cool.“

You quirk an eyebrow and playfully tease Dalton, “Rooming with a girl, huh? The administration must have a wild sense of humour.“

Dalton chuckles, “Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise for both of us. Chris is fine, though. We make it work.“

You share a laugh, the notion of unexpected room assignments becoming a shared source of amusement. “Well, I’m definitely looking forward to meeting this mysterious Chris. Maybe the three of us could grab a coffee or something,“ you suggest, already envisioning potential hangout sessions.

Dalton’s eyes light up with genuine enthusiasm. “That sounds awesome! Chris will love it. She’s been itching to make some new friends around here.“

“How about this? There’s this amazing little coffee shop I’ve been a regular at since my first year here. It’s got this cosy vibe, and I think you and Chris would really enjoy it,“ you suggest, your enthusiasm echoing through your words.

Dalton’s eyes light up even more, his excitement matching yours. “That sounds awesome! I’m in, and I’m sure Chris will love it too.“

As you and Dalton walk through the dormitory halls, he suddenly comes to a stop and points to a door. “This is my room,“ he says with an appreciative smile, gratitude evident in his eyes.

You return the smile and quip, “Well, look at that! I guess I’ve been on the unofficial welcome committee. My room’s just further down the hall.“

Dalton laughs, appreciating the light-hearted exchange. “Thanks for walking with me. Do you wanna stop by tomorrow? I’d introduce you to Chris and we can get that coffee?“

“Absolutely, sounds like a plan,“ you respond. “See you tomorrow, dude,“ you add with a nod and a parting wave, continuing down the hall to your own room.

_____

The next day, you make your way to Dalton and Chris’s room, thankful to do something today. The familiar dormitory halls lead you to their door, and you give a light knock before it swings open.

Dalton greets you with a welcoming smile. “Hey! Glad you could make it. This is Chris,“ he introduces, gesturing towards a short, black girl with braided hair, vibrant clothes, and a warm smile.

“Nice to meet you! Dalton’s mentioned you,“ Chris says and extends her hand, you grab it and shake it.

Upon entering the room, your eyes are immediately drawn to Dalton’s paintings adorning the walls. “These are really nice,“ you remark, genuinely appreciating the artistic talent displayed.

Dalton beams with gratitude. “Thanks,“ he responds, a hint of pride in his voice.

As the three of you settle into conversation, you decide to delve into a bit of small talk. “So, Chris, do you also major in art?“ you inquire, curious about her academic pursuits.

Chris chuckles, her demeanour warm and friendly. “Nope, not at all. I’m actually a math major. Total left brain-right brain dynamic we’ve got going on here,“ she says with a playful twinkle in her eye.

As the conversation flows, a sudden knock interrupts the camaraderie. Chris and Dalton exchange confused glances, both wearing expressions of mild bewilderment. “Were you expecting someone?“ Chris asks, looking at Dalton.

Dalton shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No, I have no idea. Were you?“

“Nah,“ Chris mirrors the headshake.

The room falls into a brief silence as Dalton opens the door, revealing a man standing on the threshold. Dalton’s confusion is palpable as he utters, “Dad?“

A breath hitches in your throat as recognition sets in. It’s him - the handsome man from your first day, the same person who unintentionally sent you sprawling to the floor and didn’t have the decency to help you up. The lingering ache in your hip serves as a constant reminder of that memorable encounter.

“Hey. Sorry for the surprise visit. I was in the area and thought I’d drop by and talk to Dalton,“ he says, his eyes widening a bit as they lock onto yours. Recognition flickers across his face. “I’m Josh, by the way.“

Holding his gaze, you find yourself momentarily captivated, drinking in the details like a starved soul. His blue eyes, once a passing detail, now reveal a depth that draws you in. The slight curl of his hair at the nape of his neck and around his ears adds a touch of casual charm, accentuated by the scruff of his beard that now appears more prominent. Your gaze appreciatively lingers on the nuances, savouring the details.

Your appreciative gaze shifts downward, taking in the way his dark blue, tight dress jacket with rolled-up sleeves complements the form-fitting light blue t-shirt beneath. The fabric spans deliciously over his broad shoulders, chest, and the little tummy he has, accentuating his physique effortlessly. It makes you want to be under him, your bodies pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly with his strong body - you’re sure that he’s soft in just the right places while being muscular and powerful.

