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cherienymphe · 2 months ago

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Birds of Prey

Carmine Falcone x Reader

Warnings: DUB-CON, age gap (reader is around Sofia and Alberto's age), power imbalance, implied stalking, mentions of organized crime

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @whimsicalrogers

summary: Carmine Falcone doesn't believe there's anything in Gotham he can't have—and you like to pretend that doesn't include you.

⭑

“The boss wants to see you.”

A familiar deep voice reached your ears, coming face to face with one of the many bouncers at the club when you looked over your shoulder. Your jaw took a break as you stopped chewing, your minty breath reaching your nose as you exhaled and frowned. It wasn’t too long ago that you’d just talked to Oz, and similar words left your mouth, confusion filling you on what he could possibly need to talk about.

“Not Oz,” was all Kenzie said, and you pressed your lips together.

Oh.

“...oh.”

You hadn’t even realized that the dark haired man—your actual boss—was here tonight, and you swallowed, inadvertently swallowing your gum. You ignored the way your heart stuttered, and you folded the tips you’d previously been counting before sliding them into your boot. The way Kenzie lingered told you that he was meant to be escorting you, and with a small sigh, you forced yourself to your feet.

You clearly wouldn’t have the time you wanted to yourself to mentally prepare to talk to Carmine Falcone tonight.

It wasn’t that you disliked the man—no more than you disliked any of the other corrupted men in this city. In fact, you’d say that he was pretty okay in your eyes, but he was just so intimidating. You supposed it was natural, after all. He was rich and powerful and practically owned the city, and being in close proximity to someone like that—without the flashing lights and loud unintelligible music—made you all too aware of not only just your shortcomings but also the huge imbalance that filled the room whenever it was just the two of you.

Kenzie made no move to step out of the elevator with you when it opened, and the heels of your shoes clicked against the floor when you stepped into the loft. The elevator doors closing sounded so loud to your ears for some reason, and aside from the low hum of music playing in the space, the only sound that could be heard was your heels.

At least until you heard the snap of billiard balls hitting each other.

Your heart jumped at the confirmation that he was in here, and despite your reservations, you picked up the pace, determined to get this over with. You’d been in his loft a handful of times, most especially when you first started working at the 44 Below and he wanted to know how well you were adjusting. It was always coincidentally when you’d just finished a shift, boots full of the money you’d gotten from eager customers with their hands out for Drops. You suspected that Mr. Falcone hadn’t quite trusted you just yet then, recalling the way he sometimes counted your loot thrice.

Now, however, only a few years later, things were different…

“How were things tonight?”

It wasn’t an unusual way to be greeted, Mr. Falcone concerned with the money and business before all else. He hadn’t even looked up from his game as he spoke to you, those dark shades of his no doubt hiding a very intense gaze.

“Things were good,” you told him, bending down to reach into your left boot. “I only really had trouble from maybe two guys, but-.”

“Who?”

The sudden question threw you off, and you looked up from your knelt position to see that he was standing straight now, game forgotten as he held the pool stick in hand. Your eyes were briefly distracted by the glint of the gold ring on his pinky, and you forced yourself to remember that he wanted a response.

“I didn’t… They weren’t regulars,” you said, standing. “I think they came with someone else, and we just had a brief back and forth about the price.”

You were quick in handing the money to him, and you watched him count it. He didn’t really make a habit of asking you about your shifts anymore, so you didn’t think this was all he wanted. In fact, you were sure of that, and that made you nervous. Carmine Falcone wasn’t the kind of guy to concern himself with the likes of you just because. If it wasn’t about business then it was about pleasure, and you had never talked to the man about anything that wasn’t business.

The silence between you stretched and despite the fact that there were so many things you needed to do tonight before it got too late, you didn’t dare rush him. Not only was the man the reason you even had a job, but he just wasn’t the kind of man you rushed. You waited on him, and you watched him nod as he took his time in counting the last few bills from what you’d been able to sell.

“Not bad,” he praised in that low voice of his, and you sent him a small tight lipped smile.

You wondered if he could see how nervous you were and decided to put you out of your misery.

“I talked to Oz earlier,” he began, getting straight into it, pocketing the money. “He said that he gave you some extra money for rent.”

Of all the things that this could be about, that was at the very bottom of the list for you and truthfully…it shouldn’t have been. You shakily exhaled, feeling his eyes on you through those shades, and you briefly looked away. You didn’t even know how you became a topic of conversation between them, and some part of you wanted to curse Oz for putting you into this position.

You knew exactly why Mr. Falcone was bringing this up with you.

“It’s not what you think,” you hurried to say, shrugging and waving your hand. “I asked him about any extra shifts and because there aren’t any, he offered me cash instead.”

The tall man slowly started to make his way around the pool table, and you were quick to get your next words out.

“It’s just a loan. I’m paying him back…”

“With what money?”

You snapped your lips together, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t say I was paying him back tomorrow,” you eventually mumbled.

“I think Oz would prefer it if you paid him back never.”

Your eyes found the floor at that, hating the truth in his words and especially hating the predicament you found yourself in. You wondered if the other man knew what he was doing when he told Mr. Falcone about what he’d done, and while you liked to think that Oz was just some blundering idiot, sometimes he seemed a lot more calculated than people gave him credit for.

“Oz knows that it’s not like that, and…besides, if he did then I would just give the money back.”

The dark-haired man before you didn’t respond to that at first. Instead, all that met you was a small change in expression, and you watched the way the corner of his mouth lifted. It was the closest thing to a smile you’d ever see on his face when he wasn’t talking to his daughter. He turned away from you, and you kept your eyes on him as he made his way to his bar.

“...and then how would you pay your rent?” he wondered. “This is still the same landlord, I presume.”

He presumed correctly, and you were reminded of a similar conversation months ago. The only sound that could be heard was alcohol flowing from one glass container to another. When he approached you with a clear glass of brown liquor, you hesitantly took it, feeling pressured to do so even if only to be polite. You could feel him eyeing you, and you slowly took a small sip.

“Seems to me like Oz made you an offer you couldn’t refuse…”

“Mr. Falcone-.”

“...but you refused me just fine.”

“It’s…different,” was your only reply, and you looked up at him as he took a sip of his own drink.

“How so?” he asked in that way that reminded you a lot like a dad would ask their child.

“You’re my boss,” you said—a little loudly—and you couldn’t stop your incredulous chuckle.

“So is Oz.”

You rolled your eyes at that, briefly forgetting who you were talking to.

“Sure, yeah, but you’re my actual boss,” you elaborated. “Nothing against Oz, at all, but everyone knows he doesn’t really run anything. Nothing other than what you let him think he’s in charge of.”

He only took another sip, his gaze never leaving you, and you got the feeling that he wanted to see how far you’d go to explain why you’d take money from Oz and not from him.

“Oz can’t do anything without your okay, and that includes anything pertaining to my job. He’s not actually in charge of me,” you quietly finished. “You are, and…I can’t take money from you.”

You got the feeling that you were offending him—the same feeling you got months ago when your landlord decided to hike up the rent for no reason for the umpteenth time—and you didn’t know how to feel about that. Surely he could understand why taking money from Oz was wholly different from taking money from him. Needing something to distract yourself with, you took another sip, appreciating the slight burn in your throat.

“Different or not, I don’t want you taking any more money from Oz.”

Despite the fact that you had no plans of doing that, the finality in his tone made you bristle. You didn’t appreciate how he was choosing to prove you right, knowing that if you didn’t do as he said and he found out, your job could come into question. You could only nod, hating that this place was the safest place in Gotham to make the kind of money you were making with your credentials.

The older man moved closer to you, his free hand lifting to touch your chin, and you swallowed when he tilted your head up ever so slightly. His fingers on your skin made you shudder, and you wished that you were the naive girl you used to be. You wished that you didn’t know why being so close to him gave you goosebumps. You wished that you didn’t know why he was offended you wouldn't take his help. You wished that you didn’t know what this whole thing with Oz was really about.

“Is that understood?”

He wanted a verbal answer, and you softly exhaled.

“Yes, Mr. Falcone.”

“Look, doll,” Oz’s accent was thick as he followed you around the room. “I know you still got that good for nothing landlord, and you ain’t making any more now than you were a month ago.”

The club had long shut down for the night, but when you were one of the girls who had to stick around and clean up, it could take ages. You grabbed a half empty glass full of something that you were too scared to try and identify as the man beside you limped along with your even strides. There were no flashing lights and no loud music, so you had no choice but to engage in conversation with the man who’d done you a huge favor.

“I already told you, it was a loan,” you said to him, setting a tray of dirty glasses aside. “How am I supposed to ever pay you back if you keep bailing me out of trouble?”

You faced him now as you wondered this, and by the brief look that passed over Oz’s features, you knew that Mr. Falcone was correct in his assessment of the heavyset man. You’d known it then, and you swallowed down a sigh, feeling like you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. You were going to pay Oz back, that was the truth. Not just because you hated owing anyone anything and you wanted to, but also because you needed to.

Just like your boss, Oz wanted something from you too, and he definitely felt more owed to it if he could hold a few measly hundred dollars over your head.

The gold in his mouth winked at you as he sent you what was meant to be a comforting grin. It only struck you as lecherous, and Oz shrugged.

“That’s not something we gotta worry about, right now. You can’t exactly show up for work if you’re out on the street, now can ya?”

You fixed Oz with an even stare, and the way his features dropped told you that he realized he wasn’t getting through to you. Even if you wanted to give into your desperation and take any more of his money, you couldn’t. Mr. Falcone had left no room for confusion, and you were more afraid of him than you ever would be of Oz. Oz just wasn’t a serious guy at all—which made you feel even shittier about accepting his money—and everything about your boss was very serious.

The way he moved, the way he talked, and the way he simply looked at people. He navigated his relationships with people with an asuredness that he couldn’t be touched, and he was so confident in it because it was true. The man was practically untouchable, and it was why he was a man you never wanted to get on the bad side of.

Even over something as simple as borrowing money from Oswald Cobb.

“I’m sorry, Oz,” you shrugged. “It’s really sweet of you—so sweet—but I just can’t.”

You brushed past him before he had a chance to respond, noticing the way his expression had already begun to sour. Oz walked around like he had something to prove, and it being so obvious only made it worse. You didn’t want to hear what he could’ve possibly come up with about why you wouldn’t take his money. You didn’t even know what you would say if he continued to press you about it. After all, it’s not like you could tell him the truth.

You didn’t see the conversation going over well if you told him that Mr. Falcone didn’t want you accepting any more money from him because your boss felt slighted that you wouldn’t allow him to metaphorically pee on you. It was such a crass and vulgar way to put it, but it was the truth. Oz you could take money from and turn down any further advances without the fear of losing your job.

Mr. Falcone…not so much.

Taking his money would cross a line you couldn’t uncross. There would be no paying him back and certainly no giving it back. Taking your boss’ money would come with strings you just wouldn’t be able to cut, and it was already bad enough that you were on his radar, the powerful man no doubt keenly aware of you and everyone you cared about.

It was late when you finally walked out of The Iceberg Lounge, your thin coat tight around you as you stepped into the biting air. There was hardly a soul on the street, let alone a taxi, and as the seconds ticked on, it was starting to hit you that you were going to have to walk. The dangers of Gotham at night weren’t even your biggest concern—it was the cold.

Just when you convinced yourself that the walk would warm you up, a nice sleek car pulled up beside you. It was black and nothing like you’d ever ridden in before. It wasn’t a limo, that much you could tell, and as it slowed to a stop in front of you, your mind distractedly settled on a Lincoln. You were just thinking that it seemed like the kind of car someone would be driven around in when the back window was rolled down.

A light drizzle started as you came face to face with Mr. Falcone.

Your lips parted in surprise before you pressed them together again, jaw clenching as you realized the predicament you found yourself in. If turning down Mr. Falcone’s money offended him, then you had no doubt that turning down a ride would be an even worse offense. You knew the path this conversation was going to take before he even opened his mouth, and you resigned yourself to it.

“Y/N.”

His deep voice greeted you over the light rain, and you responded with a soft smile.

“Mr. Falcone. I didn’t even know you were up there tonight,” you said, keeping your voice light. “I was just about to head home.”

Even in the privacy of his car, he still had those shades on, and for some reason the sight of them on his face struck you as more eerie now than normal. Maybe it was because with hardly any light around, you couldn’t even see the faint shadow of his eyes. You were just staring into darkness, and the sight almost made you miss his next words.

“Why don’t you get in. I’ll drop you off,” his words came out like a suggestion, but you knew they were anything but.

With only a second of hesitation, you gave him a soft ‘okay’ before rounding the car.

The inside smelled like him—manly and clean with a hint of wood. You apologized for wetting his seats as you strapped yourself in, but he held his hand up before you could finish, signaling to you that it was nothing. You felt awkward sitting in his backseat with him, the heater warming you up more than your coat ever could. As if he could read your mind, the head of the Falcone family spoke.

“Were you going to walk home in that?”

It almost took you too long to realize that he was talking about your coat, and you fingered the thin material, a sheepish smile on your face.

“It wouldn’t have been that far of a walk,” you shrugged.

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

Even when you eventually looked away, you could still feel his eyes on you, and you didn’t expect his next words.

“Why are you so afraid of me?”

A beat of silence.

“I’m not.”

Another lie.

“I don’t like liars, you know that,” he called you out.

Swallowing, you looked out of the window, but that didn’t last long, hating the sight of his reflection behind you. The silence between you stretched, and the longer it went on, the more obvious it became that he wanted an actual honest answer to his question. Your shoulders heaved with a deep breath, and your gaze fell to your lap.

You swiped your tongue between your lips.

“I feel like you want something from me that I’m not exactly willing to give,” you slowly told him.

You were all too aware that there was a third person privy to this conversation, but you wondered how much the driver was paid by the Falcones to basically see and hear nothing because Mr. Falcone acted like he wasn’t even there, so you forced yourself to do the same. All that met your words was silence, and when you glanced at him, the other man wasn’t looking at you but instead staring straight ahead.

You started to think you’d said the wrong thing by acknowledging the elephant in the room whenever you were with him.

“...and what exactly is it that you think Oz wants from you?”