The spell of fascination is abruptly broken as Chris, standing next to you, coughs purposefully to snap you out of your trance. The sudden interruption startles both you and Josh and you tear your eyes away from him. 

You can’t shake the feeling that the attraction is not one-sided. Josh’s lingering gaze and the subtle shift in his expression suggest that he, too, was captivated.

The realization that the attraction might be mutual, even in this unexpected and somewhat inappropriate context, leaves a tinge of discomfort. Josh is not just a stranger; he’s Dalton’s dad, Dalton who is your friend. You silently hope that Dalton didn’t pick up on it. 

Meeting Dalton’s gaze, you instantly sense that hope is futile - his raised eyebrow speaks volumes,

Josh clears his throat and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, your eyes involuntarily follow the movement, captivated by the subtle gestures. 

For a brief moment, you indulge in the thought of his lips on yours, and his tongue on you. You wonder, if the stubble would scratch you, leaving marks on your skin so you could remember and feel him days later.

“Well, I should get going—I didn’t want to interrupt you,“ Josh says, directing his gaze at you again. “It was nice to meet you.“

As Josh offers a tight-lipped smile and exits the room. Once he’s gone, both Dalton and Chris turn their attention toward you.

“What was that?“ Chris’s inquiry comes with a hint of humour.

“Could you not undress him with your eyes next time - he’s my dad,“ Dalton says to you and you feel your cheeks heating up.

“I’m sorry, man,“ you mumble, a tinge of embarrassment colouring your words, “It isn’t my fault he’s hot.“

_____

The next time you encounter him, you’re on your way to your dorm as Josh is just leaving.

“Hey, Josh,“ you greet him with a bright smile.

He responds with a big, bright, and goofy grin etched on his handsome face. You can’t help but think that he looks good when he smiles. 

“Hey, it’s nice to see you again,“ he greets you, his eyes sweeping over your form, lingering longer on the neckline of your tight shirt than is appropriate. 

“I’m sorry for running you over when he first met,“ he starts, scratching over the hair on the back of his head, “ Or at least just walking away and not helping you up again.“

You reach out to place a reassuring hand on the skin of his arm. Intending for it to be a featherlight, brief touch, as soon as your fingertips trace over his arm, it feels like electricity is being passed through you. 

Josh, in response to the touch, swallows heavily, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a visible display of tension. Instead of pulling away, he surprises both of you by taking your hand in his. Intertwining your fingers, he begins to rub soothing circles over the back of your hand with his thumb.

You notice the size of his hands—big and fitting for a man of his stature.

At that moment, it feels as though time stands still. Both of you just stand there, locked in a gaze, drinking in each other’s presence. 

As he moves a bit closer, you become acutely aware of him, and his scent engulfs you like a private cocoon. It’s uniquely him - a blend of cologne and something inherently Josh. The cologne carries a woody fragrance, specifically dry wood, with nuanced undertones of sandalwood and amber.

The sun casts shadows on his face and accentuates the contours of his features. You observe that the short beard framing his face is threaded with salt-and-pepper hair. The interplay of light and shadows makes him more than just attractive—it renders him captivating. 

His blue eyes, sparkling in the sunlight, reveal a depth that draws you in. They are akin to fire in water, reflecting a passionate intensity that burns within the warm sun-lit undercurrents of his gaze. 

The healthy shine of his hair catches your attention, and you can’t help but notice the vibrancy it adds to his overall appearance. Your fingers itch to push the wayward locks behind his ear again, to feel if it is as soft as it looks.

The enchanting moment is abruptly shattered as someone carelessly bumps into you, jolting you out of the reverie. In the sudden disturbance, Josh releases your hand.

“I-,“ he clears his throat, the remnants of the charged moment still lingering, “should get going.“

There’s a palpable pause, a shared awareness of the disrupted connection. At that moment, you sense that he, too, is affected by the sudden intrusion into the private bubble you unintentionally created. The unspoken understanding between you deepens, and as he looks at you with an intensity that mirrors your own feelings, you find yourself nodding in agreement.

As Josh begins to move away, you’re left standing there, your gaze fixed on him. Your eyes trail along his departing figure, captivated by the sight of his muscular back.

_____

The inappropriate thoughts about Josh weigh heavily on your conscience, creating a turbulent storm of emotions within you that refuses to settle.  Part of you acknowledges the relief of not having seen him in quite some time, while another part feels a twinge of sadness - There’s an undeniable sense of loss or longing; you want to see him again. 

But you cherish your friendship with Dalton and don’t want to jeopardise it. It feels like you walk on a tightrope between desire and loyalty, especially because you’re fairly certain that this perpetual tension will snap at some point. So you find yourself consciously avoiding Dalton and Chris’s room. The fear of running into his handsome father fuels you, in particular, because he seems to make frequent visits - and the question lingers in the front of your mind: does he purposefully stop by so often, driven by a desire to see you?

Your gaze drifts around your dorm room, and you spot a sketchbook that isn’t yours. A moment of realization hits you like a sudden jolt—shit, that’s Dalton’s. He’s forgotten it again.

With the certainty that both Dalton and Chris are currently in class, you entertain the idea of stopping by to return the forgotten sketchbook. The timing seems opportune—no risk of encountering them, and by extension, no chance of a surprise visit from Josh, Dalton’s father.

The thought forms a plan in your mind, and you decide to seize the moment. The dormitory halls echo with quiet solitude as you make your way to Dalton and Chris’s room.

The door swings open, and to your surprise, the room isn’t as empty as you expected. There, standing in the middle of the room is Josh,

Time seems to slow as you lock eyes with him, and an involuntary thought escapes your mind— Jesus, your memories really didn’t do his handsomeness justice.

You find yourself taking in the details—the way the room frames him, the play of light accentuating the contours of his features, and the way his presence seems to fill the space.

All the subtle nuances of his appearance, from the slightly tousled hair to the hint of scruff on his jaw, draw your attention. His blue eyes, usually a captivating shade, seem to shine darker than normal, adding a layer of intensity to the moment.

“I didn’t expect you here,“ the words escape your mouth, almost breathlessly, and you curse the involuntary reaction you have to Josh.

Instead of responding immediately, he looks you over, his gaze lingering on your form. Then, he opens his mouth and says, “You’ve been avoiding me.“ 

It’s not a question; it’s a statement, and it holds a truth you can’t deny. You have been avoiding him, but it’s more about not trusting yourself in his presence than anything else.

As you remain silent, Josh takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. His hand lands on the wood of the door, near your head, applying gentle pressure. The muscles in his chest and arms tense as he leans against the door, closing it with a quiet click. 

Instead of moving away, he keeps standing there, effectively boxing you in between the door and his body.

He maintains an unbroken gaze on you, his eyes locked onto yours. The close proximity allows you to observe the intricate details of his eyes. They are not uniformly blue; instead, there’s a fascinating interplay of shades. A ring of light blue delicately encircles the pupil, creating a mesmerizing gradient with the darker blue that surrounds it. The hues blend seamlessly, forming a captivating dance of colours within the confines of his gaze.

The fragile silence hangs in the air, and a subtle fear lingers—fear that any spoken word or sudden movement might shatter the enchanting spell woven between you and Josh. In the cocoon of quietude, you choose to remain still, each heartbeat echoing in the confined space, cautious not to disrupt the delicate equilibrium of the moment. 

You can’t help but feel lazy arousal starting to pool through your veins, fueled by Josh.

“Tell me to stop,“ Josh speaks, his words almost a whisper, “tell me to walk away.“

The quiet plea hangs in the air, revealing the internal struggle he faces. He’s your friend’s dad, divorced, and almost two decades your senior—valid reasons to resist the magnetic pull drawing you both in. Yet, in this charged moment, those rational arguments seem to lose their significance in the haze of him that clouds your thoughts. 

Your eyes flicker to his lips, and as quietly as he had spoken, you finally respond, “Kiss me.“

And so he does. 

Josh’s lips descend to yours, capturing you in a kiss that feels both urgent and consuming. His warm hand gently cups your cheek, adding a tender touch to the intensity of the moment. It’s a kiss that feels like an act of hunger as if he’s been starved and you are the only remedy to satiate it.