You leaned back in your seat at that, pressing your lips together and resisting the urge to fire back at him that you weren’t an idiot. Oz wasn’t exactly subtle, but you could handle Oz. You didn’t want to give Mr. Falcone the satisfaction of knowing that his power and connections and place in Gotham scared you more than any measly feelings.

So he wanted to fuck you. Big deal.

That wasn’t exactly new or daunting or shocking. Working at the 44 Below, you encountered plenty of men who did, but none as powerful as him. That was the part that scared you, being wanted by a man like Carmine Falcone. Oz was nothing, just another man on the street with a gun and some money who thought he was bigger than what he was. Mr. Falcone on the other hand…

You’d heard things—whispers of women around him disappearing and dying. He was the head of an organized crime family, so you couldn’t say you’d be surprised if he was even worse than you imagined. It was why you couldn’t blur this line between you, no matter how much he was trying to. He was your boss, you worked at his club, and that was all it could be. You were suddenly extremely aware of the fact that you were sitting in his car as he gave you a ride home out of the rain, and you looked out of the window.

You would have to find a better job and soon.

When his driver slowed to a stop outside of your apartment—the source of your current dilemma—you were quick to reach for the door handle…and Mr. Falcone was quick to reach for you. He’d only ever touched you a handful of times, and like always, his hand was gentle on your arm, but it felt so heavy to you through the thin material of your coat. You nervously watched him reach inside of it with his other hand, and your heart dropped at the wad of cash he pulled out.

You were shaking your head before he even spoke.

“Give this to Oz,” he told you, no room for argument in his tone. “I know everything that goes on in my club.”

You could feel his eyes on your face as he said that, and your earlier conversation with

Oz came to mind.

“...and I don’t want you owing him anything.”

You thought to yourself that you shared the same sentiment, but owing Oz was better than owing a man like Carmine Falcone You didn’t say that though, accepting that you were going to be offending him for a third time tonight, and you didn’t want to make it worse. Ignoring his words and the money, you opened the door and was immediately greeted by drops of rain.

“I can handle Oz.”

That was all you said to him before closing the door behind you, hurrying around the car and into your apartment building, only relaxing when you were bathed in darkness.

You resisted the urge to fiddle with your fingers as you met his even stare with one of your own. You knew this conversation wasn’t going to be the lightest once you finally told him, but no amount of mental preparation was enough, it seemed. Mr. Falcone always had a stern look on his face, even when he wasn’t seemingly upset, but it was clear in this moment that he wasn’t happy with the turn of events.

At all.

“This clearly isn’t a ‘two weeks notice’ kind of establishment, but…it seemed like the proper thing to do,” you finally added. “The restaurant doesn’t pay what I make here, that’s for sure, but it’s decent money.”

There was a lot left unsaid, and you certainly weren’t going to voice it, but that apparently didn’t matter.

“Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

He had no problems saying what you wouldn’t, and you actually winced at his words, looking away as he took a sip of his drink. His loft was quiet, and you finally sighed—softly—as you briefly closed your eyes.

“I never meant to offend you. I swear,” you said, looking at him again. “I’m just…not that kind of girl, and you seem very…determined to make a liar out of me.”

His mustache twitched, a crooked smile on his lips, and you were right to be nervous as you watched him stand. You started to stand too when he held a hand out, and despite your confusion, you remained seated. Your positions weren’t lost on you as he moved closer to you, towering over you and looking down his nose at you where you sat. He still had his drink in hand, and when he lifted his free hand, you expected the feel of his fingers on your chin.

He only pointed at you instead.

“You will need my help.”

He said it with so much conviction that part of you couldn’t help but to believe his words, and you blinked.

“You will,” he reiterated, and you oddly felt like a child being scolded by a parent in this moment. “You will need money and assistance because this city doesn’t reward the good and doesn’t believe in being fair.”

You struggled to swallow at that, knowing without a doubt that if nothing else he said was true, that definitely was.

“...and what will you do? Run to Oz with your tail between your legs?”

You shuddered at the thought, and you knew he noticed by his slight chuckle.

“Sacrifice your dignity to become the kind of woman you claim you’re not but for strangers instead? Hmm?”

Your throat felt tight as every word from him felt like a slap.

“Would it really be worth it just to pat yourself on the back for not taking my help?”

You didn’t have anything to say to that, blinking back tears as he shook his finger at you before dropping his arm entirely. He took another swig of his drink, and you watched him turn away from you with a shake of his head.

“You remind me a lot of my son, you know that?”

You had only crossed paths with the young man in question a handful of times, and you weren't impressed, so this comparison only made you feel worse.

“Just like Alberto,” Mr. Falcone dragged out. “So hard headed and stubborn and always needs to do things the hard way just to prove a point.”

You finally stood on shaky legs, adjusting your purse on your shoulder. You hated to admit that his words were already getting to you, a lot of truth in them that you refused to face.

“Thank you, Mr. Falcone for the opportunity you gave me here,” was all you said. “I know it may not seem like it, but I really am grateful.”

When he didn’t respond, you made your way to the elevator, your heels echoing off the walls. You had just stepped inside when he spoke again, face to face with him just as you pushed the button to go back down to the ground floor.

“The devil you know is always better.”

That simple statement made your heart drop, and you didn’t respond, refusing to give him the satisfaction. When the doors shut though, your face crumbled, and the longer they stewed in your mind, the less his words felt like speculation and more like a curse. He wasn’t wrong, and you hated it.

This city swallowed people like you up. Gotham cackled and spat in the face of anyone who tried to do things the ‘right’ way here, and you wondered if you were really about to be next on its long list of victims all because you didn’t want to get tangled up with the likes of Carmine Falcone. Maybe he was right. Maybe you would end up right in his grasp where he wanted you…

…but you owed it to yourself to try.

It took a second restaurant gig just to keep your head above the water. The corruption in Gotham didn’t just extend to the cops and drug lords, but even all the way down to the lowly landlords too. You knew the day was coming when your rent would be hiked up again with no explanation nor rhyme or reason as to why, but with your two jobs, it wasn't anything you couldn’t handle. Sure, you didn’t ever have any money left over for things like food and other necessities most times, but you had a place to lay your head at night.

…and most of all, you didn’t have to stare into the eyes of Carmine Falcone and pretend like you didn’t know he was just waiting for you to offer him something so many other women probably had.

You had no doubt that he’d played this game before. After all, the man wasn’t just rich and powerful, but handsome too, and the kind of women who worked at the 44 Below—hell even just the Iceberg Lounge—tended to have no qualms about entering an arrangement with a powerful good looking man to keep a nice sum of money in their pockets. You wondered if that was part of the hang up with you—that you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

You supposed he was right when he called you stubborn, although you could’ve gone without the comparisons to Alberto. Everything he prophesied came true, and it was only some months later when you found yourself standing outside on a corner with some girls you were familiar with.

“The first one is always a little nerve wracking,” she told you, a comforting smile on her glossy lips.

“Speak for yourself,” another one interjected. “They all make my skin crawl.”

They chuckled together, and you nervously joined in.

You were no virgin—far from it—but you’d never offered the pleasure of your company for money before. You figured it couldn’t be all that different from any other one night stand. It was sex, and that pretty much worked the same no matter who it was with, only tonight you'd be getting paid for it. You weren’t in danger of being put out on the street—yet—but you were at a point where you were working just to pay bills…and it had started to get to you.

You needed some extra money in your pocket.

A low feminine whistle pulled you from your thoughts, and you followed your friend’s gaze.

“This is your lucky first pick, I can tell. Look at that car,” she praised pointing at the dark vehicle.

You didn’t join in on their excitement when you finally studied said car—a familiar car. Your heart sank to your stomach as a congratulatory pat was given to your arm, and despite how much you told yourself it was only a coincidence—he wasn’t the only rich man to be driven around in a car like that—something deep in your gut told you otherwise. You blinked as it slowed down, and your friends’ voices had faded some as they backed away to give you privacy.

You weren’t surprised when the back window rolled down.

Just sick to your stomach.

“Mr. Falcone,” you eventually greeted, never one to be rude to him despite everything.

He didn’t respond, just staring at you through those dark sunglasses, face as taut as ever.

“I can get one of the other-.”

“Get in.”

You bristled at the interruption, halfway turning to gesture to one of the other few women on the corner.

“I’m serious. Any of them would be happy to-.”

“I don’t like repeating myself, you know that.”

You swallowed the rest of what you were going to say, and your arm fell. You stared at him, and he stared at you, and the longer the seconds dragged on, the more you wanted to just…cry. Did he stake out notorious corners regularly? Had he just been waiting for the night you showed up on one of them? If you dared to walk away right now, you wondered what he would do. Follow you? Drag you into the car?

You’d never seen Mr. Falcone so much as raise his voice, but to be a successful head of an organized crime family, you knew it required a level of brutality you’d just never been privy to. You thought about those rumors and whispers you heard of the women around him, and you didn’t know which option was worse, right now—getting in that car or walking away from it.

As you distractedly watched one of your friends walk off with some John, you realized that your former boss’ presence was going to affect any attempts to service any man—any other man—tonight, and you angrily huffed.

No more words were exchanged as you stomped around the vehicle, the silence loud from the moment you slid into the backseat. The wheels were turning before you even clicked your seatbelt in place, and you refused to look at the dark-haired man next to you. Your gaze remained on the window, even when it became apparent you weren’t heading towards the Shoreline Lofts.

It didn’t take you long after that to realize just where you were heading, and despite how much your nerves spiked, you bit your tongue.

The Falcone family mansion was just as stunning and impressive as you’d heard it to be. You’d never had the pleasure of laying eyes on it, and for a brief moment, you’d forgotten the corner your former boss had backed you into. Your lips were parted at the sight of it, slow to get out and almost stumbling over your feet as you never took your eyes off of it. You think you would’ve been content to stand outside and stare at it all night.

Your companion for the night, on the other hand, had other ideas…

You did end up stumbling when he took your arm, and your heart was fast beneath your chest as he walked you to the imposing building. An added layer of fear and apprehension surrounded you, tonight unlike all the other times you were alone with the older man. You knew that some way or another he was going to get what he’d been after, and you didn’t quite know how consensual your part in all of this was going to be.

After all, you didn’t want to sleep with him, not even for money.

…but it was clear more than ever that Carmine Falcone wouldn't rest until he was taking care of you, and you were taking care of him.

Just like he wanted.

“Tell me something…”

His deep voice broke the silence the moment he let you go, and you felt wholly uncomfortable in the bedroom that was the size of your entire apartment. You hadn’t even thought to admire the impressive artwork on the walls and grand staircase as you made your way up it, only concerned with how the rest of your life was about to start.

“Is sleeping with some strange man off the streets really more appealing than sleeping with me?”

It seemed like you’d offended Mr. Falcone enough to last a lifetime, and so you decided to be honest as he poured you both drinks.

“You terrify me to my core…so yes.”

You didn’t miss the way he paused at that before continuing on.

“Those men on the streets of Gotham?” you shrugged. “They’re just men. Men who aren’t nearly as big and bad as they think they are, men who I can handle just fine…”

You only stared at the drink being offered to you when he stopped to stand before you.

“...but you run this city, and everyone in it, and I want nothing to do with a man like that.”

When you didn’t take the drink, he only set it off to the side on a nearby side table like your refusal meant nothing to him. He took his time in sipping his own drink, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting towards the bed. Hours ago, you had no idea how this night could possibly end, but in this moment, you were never more sure of anything in your life.

Your eyes followed his movements as he set down his empty glass, the sound of it hitting the wood making you flinch. Like everything he did, he took his time in moving closer to you, always moving like he had all the time in the world. Your chest was heaving ever so slightly, and you lifted your gaze to look at his face just in time to watch him reach up and remove those dark shades. You didn’t recall ever having stared directly into his eyes before, and oddly enough, you found the sunglasses that always covered his eyes to be less intimidating.

You weren’t surprised to feel his fingers on your chin, and you blinked at the familiar feel.

“How much were you going to charge?”

You answered him, knowing what he was referring to.

“$300 for an hour.”

You didn’t miss the haughty smirk that graced his lips, and you continued before he could speak.

“I needed extra money and they aren’t all Carmine Falcone,” you told him, a bit of an edge in your voice.

It didn’t get by him, and you felt his fingers tighten on your chin.

“...and that was really preferable to accepting my help.”

It came out like a statement, and so you didn’t respond because no response was needed. When his thumb touched your bottom lip, your heart skipped a beat. The older man’s intense gaze was on you, and a huge part of you wanted him to put you out of your misery. The two of you had been playing this cat and mouse game for months—really years—and you comforted yourself in thinking that the first step was the hardest part.

“Let me take care of you.”

From anyone else’s lips, that would’ve sounded like begging, but when Carmine said it, it sounded like an order. It sounded like he was telling you to let him do what he wanted because he was going to do it anyway. You voiced your thoughts.

“Do I have a choice?” you wondered into the quiet room.

The only response to your question was the scent of his cologne filling your nose and his lips on yours. You felt overwhelmed by his mere presence, realizing that this was the point of no return. Carmine Falcone had you exactly where he wanted you, and you were the last place you ever wanted to be. You felt almost silly for attempting to put this off for so long, reluctant to admit that you were always going to end up here from the moment he’d decided it.

The only shot you had was leaving Gotham entirely.

The dress you wore tonight was meant to come off and on easily, and it did just that with a few movements of his hand, the fabric falling at your feet. For the first time in years, you were nervous because as many men as you’d slept with, none of them were like him. Your movements were shaky, and you were both relieved and intimidated once you quickly realized that he liked to be in charge.

The sheets on the bed were softer than any you’d ever had the pleasure of laying on, and they only served to remind you what kind of life you were about to be drawn into. Whether or not it was worth it wasn’t even something you’d been able to consider, having little agency in this arrangement. Carmine Falcone took what he wanted and did what he wanted, and you didn’t want to believe that you were naive for thinking you could be the exception.

Your fingers trembled as you undressed him, and he didn't take his eyes off of you the entire time. You were sure some other type of power play was at work here, and you clenched your jaw as you undid his belt. You could feel his hand touching your hair, fingers finding their way to your neck and grazing the skin there.

It seemed that he was content to save the feigned romance of it all for later, wanting to put himself out of his misery for an entirely different reason than you wanted to put yourself out of yours.

You couldn’t stop the surprised gasp that left you when he pushed himself into you, hips connecting with yours before you had a chance to process what happened. Your nails pressed into his skin, and the way he shuddered beneath your touch told you that he liked that. It felt difficult to wrap your head around your predicament—pinned beneath your former boss and lying in his bed.

Forcing yourself to let go of your apprehension and fear, you found that you could enjoy yourself if you just turned your brain off for a moment. As it was, you couldn’t stop thinking about what this meant and what your life would be like tomorrow and what this would mean for your relationship with Carmine. However, his hand on your neck forced you to think of nothing but him inside of you and his hands on you.

Everywhere he touched flared with heat, and you didn’t even know when you’d wrapped your legs around him. The thin layer of sweat that started to appear on your skin did little to cool you, but your mind strayed further and further from that with every thrust of his hips. Your lashes fluttered as you felt yourself stretch around his cock, your other hand reaching down to twist around the sheets.

The feel of his facial hair brushing along your skin made you shudder beneath him, and your gaze landed on the ceiling, eyes absentmindedly roaming along the walls and wallpaper and every detail that made your little apartment look like something out of a horror movie. You told yourself that there was a silver lining in this, but what did the silver lining mean to you when you never wanted this in the first place?

As his lips met yours again, you could see yourself getting used to this despite your initial refusal. However, it didn’t seem smart to get comfortable around the likes of Carmine, but as he curved his hips into yours again, you wondered if that line of thought was easier said than done. Beneath him, it was easy to forget just what he did and the kind of business he ran and the power he held in this city.

However…

When he pulled away, gaze meeting yours, a stab of fear tore through you.

Carmine Falcone always scared you and probably always would, no amount of money and fancy apartments and cars would change that. You unintentionally arched your chest up into his, back curving as his fingers danced along your spine. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he liked that he scared you, that your fear made this more fun for him.

His hand trailed over your skin and slid up between your chest before he took your chin in his hand. He kissed you again—a trembling breath leaving your lips—before that same hand slid around your throat. You lost track of how long he plunged his cock into you, and you were already embarrassed to think about someone else cleaning up the mess that was his bed tomorrow.

With a house like this and a family like his, there were no doubts in your mind that someone did their cleaning for them.

Some time throughout the night, you recalled words leaving his lips and yours that sounded a lot like a verbal push and pull. He wanted you to proclaim something you didn’t want to, and your refusal would be met with little nips from his teeth into your skin here and there. He’d call you stubborn, and you would turn your head away. You vaguely recalled asking about the rest of the family, nervously wondering how your presence would be received in the house.

You didn’t think Carmine had any qualms about being honest about what and who you were. He was the type to do whatever he wanted unapologetically, and you didn’t doubt that it extended to whatever woman he wanted to parade around with whose time and company he was paying for.

“They know you’re mine,” was all he said. “They’ll do as I say.”

That didn’t bring you any comfort.

#carmine falcone #carmine falcone x reader #mark strong #the penguin #the batman #dc fanfic #dc comics #Oswald Cobb #oz cobb

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vanteguccir · 2 months ago

Note

mom! reader (of preferably twin boys) x chris (or matt) based on the indoor zoo video ?

── ୨୧ !　BLURB

chris sturniolo x mom!reader

where Chris's and Y/N's twins make an appearance on the 'we turned our house into a barn' video

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The Sturniolo house was in an adorable state of controlled chaos. Matt and Chris had planned everything down to the last hay bale, receiving help from Y/N in transforming their living room into a cozy indoor petting zoo.

Little Eudora, with her chestnut curls bouncing, was giggling as she raced around the room with a small white duck waddling after her. Calum, the spitting image of his father, clutched a surprisingly calm porcupine in his lap, his face lit with pure fascination as he gently patted its back.

In front of the full-body mirror, Matt was crouched beside a midsized goat, Buster, giving it gentle scratches on the back, while a curious little black pig kept nudging him with its nose, vying for attention.

Chris and Y/N stood side by side, standing in the middle of the living room with arms crossed, taking it all in with warm smiles. Y/N’s hand found Chris’s, and he gave it a little squeeze, chuckling softly as he watched Calum carefully cradle the porcupine with awe.

"Be careful with him, buddy." Chris's voice echoed, breaking the momentarily silence while moving to a cluster of hay bales, grinning as he adjusted the banner that read "Welcome Home, Uncle Nicky!" surrounded by multicolored prints of small hands.

Their cameraman, who was used to the lively energy in the Sturniolo home, was getting every adorable moment on tape, his own laughter blending in with the kids’ squeals of delight as he recorded.

Then, suddenly, they heard the unmistakable sound of keys rattling at the front door. Y/N and Chris exchanged amused glances, and Matt looked up from the goat, a gleeful grin spreading across his face with the twin's reactions.

The kids froze, looking at the adults, and Chris quickly raised a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet. Eudora's right hand flew to her mouth, her big blue doe eyes dancing with excitement as she bounced on her heels, her white dress flowing around her small body with her movements. Calum clutched the porcupine close to him, glancing over at Matt with eyes wide, receiving a wink from his uncle.

Chris leaned forward and called out.

"Hey, Nick! How's it going?"

A muffled "Hey" came from Nick, who had just closed the door behind him. He started heading up the stairs from the entryway to the living room, clearly oblivious to the surprise that awaited him.

Just as he reached the top of the stairs, Y/N called out.

"Careful with the thing blocking the door!"

Nick stopped abruptly, his brows knitting in confusion.

"What thing-?" He began to ask, then froze as he noticed a turtle calmly stationed right by the passage.

His eyes lifted to the rest of the room, widening comically as he took in the scene beyond: animals everywhere, little straw bales scattered, and his entire family - together with an unknown woman dressed in a zoo uniform and their cameraman - caught mid-laughter in a rustic, farm-like setup right in their living room. His mouth dropped open, completely dumbfounded.

"Wha-what the..." Nick started, his words catching as he tried to process what was happening. Before he could continue, the twins finally sprang up, squealing in excitement.

"Uncle Nick!" They yelled in unison, darting over to him, the small porcupine bouncing in Calum's hands.

Nick barely managed to drop his bags with a thud before crouching to his knees, throwing his arms open wide as Calum and Eudora barreled into him. His gaze roamed the room as he held his niece and nephew close, enjoying the warm heat emanating from their bodies while taking in the fluffy chickens clucking happily nearby and the small pig nibbling at a strand of hay.

"What the fu-freak is going on?" Nick stammered, catching himself just in time, though the sheer astonishment was clear on his face. His arms kept wrapped around the twins tightly, and with a breathy laugh, he shook his head. "I’m never leaving the house again."

Eudora beamed, wrapping her small arms around his neck as she squealed excitedly in his ear.

"We made this surprise for you, Uncle Nicky! Did you like it?"

Nick looked down at her, his eyes softening drastically as he took in her excitement, then looked over to Chris and Y/N, still stunned.

"Like it?" He repeated, almost at a loss for words. "I love it! This is insane!"

Just then, Calum piped up, holding up the porcupine he’d been cradling like a prized possession.

"Look, Uncle Nick!" He said eagerly. "It’s a porcupine! Do you wanna hold it?"

"Baby, be careful not to hurt your uncle with its prickles." Y/N was quick in warning the little boy, watching his movements carefully.

Nick’s eyes widened even further as he realized what Calum was holding too close to his face. He quickly glanced over at Y/N, and then at Chris, the fear evident in his expression.

"Uh... Chris?" He stammered, his voice high-pitched with barely concealed alarm.

Chris stifled a laugh and quickly stepped forward, taking the porcupine from Calum’s hands, ignoring the big pout forming on his son's lips.

"I got it, I got it." He said, giving Nick a playful grin. "Only the safest surprises for you, bro."

Y/N chuckled softly, her hand covering her mouth as she watched Nick’s face go through an entire range of emotions. Matt joined in, shaking his head as he pet the goat one last time before walking closer to the others, clearly reveling in his brother’s shock.

Nick took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face, then looked down at his niece and nephew nestled snugly in his arms. His expression softened into a disbelieving grin as he pulled them even closer, wrapping them in a hug filled with all the warmth he’d bottled up during his time away.

"You two..." He murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to each of their heads. "This might be the best surprise I’ve ever had."

Calum and Eudora beamed up at him, their matching blue eyes alight with pride.

"Even better than the band, Uncle Nick?" Calum asked, his small hands curling around Nick’s tattooed arm, eyes wide with hope.

Nick let out a heartfelt laugh, nodding as he glanced down at his nephew.

"Even better than the band, buddy. Was this all your idea?" He asked, focusing warmly on Calum but keeping one arm wrapped around Eudora, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her back.

Calum’s face lit up even brighter, grinning from ear to ear before looking over at his dad and Uncle Matt, seeking their approval.

"Well..." Calum started, only to have Matt jump in, flashing a teasing grin.

"You know how it is, Nick." Matt said, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. "We missed you, and these two couldn’t stop talking about going to the zoo all week, so..."

Nick’s eyes narrowed playfully as he turned to Chris.

"And you let him pick the porcupine?"

Chris chuckled, throwing up his hands in defense.

"Actually, the porcupine was my idea, but..." He gestured at Calum with a shrug. "He’s been attached ever since."

"Like father, like son." Y/N's voice echoed full of amusement, her plump lips forming a wide smile. "Do you want some water, Nick?" She asked gently, moving towards the kitchen, receiving a positive answer from the oldest triplet.

For a few more minutes, Nick just sat on the floor, surrounded by warmth and joy as the twins excitedly recounted every little detail from the week - even though they’d already shared those stories over FaceTime, feeling too excited to tell him all over again in person. Nick listened, hanging on every word, giving all of his attention to them.

A soft nudge against his side caught his attention, and he looked down to see the little goat butting his arm. Smiling, Nick gave it a gentle scratch behind the ears, chuckling under his breath at the delightful absurdity of it all. His gaze drifted up, finding Y/N’s across the room. Her eyes were warm, crinkling at the corners as she watched him with a look that needed no words, patting the small bunny in her hands.

He mouthed a "thank you", his expression soft, clearly moved by their thoughtfulness.

Chris’s arm snaked around Y/N’s waist, pulling her close as they shared a quiet, knowing smile, content to watch Nick settle back into the chaotic embrace of the family they’d created.

576 notes · View notes

luvwestwood · 1 year ago

Text

"Off Limits" - Gojo Satoru

4,120 words.

warnings. n*sfw (18+), tongue piercing satoru, substance use, satoru is a plug, fuckboy! satoru, oral sex (he eats your pussy OUT) , both characters 🚬 🍃, resolved sexual tension, porn with a BIT of plot, mildly dubious consent, fucking at a party, he makes you squirt

notes. this was originally posted on my ao3, which is much more longer. i've shortened it down and fixed errors I made on ao3 originally (see if you could notice what it is 😭)for tumblr so its more of an easy read! <3

banner cred. @/yunonoai on twt/ig

You had about an hour and half to get ready, before you had to make your way to the Mappa Frat House down the street. Chloe's brother, Satoru, and his friends were inviting you two to some house party they held every year building up to Halloween.

To be real, it took you A LOT of convincing for Chloe to have you come to the party with her. You were never a party person. The thought of throwing up your guts after your system has consumed all types of shit. Or the annoying guys that slap your ass from behind in hopes of getting time with you in the bedrooms upstairs.

You were the total opposite of Chloe, and honestly, you envied her. She was a social butterfly who could blend in with anyone if she needed to, and she was evidently liked by the other students of any clique out there.

Oh, and by party animal, I mean it. Dresses in every colour, length and pattern. Heels of every inch and style. She just knew what to do. Practically, if you got her to go to your party, that's how you'd know if it was a good fucking party.

Sitting in front of your desk finishing your makeup, which you were surprisingly good at, you giggle as you watch Chloe attached a lasso to her waist.

She had looked really cute in her Woody costume, and you were in fact, dressed as a sexy Buzz Lightyear. Earlier on at Ann Summers, Chloe was begging for you to match with her. You couldn’t refuse. It was a 2 for 1 sale anyway..

You smiled as she started to record a few tiktoks before hitting the road.

"I'm gonna have so much fun with this rope tonight."

"Mhm.." you let out a hum as you focus on doing your eyeliner. It was hard not to laugh at what she said, but you managed to suppress a giggle.

You lined some lashes with glue before placing them on your lash line. Your makeup was flawless tonight, and you were grateful because it had been quite some time since you've done a full glam. A bit of setting spray, and you spun your chair around to face Chloe.

It was as if she was a proud mother from what she was seeing in front of her. "Gorgeous! You look like a doll. A sexy one. Stand up really quickly, let's take a few pictures before heading out."

You stumbled a bit from the high heeled boots you were wearing, and you had to adjust the fabric your ass was practically eating as you stood up. You and Chloe took a few cute pictures before heading out to the Mappa House.

As you guys got there, it was already packed with all shit ton of people spread out on the front lawn doing all sorts of stuff.

The loud music from the inside could be heard from where you were standing. People were smoking, making out, doing keg stands.

Honestly, Chloe was right. You looked at a group of girls huddled and chatting near the door, and one caught your eye. The girl was wearing nothing but black tape on her boobs and underwear.

You nudge Chloe. “Chlo, what is she meant to be..?”

She giggled a bit before replying, “Who knows.”

You got a bit nervous as you walked on the path leading up to the main door. Spooky Halloween decorations were all over the House, and sometimes you were unable to tell what and what's not a decoration..

A man was standing just inside the door, it seemed like he was waiting for Chloe.

The guy dressed up as Johnny Cage from Mortal Kombat. You'd never seen him before, and he looked a bit intimidating.

You heard Chloe call out to the man. "Kento!" ..So that's his name. You stood behind Chloe like a loser as she gave him a hug. She pulled away and stayed pressed up against him.

He smiled, "I'm glad you came. And who's this pretty girl?"

Kento turned to you as you looked at Chloe, she held you close to her too and gave you a proper introduction. "This is my best friend and room-mate, I convinced her to come along tonight!"

You returned the smile to him, he seemed like an okay guy. "Hi, nice to meet you."