Your hands find their way to his strong shoulders, instinctively pulling him closer as you reciprocate the kiss. The texture of his lips against yours becomes a tactile language, each brush and press conveying a depth of emotion words might fall short of capturing. You feel his stubble scrape over your skin. The taste of his kiss is a fusion of want and need, a shared desire that resonates between you, eclipsing any reservations that linger in the back of your mind. 

Josh breaks the kiss, and both of you are left breathless. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,“ he confesses, his voice laden with a mixture of desire and relief.

He starts leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, and you laugh quietly in response. “Well, I have an idea,“ you playfully remark and reminisce of when you first met him - you wanted to do that since then. 

“Yeah, tell me,“ Josh smiles, his hand finding its way into your hair, tightening its grip. He is looking directly into your eyes smouldering blue burning into you as he leans down to bite into your bottom lip lightly.

“Josh,“ was all you managed to say in a breathy voice.

His lips move to your jaw, leaving soft kisses and sucking a mark into the soft skin of your neck, letting his teeth nip over the spot before moving on. You let out a moan and dig your fingers into his shoulders, before loosening your hold and roaming his whole back. You feel the strength of his muscles between your hands as well as the heat he emanates. 

Not being able to contain yourself, you are desperate for some skin so you lift up the hem of his shirt and slip your hands under it, feeling his skin. 

With a groan Josh presses his hips into yours, making you feel the hardness of the erection he is sporting. You grind against it as you feel your heart beating fast in your chest.

Josh pulls back, his eyes dark and glinting with arousal. 

He slips his thick fingers under the thin straps of your dress and pulls them over your shoulders, leaving burning pathways in the wake of his touch. At that moment, you’re so glad you decided to wear a dress. And you second that again, when he tucks down the upper part of your dress, exposing your breasts to his nimble fingers and hungry eyes.

Almost instantly his hands find their way to your tits and you groan when he rubs the pad of his thumb over your nipple. 

Josh takes his sweet time exploring you and finding out which sound he can wring from you by just his hands touching your chest. Deliberately, he flicks his forefinger against the hardened bud before capturing it between two fingers, rolling and tugging on it.

His lips skate over your collarbones, nibbling and sucking leaving more marks in his wake. 

Something shortcircuits in your brain when you notice how his hands span over your ribs, making you feel fragile beneath him. And in that moment you want nothing more than for him to just lift you and impale you on him, manipulate you to his liking until the only thing you can remember is his name. 

You hook your fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, pulling his hips against yours, wishing that he wasn’t wearing anything. You feel the hardness of his cock pressed against your belly as you grind down on him. 

When his lips and fingers leave your skin you almost whine at the loss of contact but Josh wraps an arm around your back, pulling you flush against his thick frame before covering your mouth with his own again, possessing you.

He presses one of those strong thighs between your legs, pressing it against your clothed cunt, locking you against the wood of the door again. Without a coherent thought, you moan into his mouth as the rough fabric of his jeans rubs over your wet pussy.

Frantic your hands undo the belt and open his jeans, pushing it down, before tugging on his shirt, desperate for more skin. Josh takes pity on your frazzled attempts and takes off his shirt, pulling it over his head as well as letting his jeans fall to the floor with a quiet thud. 

His skin is damp, a thin sheen of sweat giving it a dewy glow that catches the light of the room. Your eyes trace over him appreciatively, taking in the details that make him undeniably attractive as he just watches you with dark, hooded eyes. 

The rise and fall of his chest, accompanied by a scattering of sparse chest hair, draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on the muscles that play beneath the softness of his belly. In this moment, you find that he is a perfect harmonious mix between being ripped and soft.

Driven by a need to touch - to feel - him your fingers trace a delicate path across Josh’s chest, shoulders, and belly, exploring the terrain of his skin with a gentle curiosity. 

As your fingertips navigate the expanse of his chest, you feel his breath and breathing heart, a subtle rhythm syncing with the beating of your own heart. The transition to his shoulders unveils the sinewy strength that lies beneath, a testament to the physicality that drew you in. Moving lower, your touch encounters the softness of his belly, tracing the trail of hair that leads into his briefs. 

Without warning you cup his hard cock that’s straining against the fabric of his underwear, making him groan, a deep sound that reverberates through his chest. 