Chloe winked at you, and you smirked, knowing what it meant. You gave her the look of approval as she took her lasso and tied it around Kento, pulling him to a room somewhere in the house.

You laughed as you made your way to the kitchen, after they disappeared up the stairs. How outrageous.

It was more quiet, which you liked. Making your way to the far end of the kitchen, you opened the fridge and scanned what's inside. You decided to take a small can of Pepsi. You sighed as you turned around, closing the fridge shut with your butt.

The presence of someone behind all along startled you, leaning against the island watching you this whole time.

"Oh my fuck. Why are you creeping up on people like that?"

It was a person, assumingly a guy, his face covered with a ghostface mask. He was dressed in all black. A simple black fitted tee and jeans. He had a fake knife strapped to his belt.

The mysterious guy took off his mask, and placed it on the counter behind him. Of course, It was Satoru, Chloe's brother.

You let out a labored sigh as you leaned against the fridge, unable to move.

"I'm surprised you showed up tonight, I thought you never will."

You slowly slid to the right trying to escape him, turning your back to face Satoru as you popped the can open on the counter. "...It was a last minute decision."

"Seems like you got a costume too, huh?" Eyes sliding down your body as he finished his sentence.

Your eyes widen, realising your ass was on show to him this whole time. I'll kill this man if he thinks I'm up to no good.

You quickly turn back around to face him with the front of your body, and it didn't do you any justice as he was just met with your almost exposed chest. Party in the front, party in the back.

"I'm not complaining, you look good." he reassured you, trailing his eyes down your body from head to toe.

"..Thanks." Quickly, you took a huge sip from the can as you looked at him. This drink will only un-calm my nerves.

"I'm actually not into parties myself either." he spoke, and you almost choked on your drink.

"You? THE Satoru Gojo? I wasn't expecting that."

"No, I just like more intimate parties. Big ones like these annoy me. I don't know and don't care about 3/4 of the people who are here."

He continued, “You wanna come with? I’m going upstairs. There’s one last free room. And that’s the master room.”

Chloe was already busy, and there wasn’t really anyone else you could talk to around here. You had no choice.

”Hmm, okay. I’ll follow.”

He made sure to grab his mask from the counter, and the two of you left the kitchen.

As you made your way up the stairs, you could feel other girls eyes piercing through your back like daggers. Luckily, they couldn’t recognise you that easily.

By the time you set foot on the upstairs landing, you called out to him. "Satoru," you continued, "Who's room is this even?"

"Suguru’s, but it's cool. He won't give a fuck."

You followed behind him for a bit until you reached the master bedroom.

”Lock the door if you don’t want people coming into this room eating each other’s faces off.”

You blankly stared at him for a bit before turning back around to twist the lock. The music from downstairs turned faint and so did the chatter.

For a frat house, Suguru’s room was actually clean, you expected dirty plates and what-ever-the-fuck to litter the rest of the room, but the only exception was the clothes scattered on the ground. You watched and sat yourself down on the bed as he rummaged through the drawers for something. Is he… reaching for a..

He picked up a lighter from deep inside the drawer, taking a joint out that was untouched from the same drawer, but kept away in a tiny zip bag. Phew.

”You smoke?”

You looked at him. “What do you think?”

”I’m guessing no.” You didn't know if you were to be butthurt by his quick and certain answer, but you don't see a reason why you should be anyways. His words went a bit quiet as he concentrated on sparking the joint between his fingers.

He took a hit from the joint as soon as it was burning perfectly. “Damn, that shits good.”

”Is Suguru not gonna be pissed if he finds out you took that..?” You questioned him.

”..Who do you think sold this stuff to him?” He flashed his famous smile as he saw the priceless look on your face.

You chewed on your lip and looked at the ground. “Oh, right.. yeah.”

You forgot that Satoru was basically the one who sold 🍃 on and off the campus.

He walked over to you, and sat beside you on the edge of the bed. “You don’t wanna try?”

Satoru took another hit before blowing the smoke out on his right side, making sure it doesn’t hit your face.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done it before, plus I’m scared.” You continued, “More scared I’ll start coughing like a bitch that I’d make a fool out of myself.”

Even though the only source of light came from the bedside lamp, you could still see that his eyes were glossy, and at this point a tiny bit bloodshot. “I could teach you, here.”

He held out the joint towards you, the smell was so strong it was probably sticking to your clothes by now.

”Quick, it’s burning away for no reason.”

You held the joint between your fingers like a cigarette, and looked at him for assurance.

”No, not like that.” He took your fingers and placed it properly between your pointer and thumb. “You look like a loser if you hold it like a cigarette.”

”Okay, what now.”

”Do it, take a hit.”

You stared at it before bringing it to your lips. Satoru spoke from beside you.

”Like, almost as if you’re sucking. Make sure it really gets to here.” He points to his chest.

You slightly squint your eyes as you take a mistakingly big hit.

”Now hold it for a bit, then exhale. It’s gonna hit better.”

The joint left your lips as you held it for like two seconds, and you let out a laboured exhale.

“Good girl, see? No coughing.”

You passed it back to him and Satoru takes another hit.

”..How’d I know if it hit me?”

He smirked, “You’ll just know. Don’t worry, I got you.”

All of a sudden, it felt like everything slowed down and your face was being grabbed to the ground.

You felt a bit relaxed knowing that Satoru was beside you, and you managed to take a hit without embarrassing yourself and going all snotty.

Unwillingly, you take the joint back from his hand to take another hit.

”What happened to Ms. I don’t smoke?”

You rolled your eyes before you passed it back to him again.

Satoru smiled at your reaction before speaking again. “You wanna play a game?”

Stomach churning, and not really liking where this is going, you answered. “..like what?”

”I ask you a couple questions and you answer, then you do the same to me.”

You snickered. “Isn’t that just called ‘getting to know each other’?”

”Yeah, I just wanted to make it sound more interesting.”

“Okay, why not.”

“How about, if you refuse to answer a question you take off one piece of clothing.”

You looked at him with a , ‘nice try’ face. ”Nuh uh. Not happening. Just ask the questions.”

”Aww, it was worth a shot.”

“Start asking questions or I’ll change my mind,” you changed your position on the bed to lie down on your stomach. It was more comfortable than stiffly sitting on the edge of the bed.

”You ever had a boyfriend?”

”Once. But I was like sixteen.”

Satoru just nods. “Your turn.”

“Did getting your tongue piercing hurt?”

He turned to you and smirked, “I’m surprised you noticed it. But nahh. Not really, it was just the healing process that hurted.”

Your face slightly grew warm, “…Yeah, I noticed it yesterday.”

He just smiles, and asks his second question. “You ever gotten your pussy ate before?”

You swallowed your spit as you propped yourself up slightly. “I’m sorry, what?”

”You heard me.” He takes another hit of the joint even though it’s almost shrunken to the smallest it can be.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “…No.”

”…Good.” Satoru muttered, but you couldn’t really hear.

It was your turn to ask question again.

”..Why’d you want to get it pierced anyways?”

”Dunno. Why’d you think?”

Silence and tension grew between the two of you. You didn’t know if the naughty answer that crossed your mind was right or wrong.

You didn’t know if it was the temperature of the room or the shit you smoked. You avoided answering his question.

”…Y-your turn to ask the question.”

His next question came out immediately.

“..Wanna see for yourself?”

Your breath hitched as he spoke. You didn’t know what to say. And you didn’t know what he meant.

”Is that a question you’re using up or are you just saying that… as a joke..”

Satoru stood up and walked over to the dresser, placing his costume props on top. In fact, he took everything out of his pockets and placed it on the dresser.

You watched him glance at his phone for a bit, reading all the messages from his other homies before placing it down on the dresser and not replying.

A pool was forming between your legs, and you gently clamped them together while still lying down.

You’d be lying if you said you totally didn’t want to strip everything off and be naked by the time he turns back around. But you kept your composure.

Satoru turned back around, walking back to the bed. He sat on the same edge he was on a few minutes ago.

”And what if I do wanna find out,” You spoke, testing the waters.

His voice was laced with honesty. “I don’t want to push you out of your boundaries, we don’t have to do this. We can forget that this happened and my sister won’t ever know I was near you.”

A few thoughts were racing through your mind. I mean, Chloe was busy, you literally had weed in your system and you never thought you would’ve. There’s a first for everything, right?

You gently crawled over across the bed, closer to him. “…No, I do want you to show me.” Your voice trailed off quietly, you grew shy as you drew back.

He turned his head behind to face you, and was able to see the sincerity in your eyes. Not gonna lie, he was very attractive. And I was literally begging to have his head between my legs.

You came closer to him again, and found yourself placing your lips on his first. The two of you melted into each other, with the lingering sexual tension finally resolved.

The good girl act no longer existed, and time around you felt like it had stopped. This was something you needed, and you finally got it.

He was extremely gentle with his hands, and softly guided you to move back further onto the bed, placing your head down on the pillow.

You slightly squirmed as he placed his knee between your legs. He pulled away from your neck before looking at you from above, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“Just relax doll, I’ll take care of everything.” He left you with a peck on the lips as he slowly peppered a trail of kisses down your body, going lower and lower.

Your breath hitched as he cupped both of his hands around each of your thighs, kissing your inner thigh as he looked up at you in between.

His hands were cold, and caused your nipples to harden from his touch. But the heat of your body cause him to warm up in no time. He paused for a moment. “Can I?” Satoru points to your tiny shorts before you responded with a nod. You slid them off and threw them somewhere in the room. You’ll find those later.

You watched as he used his teeth to teasingly slide your thong off your body, down your legs. You grew goosebumps from the feeling of the fabric slowly gliding down your skin.

It was painfully slow, but it made you want him even more. He knew what he was doing, and for your first time getting eaten out, it was like winning the lottery if Satoru was the one doing it.

He took them from his mouth, and placed it in the back pocket of his jeans before kissing past your inner thigh, Satoru placed a wet kiss on your throbbing clit before doing a few small licks with his tongue.

The mixture between the metal of his piercing and tongue made you shudder, causing you to whine and clamp your thighs around his head gently.

You felt Satoru's soft hands grip slightly your skin firmer, spreading your legs more apart and keeping them wide open for him. You were expecting his hands to be cold, but surprisingly your skin was met with his warm touch. He sucked on your clit gently, before lapping at it again hungrily.

Your two hands were occupied themselves, one grabbed onto his hair and the other clutched onto the sheets beside you. He only pushed his tongue deeper into you, basically gently fucking your hole with it.

Practically losing your mind from how good Satoru made you feel, you could tell he was enjoying every single noise and reaction you made. You felt the way he smiled against your dripping cunt as he cycled from sucking to licking.

”…Don’t.. stop..” you continued, in short breaths. “…Please”

He hummed gently with his eyes closed, his lips glossed with his spit and the juices from your pussy, and the sound of someone’s phone ringing echoed in your ears, releasing you from your trance.

You looked down at him annoyed as he hauled his head up from your legs. “Not my phone, mines silent on the dresser.”

You turned to the far end of the bed to your left and saw your phone screen was flashing. Reaching for it, you saw Chloe was the one calling.

Turning the phone screen for Satoru to see, he squinted his eyes a bit to read who the caller was. “You can answer,”

Before answering the call you laughed a bit, as you saw how ridiculous you made him look after grabbing his hair.

”Chloe?” You watched Satoru as he tried to listen in on the conversation.

He whispered, “Put it on speaker.”

You nodded, and Chloe could be heard on the other line speaking.

”Hey girl, just checking on you. You okay?” You heard her and Kento giggle as she tried to speak over the phone. But it was a bit louder around her, so that means they were with a bunch of other people now.

”Yeah, I’m…” Your eyes widen and flutter as felt as Satoru placed his head back down between your thighs, slowly and slightly lapping at your clit again with the cold metal orb on his tongue causing you to throb again.

You felt as he carelessly swirled his tongue around like there’s no tomorrow, but this time he let one of your legs go and thrusted a finger in and out of your hole, emitting a squelching noise as he continuously sucked, stimulating you like crazy.

The pleasure overwhelmed you, and you had to bite down on your bottom lip to suppress a moan.

”Heyyy, you there?”

You were unable to answer as your own words became nothing but breathy as you try to form a sentence.

”…Y-Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m in the…b-bathroom.” You felt his lips curl into a smirk against your inner thigh for a second time as he heard your little lie over the phone.

You furrow your brows, making an “O” shape with your mouth.

Your hand holding the phone fell flat onto the bed, and by now you were no longer listening to whatever Chloe was saying on the other side of the line. Your mind was clouded, and the knot in your stomach tightened as you felt an orgasm approaching.

Lucky for you, Chloe ended the call less than ten seconds ago as it seems like she was busy with something else. Hopefully Kento.

He felt the way you quivered even more than last time, and held one of your legs over his left shoulder as he thrusted another finger in, still lapping and sucking at your dripping cunt as your breathing quickened, becoming irregular.

”Cum all over my face,” He murmured against your warm lips, and that did it for you. You liked the way he was gentle with his hands, slowly using one to rub your thigh on his left shoulder. He was deep in there, and he ate your pussy like it was a five course meal.

You watched as him as you rode out your orgasm, your head falling back against the pillow. Your mind was all over the place as you endlessly squirted all over his fingers that curled inside of you to aid your high, and felt as you slightly pushed your body more towards him.

“S-shit..” Was all you could say. You saw the way the piercing was exposed for a split second as he stuck his tongue out, the juices from your release dripping all over his mouth.

As he gently pulled away from between your legs, a ‘pop’ noise was heard after he gave your clit one last suck.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way his face was soaking wet. Luckily it didn’t go past his above nose. Or he’d be partially blind for the rest of the night.

The neck of his shirt managed to be slightly soaked with splatters from your juices. But he didn’t care.

“..You got a little something on your face..” You say, pointing to your mouth with your finger to tell him where it was.

He smiled, and you watched as he used his tongue to wipe the corners of his mouth, but took a random towel hanging off the door to wipe the rest off his cheek.

“Damn, Suguru’s gonna be pissed when he sees how soaked his sheets are.” Satoru laughed as he looked at you still with your legs spread out, trying to recover.

No can do, the towel that was previously used by Satoru was passed to you after.

The wet circle underneath you had expanded from soaking into the sheets for too long. Satoru grabs your shorts that landed just in front of the door and tossed them back to you, but as he walked away a knock could be heard.

It was Suguru, of course it was. “Yo, whoever’s in there is cheeky enough to lock my own damn door!”

You quickly slid on your shorts as you turned to the body mirror beside you, combing your hair with your fingers.

Honestly, you were a bit upset that your fun was cut short. But you couldn’t stay for too long or eventually someone would break the door down.

“Man shut the hell up, it’s me, Satoru. I’m in here.” He responded. You watched him in the mirror as he slowly came up behind you, turning you around and gave you a sweet peck on the lips. Making sure you knew he didn’t just want to leave you hanging like that. That you weren’t just a toy to him.

The two of you walked to the door, twisting the lock to it. “Here, you go out first. I’m right behind you.”

You nod as you left the room, and shyly smiled at Suguru on your way out who was dumbfounded, followed by Satoru behind you.

And of course, Suguru couldn’t help but notice your pink thong that was still hanging off Satoru’s back pocket.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24. all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts. 🎀🩷

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #geto suguru #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu geto #jjk geto #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jujutsu satoru #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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altxrrmelancholy · 20 days ago

Text

Mediate

Tags: Bf!Yunho, reader and Seonghwa have an argument, spanking, threesome kinda, oral(f receiving), Yunho... mediating.?

Banner can be found here..

Of course, Yunho wasn't taking this all that seriously, but he had had enough of you and his best friend arguing all the time that he had to do something. He wasn't even sure why you two didn't like each other, and he was fine with it. That was until the fight almost turned physical with you almost slapping Seonghwa and him pulling on your hair. Your shrill scream is what eventually got him out of his bed as he had previously decided to ignore your raised voices.

And even as he has both of you seated on his bed, with him in front of you with his arms crossed, even if you could see the obvious unimpressed look on his face, the two of you were still arguing over each other on his bed.

"-wouldn't even be arguing with you if you just weren't here all the time-"

"My presence always bothers you, why shouldn't I care what you think-"

"Your presence bothers me?! I couldn't care less about you-"

"You know you think you're better than everyone that you can say anything you want-"

"I in fact think that I am better than everyone-"

"Why don't you leave anytime I come over, Mr. I can't stand being in the presence of other people because I'm a deity-"

"Why are YOU always here-"

"If you two don't shut the hell up, the both of you are gonna end up outside. I'm not joking."

The two of you looked at Yunho. You didn't even have the guts to say anything because unlike both of your voices, Yunho's was frighteningly low and deep. Yunho turned around and locked the door while the two of you just kept staring at him, waiting to see what he would do. You looked up at him and decided to be the bigger person, mostly because you wanted to one-up Seonghwa.

"Yuyu, I'm sorry-"

"Shut up."

You gasped at your boyfriend as you heard Seonghwa snicker at you from beside you.

"Stand up." He suddenly commanded. Yunho never talked to you like this, but you felt the need to at least listen to him since you angered him. As you took your time standing up, Yunho got a chair from his desk and dragged it across the room, right in front of Seonghwa. He jumped a little as he watched Yunho sit a meter in front of him, his narrowed eyes on him.

He then looked at you and motioned for you to come towards him. You hesitated. "Yunho?"

"Lie down." But he was gesturing to his lap. You looked at Seonghwa and he was staring at Yunho in confusion too. "Don't make me drag you, y/n."

He felt his patience thinning and suddenly stood. You widened your eyes as you saw him approach you.

"W-wait, Yunho- aaah!" And you were in the air. He sat on the chair and adjusted you such that you were laid across him, your ass in the air. The skirt you were wearing slid up and you were aware of the air hitting your thighs. "Yunho-"

Smack! You couldn't even register what happened. All you felt was a sharp pain on your ass. And then another and another. Your boyfriend was spanking you, right in front of Seonghwa.

He had never done this, even when you were alone.

You didn't know what to say.

Seonghwa meanwhile was flabbergasted, for lack of a better word. His mouth hung open as he stared at the red forming on your thighs. A scream left your mouth every time you were spanked. Seonghwa didn't know how to feel.

"Yunho? Look, I g-get it. I'm sorry-"

"Shut up, Hwa."

Oh boy.

The more Seonghwa moaned, the more you could feel yourself getting wetter. You were pretty much still on Yunho's lap, but you were leaning on his chest while the other male worked on eating you out on his knees. He hadn't even hesitated when your boyfriend told him to get on his knees. He pretty much lunged at you when he was given the green light.

You could feel the vibrations from his moans through your entire body as he dragged his tongue from your slit all the way to your clit, sucking it in his mouth between his teeth. He pushed his face closer to you, his nails buried on your thighs leaving indents on them. Your head was thrown back on to Yunho's shoulder with a whine. Your boyfriend himself was busy fondling your nipples with his long fingers. He released a groan right by your ear.

"You two don't wanna say anything to each other?" Seonghwa turned red and pushed his face even further into you drawing out a long moan from you. He sped up, sucking even harder. You pulled on his long hair and trapped his head between your thighs as you climaxed, a soft whine accompanied by your orgasm. Yunho grabbed your face and began to kiss you as you like after cumming. Your ass had been moving over Yunho's hard cock and he had been aching for you ever since he heard you moan.

Seonghwa was still red, panting softly all while lying across your thigh with his eyes closed as he heard you and your boyfriend make out. How was he supposed to navigate this situation.

"Are you okay, sexy?" Yunho murmured on your lips. All you could do was nod as you didn't know what would come out if you spoke.

"You two thought you would argue with each other with no consequences, since you thought you were grown, huh?" His voice was low and deep and you felt yourself getting turned on again.

"Hwa?" Seonghwa absentmindedly humed.

"Get on the bed." And his eyes snapped open. Your eyes were still closed as you didn't want to look him in the eye. How were you supposed to talk to him now?

Seonghwa shakily got on the bed and sat upright. Yunho smirked as he saw that he was also hard. He stood and slowly carried you over to Seonghwa, his hands on your thighs that were still wide open. He couldn't help but stare at your wrecked form thinking, he did that. He had just made you cum.

Shit. He just made his best friend's girlfriend cum.

Yunho put you on top of him, face to face. You both could barely even hold eye contact and you faced away from him, Seonghwa turning red as he could feel your bare self sit on his hard on

Yunho began taking Seonghwa's pants off and you could feel him panicking. His breathing suddenly sped up. "Y-yunho, come on man."

"I can't keep telling you to shut up,Hwa. Besides the girl you were arguing with is right on top of you. Might as well get on with it."

He succeeded in getting off his pants and underwear, revealing his dick. They never really saw each other naked, and Seonghwa was getting so flustered that he thought he could explode. He also couldn't reach and stop him from taking off his pants because he would have to get you off of him, and he didn't want you to get off him to make Yunho mad.

You were suddenly pushed to Seonghwa's chest and he was quick to shift his hands to your waist as he fell back to the bed. You felt Yunho's dick at your entrance and you started panicking.

"Yunho-"

"I didn't say you could talk to me, sweetheart."

And you felt him enter you.

#ateez yunho #ateez seonghwa #yunho #seonghwa #yunho smut #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #seonghwa scenarios #yunho scenarios #yunho x y/n #seonghwa x y/n #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fic #ateez imagines

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azzifuddfanpage · 10 days ago

Text

testing the waters

OKAY NEW PAZZ FIC THANKS TOO 😛 ANON

There would not have been a fic if it weren’t for their amazing prompt so bless 😍

^if u wanna read their prompt look at my last post

themes: friends to lovers/ fluff

tw: SMUT

Azzi walked through the doors of Gampel Pavilion. She had just gotten to campus not even an hour before and was already having her first meeting with the team.

Azzi stood by the back with the other freshman. Still getting adjusted to the thrill of the change in atmosphere.

Standing on the court was unreal. Azzi turned her head admiring the bleachers and banners that lined the walls. She took in all the greats that came before her, all names she knew and studied growing up. She couldn’t believe that she was finally here, hopefully going to follow in their footsteps.

Azzi listened carefully as Geno’s voice carried through the walls.

“This team that is here right now is one that will never be the same again. This year, with this team, this is temporary. Next year there will be new people, seniors will be gone, and the team will be a whole new team again.” He paused scanning the room eyeing the freshman.

“You will value every moment you have with this team, build your chemistry now or it will be too late.” He continued pacing along in front of the group.

Azzi felt someone’s hand brush against her wrist and a warm gentle breath draw close to her ear.

“Don’t worry he is all talk. He’s not this scary all the time- well actually maybe just try to stay on his good side.” Azzi knew this voice.

She turned her head slightly coming face to face with Paige Bueckers. She actually hadn’t prepared herself for how close they would really be, accidentally turning and even feeling Paige’s breath on her lips. Azzi’s face flushed and she tried to play it off backing up and giggling.

—-

Her and Paige went way back. Paige was even one of the reasons she went to UConn in the first place.

They had been best friends since 2016 when they met playing for team USA. All it took was one plane ride back to Minnesota and they were best friends for life.

Azzi always had loved Paige. Her laugh, her smile, her long blonde hair, her big blue eyes, her pink lips… just normal best friend type of stuff. But as she got older she started to feel differently about Paige. About girls in general.

Azzi had always liked boys- well she liked watching movies about them. Love and basketball was her favorite movie- “I want that type of relationship.” Azzi would say, almost convincing herself.

The thing was, she never really knew if she actually ever had feelings for a guy before. Yes she thought they were attractive. In a world where she personally knew Steph Curry, who wouldn’t think guys were attractive. But the thing was, whenever she pictured a future it never included a guy. Infact Azzi would picture herself alone before she would picture herself settling down with a guy.

Her and Paige even talked about living together jokingly as high schoolers in a purely innocent way.

“If we both don’t find someone by the time we are thirty- I’m gonna have to just marry you.” Paige said with a laugh. Azzi laughed but her laugh never went deeper than the surface. She would have given anything to live with Paige, to marry her, to spend the rest of her life with her. Things would have just been so much easier.

But what did any of that even mean. Paige was just her best friend. Her beautiful, talented best friend, her hot as fu-. Azzi didn’t really finish that thought. Shutting it down before she could let herself admit what she deep down knew already.

—-

“Ya I don’t know about that he seems pretty serious.” Azzi whispered back looking up and gulping when she saw Geno look at her while he spoke.

Paige reassuringly squeezed her wrist, sending butterflies down Azzi’s stomach. Actually they felt more like bald eagles than butterflies to be honest.

—-

An hour later after he was done talking they had a few hours to go back to the dorms before their offseason weight room.

Since Underclassman were not allowed to have cars on campus- Azzi being a freshman and Paige a sophmore decided to walk back to the dorms rather than hitching a ride with the others.

“So… what do you think of the campus so far. It’s awesome, you can say I was right and thank me whenever.” Paige said confidently as she watched Azzi scan the surroundings wide eyed, and taking everything in.

“Ya everything is so much bigger. I’m gonna need an extra hour to get from class to class at this point.” Azzi replied with a laugh.

They continued walking going about their day as usual.

Azzi was excited for this new life at UConn, she looked forward to it. But something about the way Paige looked at her left her wanting more.

As the day turned to night everyone retired to their rooms.

After what felt like forever of just laying in bed unable to sleep Azzi sat up.

12:30 AM Azzi read on her clock next to her. She flopped back down defeatedly.

Azzi had never been away from her parents for more than a day, every team USA tournament her parents went to. She never didn’t have someone to tuck her in.

“Not even 24 hours and I miss my mommy like I’m a five year old.” Azzi whispered to herself.

It may have been better if she had a roomate but no such luck. Her roomate, Ines was an exchange student meaning she would be flying in the next week instead of this one, meaning Azzi was stuck alone.

She couldn’t hide the tear that slipped out of her eye. She could hear people talking down the hall. Her teammates maybe-hopefully.

She climbed out of bed, wearing her black tank top and pink boxer shorts and made her way out of her room. A little down the hall she saw Paige.

Her blonde hair was unmistakable. Her laugh echoing down the long hallway.

Azzi started to walk towards her when suddenly she got a glimpse of the person she was talking to.

The girl was probably one of the prettiest ones she had ever seen- paige was prettier- and she had thick brown curls like Azzi, and tanned skin a bit lighter than Azzi’s.

Azzi watched from a far, the pit in her stomach increasing at the way the girl reached out and squeezed Paige’s arm as she laughed.

Azzi began to turn to head back down the hallway, not wanting to make herself feel any worse than she already felt, and ended up walking right into a lamp.

The sound of the lamp colliding with the floor made Paige shift her attention down the hall where she saw…

“Azzi? Is that you?” She said confused as to why the freshman was up this late when she knew she always went to bed rather early.

Azzi froze in her tracks, picking up the lamp and setting it back on the table. Wiping off her tears, she turned slowly.

“Hi Paige.” She muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

She watched as Paige said bye to the girl and they both walked as she walked down the stairs to leave.

Azzi could feel her heart pound as Paige walked closer towards her.

“Why are you awake.” She checks her phone. “It’s 12:30! You should have been asleep like 3 hours ago huh.” She said softly.

Paige notices the wet streaks on Azzi’s cheek.

“Baby are you okay?” Paige said wrapping an arm around her back.

Azzi shivered at the nickname, that alone was enough to make Azzi forget everything that she was worried about. Forget being homesick, Paige was her home.

“I’ve never slept by myself before.” Azzi admitted.

Paige knew exactly what she meant. Azzi had always been a homebody, now states away from her parents, she was homesick.

“Oh shit I forgot you don’t even have a roommate either right?” Paige said looking at her and running her fingers through her hair lovingly.

Azzi shook her head.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” Paige said walking her back to her room with her hand resting low and protectively on Azzi’s back.

As Azzi climbed back into bed, she attentively watched Paige’s every move.

“Paige?” Azzi asked as Paige reentered her room with a glass of water.

“Ya.” Paige said handing it to Azzi and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Can you stay with me. Just for tonight.”

Paiges heart jumped.

“I’ll stay with you everyday until Ines gets here how bout that?” Paige said standing up and kissing her forehead.