Josh wraps his arms around you, lifting you up as he dips his head to kiss you. He bites your lip, the sharp nip of his teeth making you whimper into his mouth. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass as he carries you, prompting you to wrap your legs around his thick middle.

With one fluid movement, he sets you down on the desk, dimly you register the books on the table being swept to the floor. He slots himself between your legs as he tangles his hand in your hair to tilt your head back to force you to meet his gaze.

“If you want to stop - at any point - you tell me,“  Josh’s voice is a quiet, husky murmur, the darkness in his eyes reflecting the pleasure shared between you. His lips, now deliciously pinked from your kisses, hover close.

Wordlessly, you nod. In this moment, he embodies everything you desire and more, a captivating presence that has ensnared your senses. If this is your only chance at tasting him, feeling him, having you - you’ll gladly take it. If not somewhat sad, because you’re sure you will not be able to forget him.

He captures your lips in another short kiss while hitching your dress up higher. Josh’s hand is between your legs now, rubbing one finger over your clothed cunt. You just know that the cotton has to be damp, that he now feels how much you want this - want him.

When he applies more pressure, scraping over your clit you arch your back into his touch. His eyes are on yours, drinking in your every reaction. 

Josh repeats the act and you rake your fingers over his back so hard you’re certain to have marked him. It’s making him moan, low, deep and frantic as if he’s enjoying this as much as you. Your entire skin fizzles with electricity upon his reaction.

In one fluid motion, he seats himself beneath your things and yanks your ass off the edge of the desk. His fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and he pulls them down, off your legs.

Just the sight of Josh between your legs edges you closer to an orgasm. His big hands are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you open for him. If you had to describe the look in his eyes you don’t know if another word than feral was fitting. 

He makes you want to paint him, to capture this moment for eternity, with his messy hair and dark eyes.

Your head falls back and every thought becomes impossible when he presses a featherlight kiss on your clit, the stubble prickling like electricity. You cry out when he draws a circle around it with his wet tongue.

“You need to be quiet, sweetheart,“ he says, voice low, rough and deep. “Wouldn’t want anyone to come in here, right?“

You can’t do much other than nod - you know that you can try but you also surely know that you will fail.  

As soon as Josh presses his palm across your stomach to hold you down and tastes your cunt with a long lick you lose that train of thought again. 

He builds you up with a slow and dexterous tongue, determined to make you cum beneath him. Your back arches off the desk, only held down by his strong arm as you whimper. 

You feel your cunt clenching and you’re sure that you’re staining the desk with your wetness. 

Arousal crashes through your vein and you feel yourself getting closer - and he apparently also does because he hooks his arms around you, to pull you closer to his mouth. 

A curse rolls over your tongue when he sinks two of his thick fingers into your cunt, curling them inside your so you spasm around him.

While you know that your orgasm is drawing closer it still hits you like a freight train. The mixture of his fingers and his mouth on your clit brings you over the edge. 

You cry out and your back arches off the desk, fire pulsing through you. Josh’s mouth is still on you, licking through your wet cunt, catching every drop. You feel like your muscles are locking up and the fire has extended to your lungs as he continues to work you through it. Only when you whimper against him, overstimulated he pulls back. 

Josh’s neck and chin are coated in your wetness, glistening in the light of the room. A blinding smile is etched across his features, reaching his eyes. The pleasure radiating from him is palpable and genuine, he likes how you react to him.

Your fingers instinctively dig into the firm contours of Josh’s shoulders, a desperate longing urging him to rise and meet your lips. In response, his strong arms envelop you, pulling you irresistibly close as your mouths meld together in a fervent kiss. You taste the salty tang of yourself on his tongue. 

His hard cock is pressed against your bare cunt and you grind down on him, making him groan into the kiss. Just from feeling him, you know that he’s big and you ache to get your hands on him.

You reach into his briefs, following the trail of hair. Josh’s cock is thick and twitching in your palm as you smear precum over him to jerk him off easier. 

God, he’s going to split you in half, make you burn from the stretch as he forces you to accept every thick, hot inch of him.

Driven by need you push his underwear over his hips, mesmerizes as you finally see him naked. His dick stands proud and hard in neatly trimmed pubic hair. You wrap your hand around him again, tracing the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. Josh jerks his hips into your hand and you wet your lips as you clench around nothing. 