Azzi melted into her touch. She could get used to that.

Azzi nodded watching paige walk over to the other mattress, that had nothing on it.

“Sleep with me.” Azzi said.

Paige raised her eyebrow smirking.

“OH MY GOD PAIGE!” Azzi shrieked throwing a pillow at her head, which Paige of course caught.

Laughing Paige climbed into the small twin size bed with her. They were basically on top of each other, but they tried to keep their hands to themselves- for now.

—-

As the nights went by they started growing closer. Their touches were more affectionate as they lingered. Azzi even woke up the third day with Paiges arms wrapped around her waist, her shirt had risen and Paiges hands were dangerously close to her breasts. Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling that she actually liked it.

“Why the fuck do I want my best friend to touch my boobs?” Azzi said with shock, trying to push it to the side and just let Paige cling to her.

—-

It was finally the weekend. This Saturday they had the day off.

It was around 11:00 and Paige and Azzi were both in her bed.

“Hey wanna watch a movie? We don’t have to be up early tomorrow.” Paige said turning to Azzi. “I brought my iPad.” She said grinning.

Azzi giggled, “only if we can watch frozen.” She said.

Paige sighed pulling it out and propping it against a pillow.

“Whatever you want princess.” She said laughing.

Azzi was praying to god that the purple led lights masked the red glow of her blush.

It was getting harder and harder for her to hide her feelings for Paige. She was so confused. She was striaght though. Definitely straight. Right??

—-

Halfway through the movie Paige got up to grab some snacks.

Paige was wearing just a sports bra- literally no clue why- and Azzi could literally feel her heart beating, maybe something else too but she couldn’t pin point it.

Embarrassingly enough Azzi was a virgin. She hadn’t told anyone, no one really asked either. It wasn’t that no one liked her, she simply just didn’t feel the need to be with anyone like that.

“Why would anyone want to suck someone’s dick that’s just nasty.” Azzi could not understand it for the life of her.

But now with Paige, she would give anything to feel her fingers inside her…. Maybe she was just finally starting to want to have sex. She was just confused it wasn’t fine.

As paige reentered the room her breath shifted. The pants paige was wearing had hung even lower- showing the outline of her V-line, and she had two waters in her arms. Azzi’s attention immediately scanning up and down her body and then focusing on the vein bulging out of her bicep.

“Like what you see.” Paige smirked making her way over to Azzi and setting down the snacks and waters that were saying down her pockets.

Azzi felt her heat spread to her cheeks.

“Sorry I just-“ she honestly had no idea how to cover that up.

“It’s okay I get it. I have been hitting the weight room.” Paige said wrapping her arm around Azzi laughing as she could feel her tense up under her touch.

Paige always had thought Azzi was straight but now she wasn’t so sure.

Azzi had never once talked about her love life. And the way she had looked at her the other day when paige was with another girl… the pieces were starting to connect.

A little while later, paige started to get curious, wanting to test her theory out. She began to move her hand a little lower on Azzi’s side.

She listened to the rise and fall of Azzi’s breath, listened to it speed up as her hand began to move onto her thigh traveling closer and closer inward.

Paige “coughed” accidentally brushing in between her legs causing Azzi to let out a soft moan. Azzi tried to cover it up with a cough but it was too late.

Paige leaned forward and whispered in her ear.

“You like it when I touch you princess? Thought u were straight- I should’ve known a pretty girl like u would want something better than a man.” Paige growled causing Azzi to tense up completely caught off guard by her assumption.

Azzi had never told anyone this, she had no idea how Paige was able to see through her so easily.

“Paige I am straight, what are you talking abo-“ she was caught off by another one of her own gasps as Paige ran her hand back around and placed it on her upper ass.

“See the way you look at me. You sure bout that?” Paige said confidently moving her hand so she was rubbing Azzi’s back through her clothes.

Azzi’s breath hitched feeling Paiges long fingers slip under her shirt and explore higher on her back.

“You seriously mean to tell me you don’t feel anything when I touch you.” Paige said smirking as she continued to rub her back in a way that left Azzi’s mouth watering in desire.

“I- I- don’t know. I don’t know what it feels like.” Azzi replied at a low whisper secretly hoping Paige wouldn’t hear it.

“What do you mean? Are you saying you have never had sex before?? What’s a pretty girl like you doing still a virgin.” Paige said honestly her hand stopping and staying rested on her back.

“I don’t know just never found the right person I guess. I just don’t know what I am, I can’t tell if my feelings are real or not.”

“We’ll have you ever thought about it.” Paige said simply.

“Thought about what?” Azzi asked innocently not sure where this conversation was going.

“About having sex…. I’m sure you have thought about it at least once.” Paige replied.

“I mean I guess kinda but I don’t even know anymore I just feel like my brain is playing tricks on me.” Azzi said shaking her head.

Paige turned Azzi’s face to look at her by grabbing her chin gently.

“Wanna test it out?” Paige said experimentally.

“What do you mean test it out.” Azzi asked confused.

“Paige brought her hand to the front of Azzi’s shirt gently moving it up towards her breasts over her clothes, avoiding them but paying all the attention to them at the same time.

“I mean why don’t you just try it, like get it out of your system, fuck me and then I gaurentee you will know exactly how you should be feeling.” Paige leaned closer into Azzi’s ear grabbing her by the front of her shirt.

“I will make you feel better than anyone else baby.” Paige whispered seductively. Azzi could feel something wet between her legs. She couldn’t explain it, it was feeling she had never really had before.

Without thinking about what this would mean, Azzi nodded.

“Let’s start slow, hm? Ease you into it.” Paige said softly.

Azzi nodded, she trusted paige more than anything. If paige could show her what she needed to know, then why not.

With that, Paige brought her lips so they were hovering just above Azzi’s.

“Let me know when you feel something.” Paige said suggestively right before connecting her lips to Azzi’s.

There was no turning back now. Both girls sinking into the kiss. Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s back grabbing at her ass, and Azzi instinctively stabilized herself by grabbing Paige’s neck.

The kiss grew quickly. Azzi let out soft moan telling paige exactly what she needed to know. The second Azzi opened her mouth again letting out a soft whine against paige’s lips, paige shoved her tongue inside her mouth.

Azzi moaned into her mouth feeling Paiges tongue fight against her own. Paige really knew what she was doing.

Both girls worked to get closer to each other, causing paige to lay down on top of Azzi, sticking her leg in between hers. As the kiss quickened, paige moved her knee and pressed it against Azzi’s core causing her to let out a shrill moan.

She had never been touched like that before, paige knew just how to make her feel seen. No one had ever taken care of her needs like this before.

As Azzi began to get more comfortable and grind down on her knee desperate for some friction, Paige pulled back from her.

“You feel anything yet?” Paige said giggling as she could see just how dilated Azzi’s eyebrows were desperately in need of her touch.

“Yes a little.” Azzi admitted focusing down on paige’s fingers that rested on her thigh.

Paige noticed this and smirked, she started to move her fingers closer to Azzi’s center.

“Only a little?” Paige said slyly. “That’s a shame, I thought I felt a little something myself.” Paige said suggestively leaning forward into Azzi’s ear causing her breath to hitch.

“And I really wanted to know what my fingers felt like inside of you.” Paige said smirking against Azzi’s ear.

Azzi couldn’t resist it anymore, grabbbing paige’s collar and pulling her back to her lips.

As Azzi’s tongue filled paige’s mouth, she heard paige let out a tiny soft moan.

“Need you so bad. Show me please. Teach me.” Azzi whined running her hands along paige’s bare abs.

Paige smirked knowingly.

“So needy for me huh.” Paige said reaching down so her thumb was now directly on Azzi’s pussy. She started to rub at it blindly through her clothes.

Feeling Azzi thrust towards her she looked into her eyes.

“Can I take these off baby?” Paige asked not looking away from her big brown eyes begging to be fucked.

Without a word Azzi lifted her but so paige could pull down her shorts and panties in one sweep.

As the air hit her slick she felt nothing but fear and embarrassment. She tried to close her legs, suddenly afraid of what this would mean for her, but paige caught them keeping them apart.

Azzi looked into paige’s eyes and saw nothing but love as paige eyed her pussy hungrily. She laughed. Oops.

Paige looked up at her laughter.

“What’s so funny.” Paige asked confused.

“Nothing it’s just ironic. I think I have had a crush on you this whole time and now hear you are literally staring at my pussy the way I have stared at you all these years.” Azzi answered smiling.

Paige smirked running her hands up her inner thigh, leaning forward to press a kiss against her. Azzi moaned.

She placed another kiss equidistant to the last one.

“I-“ paige started, then left another kiss, sucking a bit harder this time.

“Have felt-” continuing and leaving another kiss.

“The same-“ going back in one more time right above her mound.

“Way.” She finished settling so now she was just hovering over her pussy.

“Don’t just love this pussy tho.” Paige winked right before diving in to attack her clit with her tongue licking a long stripe up her starting from the entrance of her hole and ending at the bundle of nerves. Azzi moaned loudly tugging at paige’s hair, partially from the love confession, and also from the feeling of paige’s powerful tongue attacking her clit.

Azzi couldn’t contain her moans as paige sucked and nipped at her clit pullljngbvack and spiting into it spreading the mixture of spit and cum around her clit with her fingers before sliding one of her fingers teasingly into her hole.

Azzi thrusted forward greedily, needing to feel paige as close to inside of her as possible.

“Baby relax” paige started “lemme show you why gay is better.” She finished before shoving a finger into Azzi.

Azzi’s eyes widened and she propped herself up on her elbows so she could see paige ponding the finger into her and simultaneously using her thumb to rub at her clit in small circles.

“You’re so tight holy fuck.” Paige said as she added another finger leaving Azzi gasping and moving one of her hands to pull paige towards her to kiss her.

Paige swallowed her moans continuing to feel around her cervix with her finger as it went in and out, the wet squishing of Azzi’s cum against paige’s fingers filled the silence of the room.

Pulling back from the kiss paige resumed her focus on her pussy, attaching her tongue to her clit and sucking as she pounded in and out of her.

Paiges middle finger brushed against her g spot causing Azzi to let out a loud breathy moan, arching her back shoving her pussy into paige’s face.

Motivated by Azzi’s actions, paige pulled back again from her clit, using her thumb to rub it up and down, separating her folds to expose the pink center of her clit.

“Prettiest pussy in the world. She loves me.” Paige whispered as if talking to her pussy.

Azzi sat up to look again as paige slowed down, when all of a sudden paige used one of her hands to press down on Azzi’s lower stomach making her feel like she was about to pee, and her with her other hand that was thrusting two fingers in and out of her, she slipped in a third, barely fitting it in Azzi’s tight cunt.

Azzi moaned watching the way her pussy sucked in her fingers so naturally.

As paige leaned back down to her clit, three fingers still pounding into her with power and force, the pressure of paige’s tongue against her was almost too much.

“Paige I’m gonna cum oh my god.” Azzi moaned throwing her head back.

“You can cum for me baby.” Paige said against her pussy the vibrations sending her over the top as she could no longer hold back anymore, streams of cum pouring out of her and paige stuck her tongue out drinking it all up.

Paige slowly worked her fingers getting her through the climax as Azzi was left a heap of tears and moans, still very out of breath. The warm sensation still tingling in her pants.

“Welp I’m definitely gay.” Azzi said with a laugh as paige joined her on the bed.

“Thank god, I have been waiting to hear you say that for fucking years.” paige said turning to her.

“Really?!” Azzi said surprised that who she now realized was her childhood crush had felt the same way for all these years.

“Damn we really have been waiting time not trying this sooner.” Azzi continued, laughing as she saw the paige’s mouth still glistening in the lights with her cum.

“Well I guess we will have to just make this a daily thing then huh.” Paige said smirking pulling Azzi closer to her.

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll show you how to eat me.”

“How about now.” Azzi said confidently flipping them over so paige was back on top of her, where Azzi shimmied down so paige’s cunt was directly above her.

Pulling her shorts and panties to the side, she got right to work.

#azzi fudd #pazzi #paige bueckers #pazzi fic #pazzi fics

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dewdropdinosaur · 7 days ago

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My Kink is Karma

Alastor x Reader Summary: Alastor lost a bet...horribly so. So imagine his surprise when his partner cashes in their prize on New Year's Eve...in the form of a vibrating plug. Warnings: Plug using, blow jobs, pet names in a sexual context, sadomasochistic tendencies, use of restraints, sub/dom dynamics (SUB Alastor), etc. MDNI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption. 2,675 words Requested by many people and thanks to @kewpikayo and @castawayinhxll for helping me brainstorm!

The grand ballroom of the Hazbin Hotel glittered with anticipation. Black and gold streamers wove around tall marble columns, and the tables sparkled with elegant centerpieces of painted roses and flickering candles. At the podium, Charlie hummed nervously as she adjusted a ribbon on the microphone stand.

“Vaggie, do you think it’s too much? Maybe the black tablecloths make it too...sad?” she fretted, twisting a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

Vaggie, perched on a ladder as she pinned a gold banner reading "New Year, New Redemption" above the stage, rolled her eyes. “It looks perfect, Charlie. Relax. This is going to blow everyone away.”

Charlie bit her lip, her gaze flicking to her phone. “I still haven’t heard from Alastor or Y/N. They’re never late, especially not Alastor. What if—”

“They’ll be here,” Vaggie interrupted, stepping down from the ladder. She placed a reassuring hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “It’s Alastor. You know how he is. Punctuality is practically his religion.”

Charlie nodded but couldn’t shake the unease. As Vaggie moved to adjust a crooked candle, the heavy creak of a trolley drew their attention.

“Alright, booze delivery,” Husk grumbled, pushing a cart laden with bottles of champagne, whiskey, and other spirits. His wings twitched as he glared at the banner. “Y’know, this feels like a lotta work for demons who probably can’t even remember what year it is.”

Charlie laughed nervously. “It’s about the gesture, Husk! A new year is a new chance at redemption!”

Husk snorted, cracking open a bottle of gin. “Sure. Whatever you say, Princess.”

Just as the final touches were in place, the grand double doors of the ballroom swung open. All heads turned as Alastor and Y/N entered, their silhouettes sharp against the warm glow of the room.

“Ah, finally!” Charlie exclaimed, her face lighting up with relief. She waved them over, but her smile faltered slightly as she noticed something... off.

Alastor, ever the picture of poise, seemed unusually stiff, his crimson eyes darting nervously around the room. His usual grin was tight, less a sign of amusement and more a strained facade.

Beside him, Y/N exuded an air of smug satisfaction, their eyes sparkling with a secret they weren’t planning to share.

“Sorry for the delay,” Y/N said smoothly, hands stuffed in their pockets and voice carrying just the right amount of mischief to not seem odd. “We ran into a… distraction.”

Alastor’s head snapped toward them, his grin twitching dangerously. “Quite the unexpected one,” he added, his tone clipped. His eyes flickered to Y/N, his partner of a few years, with a less-than-hidden disdain.

Charlie blinked but shrugged off the odd tension. “Well, you’re here now! That’s what matters!”

From his perch at the bar, Husk caught Alastor’s eye. He raised his glass slightly, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. Alastor glared at him momentarily, but the faintest flush betrayed his annoyance.

As the evening went on, the ballroom buzzed with laughter and music. Yet, Husk couldn’t help but chuckle into his drink, his sharp eyes catching every subtle glance and twitch between the two latecomers.

It was obvious to anyone who had ever done it: the stiff posture, the jerks at the dinner table, eyes fighting not to roll back. Alastor was in something…or more accurately, something was in Alastor. Husk had overheard the debate a few days ago, nothing major, he was so pissed drunk he was shocked he had remembered.

“For one moment, could you please not pester everything I do?”

“Why my dear, I do believe you love my company. You were certainly agreeable the other–”

“Alastor, I don’t think you could go one minute without a quippy comment. In fact, I bet you can’t.”

Alastor’s eyes had glowed in disdain at the comment, extending a green threaded hand to his lover.

“Very well, cher. If I can’t go one minute without a comment, you may do anything you wish to me for the New Year. But only one thing.”

Oh, how pride hath gone before the fall. Now Alastor stands, rather awkwardly, facing his punishment. Y/N placed their hands on the lapels of Alastor’s coat, making a motion of adjusting the fabric in a seemingly domestic display. Leaning closer, they whispered softly

“What's the matter, Al? You seem a bit stiff this evening…why not go and greet the others? I’m not going anywhere…”

‘And neither is that remote in my pocket, nor your plug…’

“I am simply stepping back a bit, cher. Let Ms. Morningstar handle the affair.”

“You're supposed to be acting normal. That was our agreement. You wouldn’t be the one to go against a deal, would you?”

As if to single-handedly further his demise, Charlie waved Alastor over.

“Go on, honey. It looks like Princess Morningstar needs you.” With one last pat on the jacket and a wink, Y/N left Alastor to his more than pleasurable misery.

It was no shock to anyone that Alastor was a masochist, everyone could see how he reveled in the pain of those he deemed his subordinate. However, it might shock one to learn that the Radio Demon was also a sadomasochist. Rarely seen but stewing under the surface, the need for pain and pleasure was a dangerous cocktail that Alastor had found himself addicted to. Especially when administered by the hands of his partner.

But this? This was torture. Here he is, talking to the princess and a group of other sinners; his mind a puddle of desire. Positively doing his utmost to keep his composure, a jolt moves through him when he feels the ever-present toy, that dastardly thing, buzzing. Emitting sweet, torturous pleasure at a time when he was supposed to be working. He was on duty.

It had been simple enough at first. He had lost the bet, rather unfortunately, but didn’t fear too much. Y/N was always kind and gentle with him, a mean streak sure, but amicable in all their squabbles. Little would he have guessed that a silver plug with the red ruby heart would stuff him so full he was almost babbling before they even came to the party. Small vibrations from a damn remote in his lover’s pockets were not how he thought his reputation would be tarnished, nor his secret be revealed. Alastor did not pray in life, nor much in death, though he conceded to one small one now.

Fortunately, Alastor found a natural pause in his speech and seized the opportunity to take a breath, probably for a moment longer than was needed. He cared not. What Y/N was doing to him was unnatural. Horrid. Absolutely divine.

He wanted them to do it again. And again and again…

Why did he wish for this?! Why did he wish for them? Why did he wish for the sweet destruction and ecstasy, Y/N promised? They had him begging, eating from the palm of their hand How disgraceful.

It continues like this the entire evening. When he is giving his speech on the Hotel’s progress, the vibrations from behind him catch the mic if only for a second. He blames it on technological malfunctions. At dinner, he jolts and almost spills his drink. He blames it on the liquor. And when Angel gave him a knowing look, Alastor could only blame his flushed cheeks on his tight clothing. Alastor would not find out till three days later that Angel had…provided the very plug that was now the source of his predicament. The spider demon never let him live it down, though did agree after much threatening to keep it between them….Angel told Husk four days later.

Finally, the night had come to a close. All the guests had left, save for those who lived in the Hotel, and the decorations were being put up. With a pleading glance and a desperate look, Alastor found himself walking back to his partner’s room with Y/N.

“You were so good for me tonight, baby–” Opening the door to the room, Y/N placed their hand on the small of Alastor’s back and guided them to the bed with a sultry look. “Let me reward you, mhmm?”

Slamming their lips to his, Alastor returned the kiss with just as much fervor if not more. Hours of teasing had left him hard beyond compare and in desperate need of release. He felt as if could blow any second, the vibrations building him up only to slow down as he needed them most. While the thought of having cum earlier was enticing, he was grateful his partner had not allowed him to stain his pants. More than they already were with pre-cum at least.

“Just you wait, my deer…I will make you pay for that little stunt you pulled–”

“Oh you are welcome to try, Allie.”

Turning up the vibrator once more, Alastor’s knees practically gave out beneath him. His lanky form crumbled backward as Y/N placed him on the bed. The black silk sheets were strangely comforting in their coolness but did little to quell the burning heat inside him. Y/N continued to kiss him furiously, lips wandering their way down occasionally to leave soft nips at Alastor’s jugular.

“Stop…your fruitless teasing–”

“Aww, are you riled up, Alastor? Patience, honey, you will get what you want soon. I just wanna enjoy you first.”

Stepping away quickly, Y/N got up and went over to their dresser; leaving Alastor to whine in disapproval at the loss of attention. Returning, a red ribbon glinted in the pale moonlight streaming in from the window. Bringing their hands to Alastor’s wrist, Y/N softly but snuggly tied the material.

“I will not be contained my dear, I can break out of these anytime you know.”

“Of course, you could baby. Let’s see you try–”

Resuming their previous course of action, Y/N continued to trail kisses down Alastor’s neck. Following the path his body laid out, treasuring every inch of covered or uncovered skin. Worshiping him as if he had hung Heaven himself, set the stars in motion, and could only whine this pretty just for them. The plug still vibrated inside him, albeit a touch slower and less intense than before. A false hope for the Radio Demon, until Y/N’s kisses came to the belt on his pants, and their hands made light work of removing the fabric from his body.

A red lacey garter belt was the first thing that caught Y/N’s eyes, the straps connecting to a beautiful thin piece of fabric, if one could call it that, that remained the only thing in their way to reach Alastor’s weeping and throbbing dick. Giving it a quick snap, only for Alastor to yelp out in a quick moan of pleasure, the lace was quickly removed.

“You look so beautiful for me, Allie. All dolled up, was it for me? You sweet boy…”

“Yes, cher—fuck all for you.”

Bringing their lips to softly peck at the tip, Alastor’s hands gripped the sheets, squirming at the stimulation. Y/N’s lips continued to suck as their tongue swiped over the large head of his member, enjoying the taste of the salty liquid that kept weeping from the tip despite its abuse. Finally, opening their mouth, Y/N took all of him in one swallow. Hollowing their cheeks, taking him till his balls slapped their face with each wretched buck of Alastpr’s hips into the warm and inviting concave of their mouth.

Relief washed over Alastor in that moment, a sweet and sickening relief that truly wasn’t one at all. Quickly brought to the edge of overstimulation, quiet tears pooled in the corner of his eyes. Daring to fall and admit his weakness, but in this moment, he found himself caring little. The only thing his mind focused on was the constant internal cries, desperate to cum. Allow his partner to milk him dry till he has nothing left to give and then keep going, to have his body bruised with their lips and hands only for him to see and hide in the morning. To feel the rush of adrenaline that paired with the shame of every sweet whispered praise from Y/N’s mouth and to treasure it in his black soul forever.

Y/n could tell he was close, the way his cock twitched in their mouth or the way his moans become less breathy; more of incoherent babble was always a tale-tell sign. Raising a hand, soft fingertips coming to fondle his balls, Y/N added to the stimulation of their partner.

He was always beautiful, but like this, he was ethereal. His hair pulled taught in a ponytail, the wisps sticking to his head from perspiration. Lips parted, just begging to be kissed, the magical vessel that produced the sinfully wonderful sounds Y/N so cherished. His hands came to rest in their hair, giving soft tugs and scrapes with every passing second of a much-needed and rising orgasm. He was perfect.

It all was perfect, the tight band in his stomach snapping and waves of pleasure rushing down on him like a crescendo. Hot cum spurt from his abused tip into Y/N’s mouth, greedily slurping and swallowing for all he was worth. So enraptured in the after-glow, little did Alastor notice that he had cum so much, small hot trails of liquid gold spilled out of the corners of his partner’s eager lips. Burning tears flooded Alastor’s senses, small hiccups erupting from his swollen lips.

After a moment, Y/N removed their mouth and hands, having swallowed all of their just desserts. Slowly rising, stepping forward to untie the ribbon restraints and remove the vibrator, Y/N’s hands moved with meticulous grace and ease.

“There you go, my love. That’s it, you did so well for me.”

Grabbing a small wet towelette from their drawer, pre-prepared, Y/N began the process of cleaning Alastor up. Humming softly and whispering sweet-nothings. How good the sounds he made were, how beautiful he was. Alastor could’ve sworn there was a different, much softer emotion that found residence in their eyes. Was it possibly love? Did they love him?

Is that why they put him through this sweet torture? To show their affection?

Another shutter startled the poor deer demon back to reality as Y/N gently smoothed their thumb and hands over his ears and played with his hair. The towelette coming as well to dab off the remaining sweat and tears.

“Ya know…next time I need to get you a bow to wear on your tail.

“Absolutely not…and what do you mean next time?”

“Come on, Al.. with the noises you made, you’ll be begging me to make sweet love to you again soon. It's just a fact.” A muted chuckle was stifled though joyful, Y/N’s eyes shining and peering down at Alastor’s.

“And…how would you know this?’

“I just know you.”

Y/N paused and continued to stare down at their lover. He was so…there were no words. In all the blackness of the room, his eyes shone out the brightest. If Heaven lost all its light and wonder, only Alastor’s eyes would be able to light the world back on fire.

“... What’s the matter, cher?”

“N-nothing…Just…you got pretty eyes. It's hard not to get lost in ‘em…”

Another pause.

“Would you like a shower, Al?”

Y/N didn’t receive a reply as Alastor fell asleep in their arms. In their bed, instead. Only notified by his current state due to the soft bleating snore-like noises softly coming from him.

Y/N swept a few stray hairs from his face, placing a kiss on his forehead and snuggling closer to him. Closing their eyes and allowing the temptation of sleep to embrace their mind. They smiled, a small but pleasant grin appearing on their face as they felt his warm breath hit their face; slight static in his sweet snores turning the sound into a faint, fatigued melody…

#hazbin hotel fandom #romance #answered #vizziepop #radio killed the video star #request #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #sub alastor #alastor imagines

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jellalism · 3 months ago

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Kinktober 2024, Day 5: Sneak

Noel is searching for you. You need to escape, or suffer the consequences of failing to do so.

Word count: 558 words

Genre: Horror, sexually suggestive

Reader's gender and sex: gender neutral, but “boy/girl” used. No sexual characteristics mentioned.

Content warnings: Yandere and all that that entails

Notes: Noel is an OC of @devotion-disorder. The art in the banner is also by her!

Read below or on AO3.

“When I find you, oh, you’re gonna be sorry.” Noel’s voice rang out menacingly from downstairs. “You’ve been so naughty. And the naughty need to be punished.”

You place your hand over your mouth to keep yourself from crying out in fear. Adrenaline is coursing through your veins. Every cell in your body is telling you to get the fuck out of this place.

You’re currently hiding in one of the bedrooms. You inch toward the door, opening it a crack. The red-carpeted corridor seems empty, as far as you can see. You open the door a little further, and stick your head out. The coast is clear. He may still be downstairs.

You stick your head back in and slip out of your shoes soundlessly. It’s easier to sneak around barefoot than it is with shoes on. You take another quick peek out the door before you go through. The staircase is to the right. That’s where you have to go.

Making as little sound as possible—thank god for the carpet muffling your footsteps—you make your way down the corridor, looking carefully for any sign of your captor. You stay close to the wall, and when you reach the staircase, you first carefully peek over the baluster.

No one in sight.

Now it’s a matter of making your way down quickly and silently. You take a deep breath and quickly go to the staircase. Step by step, as fast as you can, but taking care not to make any sound. You’re attuned to all the sounds around you; in the silence, your breathing sounds like it’s ear-deafening.

Halfway down the stairs, you hear a door close in the distance. “Where are you, honey?” His voice is coming from the corridor upstairs. You swallow and hurry down the stairs, accidentally placing your foot down louder than you would have liked. But you continue on. Behind you, you hear footsteps hurrying towards you.

“There you are.” Noel’s voice is sickly sweet, but you can’t give up now, and you run down the stairs, Noel hot on your heels. When you reach the bottom step, you suddenly feel a hard object slamming in your back, causing you to lose your balance and fall face down on the floor. You immediately try to get back up, but another impact in your back slams you back into the ground painfully, making you cry out in pain.

It’s Noel. He’s standing on top of you, his right foot between your shoulder blades. And putting his weight on it.

“Now now, that’s not how my lover is expected to behave.” He grinds his foot painfully in your back. “And I told you, didn’t I? If you disobey me, you need to be punished.”

He takes his foot of your back, and relief courses through you for a fraction of a second. But then gravity does its work and his full body slams into yours. His arm hits the back of your head and smashes it on the floor. You’re pretty sure your nose is bleeding.