It’s almost surreal, the realization that this handsome and gorgeous man is as captivated by you as you are by him and you itch to return the favour and take him into your mouth to see what sounds you can elicit from him.

But when you show signs of slipping from the desk he stops you with a long-fingered hand on your thigh. 

“You can return the favour next time, we have to be quick,“ Josh’s voice is husky and dark as his eyes are on you intently.

Next time? Fuck, yes, you really hope that there will be a next time because you don’t think you can get enough of him.

His arms wrap around you again to claim your mouth before lifting you up from the desk. The dig of his fingers into your skin lingers are you just hope that they will bruise. He walks both of you over to a bed in the room, laying you down on your back.

Josh is a solid form above you, chest heaving as he braces his weight on his elbows. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, before licking a stripe along the length of your pulse.  

The feeling of his weight pressing you into the bed with his bare chest on yours is indescribable. The soft swell of his stomach against yours is heavenly s you claw into his shoulders and back to pull him further on you,

“Fuck me, please,“ your voice wrecked and hoarse as you buck against him, feeling his hard dick press against you.

He pushes his cock against your cunt, nudging your clit with every stroke, just slicking himself with your wetness. 

You whimper when you feel the tip of his broad dick slide into you, keeping it buried inside you, “Josh, please .“

Josh takes pity on you. He leans forwards and his eyes are on yours as he fills you with short and shallow thrusts, inching his cock further and further inside you. Your eyes fall closed at the overwhelming feeling of him in your cunt and he stops again.

Your eyes fly open when his hand finds its way around your throat, wordlessly telling you to keep your gaze locked on him. The slow drag of his dick elicits a high-pitched whine from you.

When his hips are flush against yours, he stills, giving you time to get used to him.

“Just like that…. You’re doing so well,“ his voice is low as he praises you. 

The combination of the barely contained edge in his voice and the praise causes you to clench around him, making Josh groan. You’re drunk off him, off how you feel every ridge, every vein against the wall of your cunt. 

When he pulls back and only leaves the tip inside you again, you whine. That is soon replaced by a loud moan as he slams his whole length into you. 

He feels impossibly deep in your cunt, like he’s carving himself inside with every slap, stroke and thrust of his hips. There is nothing you can do but lay there and take it.

With every thrust, he almost growls into your ear as he possesses you. The slap of his balls against you and the wet squelch of your cunt is loud in the room as he continues to wreck you.

The head of his cock drags over that spot that makes you see stars and you twitch and jerk against him, completely overwhelmed by him. 

You hiss when he reaches between you to press the pad of his thumb against your sensitive clit. He flicks it against it before starting to rub small circles that make you quiver under him and clench around him. 

Josh’s face is the epitome of concentration as he drives his dick inside you again and again, his brow furrowed as he fucks the both of you towards your high. 

You scream when you come. Blinding pleasure shoots through your veins, expanding from inside you and engulfing you. His lips come down to kiss you, capturing you in a feverish and feral kiss. Your teeth click together as he devours you and continues to slam into you. 

With a load groan, he pushes into you as deep as possible, clutching you tightly as his hips jerk and he spills inside you.  

He kisses you, hard and short while he keeps his hips flush with yours as he rocks them, milking himself dry. 

It feels almost soft when he pushes your damp hair from your face and cups your cheek as you catch your breath. The kiss you share is lazy and soft, your hands comb through his hair lightly. You wrap your arms around him tightly, holding him close and savouring the feeling of his body on yours. 

The post-orgasmic bliss disperses suddenly when you feel him soften inside you, his cum leaking onto the bed.

“Shit, Josh,“ panic is evident in your voice, “Get up.“ 

The realisation hits you, that Josh just ruined you in the room of his son  - on his desk and bed. You know that you can’t pretend that this never happened, not when you know how perfect he feels inside you or how he looks when he comes.

His quiet laugh irritates you at first but your eyes flutter closed again when he presses his lips against yours. 

“It will be fine,“ Josh’s blue eyes shine bright as he traces your lips with his thumb, “Let’s get cleaned up first. And then I’d like to take you out for some food.“

“Yeah… yeah,“ you start, a smile on your features, “I’d like that.“

[kashixxx47]

Tangled [ One Shot]✨🎀

↑the imagine is taken from pin [thanks to that]

The evening sunlight draped across Kakashi’s small living room, casting a warm glow on the worn cushions and the handful of books scattered around his low table. It wasn’t often he invited you over, but tonight felt different. The mission earlier had been grueling, and after making sure you were both safely back in Konoha, he surprised you with a soft, "Come by tonight?"

And here you were, curled up on his couch, sipping tea while he leaned back, his head resting on the armrest, eye lazily half-open as he watched you.

“So…” You set your cup down, giving him a long, appraising look. "What’s really going on with that hair of yours?”

Kakashi arched an eyebrow, one hand automatically going up to touch the silver spikes. “What’s wrong with my hair?” he asked, amusement barely hidden in his voice.

“Nothing! It’s just…” You laughed, reaching out before you could think twice. “Mind if I…?”

He shrugged, the easygoing gesture encouraging you. “If it means I don’t have to do it myself.”

You scooted closer, fingers hovering for a moment before finally diving in. His hair was softer than it looked, but tangled—a wild, silver mess with a will of its own. You gently started working your fingers through the strands, finding each little knot and smoothing it out, feeling him relax under your touch.

“Do you ever brush this?” you teased, gently untangling a particularly stubborn lock.

Kakashi huffed a laugh. “Does it look like I brush it?”

“Well…no.” You chuckled, but there was something quietly endearing about the messiness. You could feel him leaning into your touch, letting out a sigh that you were pretty sure he didn’t even realize he’d made. His shoulders softened, and he closed his eye, giving you a rare glimpse of his guard fully lowered.

As you continued, a comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by his occasional hum of appreciation. After a while, his eye cracked open again, a spark of amusement there.

“Think I look better now?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

You smiled, tugging gently on a strand in retaliation. “Maybe. But I think we’ve only made it messier.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Guess that’s just how I am.”

There was a tenderness in his tone that made you pause, your fingers still in his hair. He was watching you now, eye softened, as if he wasn’t just talking about his hair at all.

“Well,” you whispered, “it suits you.”

Kakashi reached up, catching your hand and giving it a small, appreciative squeeze, his gaze warm as he held it for a moment longer than necessary.

"Thanks," he murmured, voice quiet but full of meaning.

And for that moment, you could almost feel his unspoken gratitude, a reminder of how rare it was for him to let anyone this close.

Umm ye.. About the 3 part of our other ff..😭

ig we messed up the plot so re-doin that..

But hope y'all like this One Shot fic.

(Oh ye about the Halloween post still working on it.)

Hehe until next time then...🧁

[novaursa]

Love love LOVE reading your most recent requests! Especially the cregan ones

If you’re still taking requests, could I get one from cregan pov where velaryon/targ reader must wed cregan to honor the pact made by Jace. I’d Iove to get cregans first impressions of seeing her, almost in awe because it’s his first time seeing a targ/velaryon with old Valyrian features and how he feels about the betrothal. Bonus points if you add her dragon too 👀💖

Valyrian Bride

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark stood tall upon the frost-crusted battlements of Winterfell, his grey eyes fixed on the southern horizon. The wind howled around him, cold and biting, but he barely noticed. The men beside him, his bannermen and closest retainers, stood in hushed anticipation. They were a hardy lot, men of the North, but today there was a tension in the air that not even their steadfast presence could dispel. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Dragon Princess promised to him, was on her way. And she was bringing her dragon.

Cregan was a man of duty, honor-bound by his word. When Jacaerys Velaryon had come to the North, securing his father’s oath to Rhaenyra, Cregan had listened to the young prince’s proposal with a calculating mind. He had known what the South was asking—his allegiance in a civil war that would tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. The North had no taste for southern squabbles, but for an alliance that could secure his people’s future, Cregan had agreed. A marriage bond, a union with the blood of kings and dragons.

But he hadn’t expected this.

The sky darkened. A shadow passed over the pale light of the day, and a roar echoed across the windswept land. His heart quickened. The unmistakable sound of wings filled the air, as if the heavens themselves were being torn apart. Men murmured in awe, some with fear. Cregan’s grip on the pommel of his sword tightened as he peered into the sky. And then, she appeared.

The dragon came first—Vaetrix, her crimson scales gleaming like molten fire against the pale snow. Larger than anything Cregan had seen before, the great beast descended from the clouds with a grace that defied her monstrous size. Her wings flared, casting a shadow over the courtyard, and the air was filled with the smell of sulfur and smoke.

But it wasn’t the dragon that took Cregan’s breath away.

Atop Vaetrix, astride the monstrous creature as if born to it, was the princess. Her silver-gold hair streamed behind her like a banner, long and flowing, catching the sunlight as she descended. Her features were sharp, unmistakably Valyrian—the high cheekbones, the proud set of her jaw, the violet eyes that seemed to pierce through everything they beheld. She was a vision of Old Valyria, like the stories his father had told him as a boy. She bore little resemblance to her half-brothers, with their softer features. No, this was the blood of the dragon in full force.

His bannermen whispered around him.

"She looks like a goddess," one muttered, his voice thick with awe.

"Old Valyria reborn," another added, his voice trembling.

Cregan said nothing. He could only stare, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He had expected a girl, a lady to wed and secure an alliance, but this… this was something else entirely. There was power in her, in the way she moved, in the way she carried herself atop that dragon. She was not just a girl of noble birth—she was a force of nature, a storm in human form.

Vaetrix landed with a deafening thud, snow and dirt kicking up around her as she folded her massive wings. The ground trembled beneath her weight, but Cregan stood firm. He watched as the princess dismounted with a fluid grace, her hand brushing along Vaetrix's scaled neck before she strode forward. Her boots crunched in the snow, the chill of the North seemingly unfelt by her as if the dragon's fire warmed her from within.

When her eyes met his, Cregan felt a jolt run through him. Those violet eyes… they were ancient, wise beyond her years, and yet held a fire that could burn a man alive if he dared to challenge her. His mouth felt dry, his usual steady words faltering in his throat.

She approached, and as she drew nearer, Cregan noticed more—her height, the proud way she held her head, the confidence in her steps. She did not walk like someone being delivered to a husband. No, she walked like a queen in her own right, a woman who expected the world to bend to her will.

When she stopped before him, she inclined her head ever so slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment rather than submission. “Lord Stark,” she said, her voice smooth and strong, carrying the faintest hint of the Valyrian accent that lingered in her family’s tongue. “I have come as promised.”

Cregan blinked, forcing himself to regain his composure. “Princess,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual, betraying the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. “Winterfell welcomes you.”

Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, though it was hard to tell whether it was one of amusement or mere politeness. “I am honored to be here, to fulfill the promise made between my house and yours.”

He nodded, his gaze locked on hers. “I did not expect—” His words caught in his throat for a moment, and he shook his head, cursing himself for his loss of composure. “I did not expect such… splendor.”

The smile deepened, and there was a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps amusement, or perhaps something more dangerous. “I am not what you expected then, my lord?”

Cregan met her gaze evenly. “No, princess. You are far more.”

Behind them, Vaetrix rumbled, a deep sound that reverberated through the stone walls of Winterfell. His men shifted nervously, glancing at the beast with wide eyes, but Cregan paid them no mind. His focus was entirely on her.

The princess tilted her head, studying him with those sharp, knowing eyes. “I have heard much of the North, of its strength, its honor,” she said softly, her voice carrying on the wind. “It is a land of fierce men and harsher winters. I hope that I will find my place here, as your wife.”

There was something in the way she said it, a subtle challenge, as if she were testing him, seeing if he was the man she had been promised. And for the first time, Cregan understood that this marriage was not just a bond of convenience. She was not some southern lady to be tamed or coddled. She was a dragon, and if he were to claim her, he would have to prove himself worthy.

“You will,” he said, his voice steady now, conviction settling in his chest. “You will find your place here, with me.”

Her eyes gleamed with something close to approval, and she nodded once, a gesture as regal as any queen’s. Then, without another word, she turned her gaze back to Vaetrix, who stirred at her silent command, lifting her massive head.

Cregan watched her walk away, feeling a mixture of awe and excitement. The North had never seen a woman like this, and he knew, in that moment, that his life—Winterfell itself—was about to change forever.