He adjusts his position so his crotch is at your ass. He grinds his bulge against your buttocks while his mouth is at your ear. “I’ll show you what you get for defying me. You’re in for a world of pain.”

A sob escapes you. The first of many.

#noel #oc x reader #noel x reader #oc x you #male oc x reader #male oc x you #my writing #nsft #devotion-disorder #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere boyfriend #yandere x you #male yandere x reader #male yandere

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souliebird · 9 months ago

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[[and then I met you || ch. 19]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.6k

ao3 link

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

Frank, admittedly, isn’t as fit as he used to be.

Running through the desert, carrying all his gear, used to be an everyday thing he could do no problem, but now, running through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he finds his breathing to be a bit labored.

Then again, that might be because he’s pissed off. He, Jones, and Red were in the middle of setting up for a night of surveillance, something Red insisted they do, when the costumed idiot took off into the night without a word.

Normally, Red will give them the damn courtesy of letting them know before he disappears to protect his flock, so him just starting to bolt had Frank and Jones scooping up their shit and following.

One thing Frank’s learned while working with Matt Murdock is to trust the bastard when it comes to his senses - when he says they need to clear out, there is usually a damn good reason to start running. But he has always given a reason or a head’s up - taking off like this must mean something is going down.

Jones gave up trying to keep pace a few blocks back, but Frank is determined to find out what the hell is going on. Red has the advantage of not hauling an additional fifty pounds of gear, and he has taken to parkouring over the roofs, so has gotten about a block and a half ahead.

Frank can keep him in his sights, at least. He’s making a bee-line right towards Chelsea and that’s causing a pit to start to grow in the Marine’s stomach. Not many things override Red’s deep seeded commitment to his city and only one of those things resides outside Hell’s Kitchen.

He adjusts his grip on his bag and forces his legs to move faster.

The buildings around him shift from businesses to residential and about two blocks into the change, Frank knows what set the Devil off.

His little girl is in the middle of the sidewalk, crying hysterically as her mother struggles on the ground against some fat fuck in a business suit. Frank only sees the attacker for a brief second before fury incarnate grabs him by his thick neck and slams him into the ground by Mom’s feet. The sound of a skull being cracked rings clear before it's covered by angry roars and the crunch and squelch of someone’s face being pounded in.

By the Grace of all that is Holy, Red’s baby seems to not care her dad is about to kill a guy and scurries to her Mommy now that she is free. Frank kicks his ass into gear to get there before she can be traumatized anymore.

He doesn’t know if the little girl recognizes him or not, but she doesn’t fight it when Frank picks her up. She clings to him desperately, burying her face against his neck and just sobbing. Instincts he forgot he had kick in and Frank bundles Minnie up in his duster, rocking her and trying to soothe her the best he can.

“Hey, hey, sweet girl, it's okay, it's okay. I gotcha. Everything’s gonna be okay, I gotcha.”

Frank cups the back of her head, careful to not tangle his fingers up in her curls and turns her away from her bloody mother. He needs to check on you, to make sure your wounds are something he can handle, and they don’t need to take you to the hospital, but he can’t do that with a crying toddler in his arms.

“He hurt my Mommy!” The baby wails and his heart just about breaks. He wants so badly to join Red in stomping the piece of shit’s head into the pavement for endangering such a precious child, but he knows he can’t. She can’t witness any more than she already has.

As often as Frank takes digs at Murdock for being an altar boy, he can’t let Red’s daughter see him lose control and step over the line he swore to never cross. He’d never forgive himself for causing that trauma for her. So, he hugs the little girl closer, kisses the top of her head, then grunts, “Red!”

Murdock stills mid-punch, his bloody fist raised and ready to continue his punishment. He looks feral - he is snarling, and gore has splashed up onto his face. He is shaking with rage and for a brief moment, Frank can see why he claims to have the Devil in him. Then, just as his little girl cries for her Mom again, control returns to him. Red tilts his head in a way Frank knows he heard something, then he pushes himself up into standing.

Red rips his gloves off, throwing them to the ground, before taking the few steps to clear the gap between him and Frank. He barely starts to rasp out his daughter’s name before she’s turning in Frank’s arms and trying to throw herself to him, sobbing.

“DADDY!”

The noise Red makes is not at all human as he crushes his baby girl to his chest. A new round of loud tears start and Frank knows he has to work quickly before they start attracting attention.

He pulls his duster off and throws it around Red’s shoulders, trying to hide his garish costume. Murdock seems to realize what he’s doing - he curls into it while ducking his horn-head and moving towards the shadows as he comforts his daughter. Frank can’t hear what he’s saying - his voice is low and the crying covers it - but honestly he doesn’t care.

He turns his attention back to your limp body on the ground, dropping down and letting his knowledge of field medicine take over.

Your forehead is bleeding pretty bad, but a quick assessment of the wound tells him it looks worse than it really is. You’ve got a pretty good gash, but it is shallow, and he doesn’t feel any bone breakage under it or swelling. You’ll need a few stitches, and a hell of a lot of ibuprofen, but you won’t need a hospital. You probably passed out from a combination of pain and exhaustion from an adrenaline rush.

Still, Frank checks your neck before deciding to move you, just to make sure it's safe.

As he starts to press his fingers along your spine, Jones finally makes her appearance, jogging up to the scene.

“What the fuck?”

Frank barely looks up as he growls out his reply, focusing on his work while formulating a plan in his head, “It’s his kid.”

“Oh shit,” she replies, then after a beat, “Is he dead?”

Frank barely looks over to the beaten man in question - his chest is still rising and falling so that’s good enough for him. “Nah, not yet. Call it in - then meet us up in her apartment.”

He rattles off the address and apartment number as he scoops you up into a fireman’s carry. He’s glad he doesn’t have far to go, because your weight, plus his gear, isn’t doing any favors to his back. As he gets you situated, Jones steps over to the attacker and nudges him in the side with her boot. His face isn’t recognizable as human, but that isn’t what she comments on.

“What is that smell? Did he shit himself?”

“Fuck if I know, just call it in,” Frank grunts as he begins to trudge towards the right building. “Red, let's go!”

He knows he doesn’t have to explain the plan to Murdock - fucker heard him the first time. Red falls in line and by some miracle, his little girl’s crying has tampered down. She’s still crying - Frank would be more concerned if she wasn’t - but she’s tucked herself close to her Dad and seems to be just more upset than actively terrified. Frank’s got no idea what Murdock could have possibly done to soothe her, but he gives him props for doing it so damn fast.

He can hear Jones calling for an ambulance as they enter into your building, and once in the lobby, Frank wastes no time barking another order, “Take off your helmet.”

That earns him a glare, or what counts as a glare from the Devil, and Murdock uses one hand to pull his cowl off and stuffs it between his chest and his daughter before starting for the stairs. Frank is right at his heel and being so close means he can finally hear what Red is repeating to his girl.

“Just listen to her heart, baby, everything’s okay. You know that sound. Just listen to her heart.”

Frank has a good guess what that means - his theory about passing out from exhaustion and pain is probably correct. If your heart isn’t in crazy panic ‘I’m dying’ mode, you should be fine after a good night’s rest.

The only problem they encounter in the climb up to your apartment is your door. They have to do a weird song-and-dance of Frank turning so Red can get into your purse to get keys while also making sure Minnie can’t see your face. He hasn’t gotten the chance to clean you up in any way and he’s not going to let any little girl see her mom like that if he can help it.

Once they are inside the apartment, Frank goes right to the couch to lay you out. As he does, he says over his shoulder, “I’m gonna call Curt.”

Just because you don’t need a hospital doesn’t mean you shouldn’t see a medical professional. Frank knows what he is doing, but he does not trust himself to stitch up your face. Someone with delicate hands needs to do that, and the best person he knows for that is Curt.

Murdock, however, disagrees.

“Call Claire,” he counters firmly.

Frank knows better than to argue - this is Murdock’s family and Frank ain’t got a dog in this fight. So, once you are down, and his gear is dropped, he fishes out his phone to call the feisty nurse. As he does, Red starts back towards what Frank assumes is the bedroom, talking in a sweet tone to his little girl, “It's okay, Frank’s gonna clean Mommy up, then we can go see her. She’s just got a scrape, everything’s okay.”

Frank focuses on his task at hand - as the line rings, he raids the kitchen for washcloths, bowls, and paper towels. He’s on his way back to the couch when Claire finally answers.

“What did he do this time?”

A little smile forms on his lips at her bluntness - he’s always liked Claire and her no-nonsense attitude.

“Ain’t him. His girl got mugged, hit her head pretty good,” he explains, as he dips a washcloth into the water to start on cleaning you up. The cut on your forehead is still bleeding, but only a little by this point. He’ll have to retrace their steps to wipe away any blood droplets, so they don't leave a trail right to your door.

“So, take her to the ER.”

He hums at the response, then adds the crucial element, “His little girl saw it all.”

The line is silent for a good five seconds before Claire is swearing, “I’m on my way. How bad are we talking?”

He feels a little for the nurse at the moment - she’s always having to deal with Red broken and battered and is probably thinking she’s going to have to do some sort of impromptu surgery. He gives a rundown on your injuries, then adds, “Your stitches are nicer than mine.”

“Exactly what a lady wants to hear. How’s the kid?”

“Physically ok, but probably going to have nightmares for a while,” is his honest reply. There wouldn’t be an attacker left to pick up in an ambulance if Minnie had gotten hurt - he would have made sure of that no matter what Red would have said.

Claire groans in response, “I don’t know anything about child psychology, Frank.”

“No one’s expecting you to.”

The nurse may be a miracle worker in the eyes of Red’s little vigilante group, but no one in this world is qualified to deal with all their mental problems.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there. You’re lucky I’m on this side of town already.”

Claire hangs up on him and Franks stuffs his phone back into his pocket. He’ll need to call Mirco later to set up a camera on your building, something similar to what he’s got for Karen, and arrange for some background checks on the neighbors. The area seems to be working class just trying to get by, but isn’t that just all of the city now? Even if one drunk-off-his-ass guy just made some stupid decision, it put you and the kid in danger and that is a no-go in Frank’s book. As much Red will huff and puff and growl, his family falls under Frank’s sphere of protection and that isn’t something Frank skimps on.

So, a full security upgrade is in your near future.

But that is something he’ll figure out the details for later on. Right now, he puts his full attention in cleaning you up.

The worst of it is the cut on your forehead. He folds a washcloth and sets it on the wound to help the remaining bleeding stop, then moves onto your cheeks. You’ve got some gravel stuck there, but he doesn’t see any glass or metal. There’s some bruising, but he doesn’t think it will be anything to fuss about - it will fade away within a day or so. He’s seen worse coloring on a hickey. The bastard who attacked you didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing, or he was too sloshed out of his mind to be coordinated.

Overall, you are just pretty banged up.

But nonetheless, Frank takes care to make sure it just looks like you are resting, even putting the throw blanket left on the couch over you to hide the grime stains on your clothes.

Red and his creepy bat ears must be listening, because as soon as he goes to dump the bloody cleaning water, he’s coming out of the bedroom with Minnie. She’s still in his arms, clinging to his neck like a koala, but her tears have stopped. She’s still sniffling, though.

Frank hangs back as the little girl is brought to her Mommy and his heart damn near breaks again when she starts talking.

“She’s just sleeping?”

“She’s just sleeping,” Red confirms. He carefully kneels down beside you and makes slow, exaggerated movements as he puts his hand over your heart. “You can feel, too. Just sleeping.”

He watches as the tiny little girl untangles herself from her father and stretches to put her hand next to his. She scrunches up her nose and gets a look Frank has seen a million times on Red.

“Boom. Boom. Boom.”

“Exactly, boom. Boom. boom. The same heart-noises Mommy makes when she sleeps.”

They stay like that for a few seconds before little hands go up to your face and Minnie is examining your cuts.

“He hurt Mommy,” she says so softly that Frank wants to stomp back downstairs and unload his Glock into the asshole. “She has ouchies.” She turns so quickly in Red’s arm that Frank sees him jump just a little - probably still on high alert - and she slaps both her hands on his cheeks, “You have to kissy it better.”

Her voice is so serious and demanding, he’s surprised Red doesn’t instantly comply. Instead, he kisses his little one’s forehead.

“A doctor is going to come and make sure all her ouchies are taken care of. Then we can kiss it better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Her curls bounce as the little girl whips around to address Frank, ordering in the same voice, “You have to kissy it better, too.”

He damn well knows better than to argue with a three year old girl - Lisa could put him in his place like no one's business - so Frank simply nods with a, “Yes, ma’am.” Red doesn't look thrilled at the agreement, but he's not the one who's opinion Frank cares about.

Her brown eyes sus him out, narrowing a fraction before he passes whatever criteria she has and Minnie turns back to her mother and father. “When is she gonna wake up?”

“She'll wake up when she's done resting,” Murdock gently advises. “She needs lots of rest right now.”

Frank knows what question is coming before it is even asked. It is the universal toddler question.

“Why?”

Red, it seems, needs to spend more time with his kid because he looks completely baffled by the question. He repeats the word, which just gets parroted back at him, and Frank can practically hear Lisa and Frankie chanting along with her.

Why?

Why would you need lots of rest in a way a terrified toddler would get it? There's a slight hint of panic in Red’s sightless eyes as he fights to find an answer and Frank takes pity on him.

He steps forward and asks the little girl, “Have you ever played really hard then needed a nap after?”

Attention swings back to him but this time he is prepared for it. Minnie considers his question, then nods, and Frank gives her a soft, friendly smile. “Same thing, sweetheart. Your Mommy’s body worked really hard and now she needs a nap.”

“She needs a nap,” the baby replies and then, to his amusement, proceeds to stuff her fingers into her mouth and suck on them. He's got no idea what that means, but Red’s shoulders relax a fraction, so he assumes it's a good thing.

He wonders if she's starting to get tired now that the action is over. He can't imagine why they were out in the first place, but he has to guess it was to get something from the store. That is his experience with bringing a baby in their pajamas out at night - there was something needed that couldn't wait until morning. That would also explain the black bag in your purse.

He looks to Red and his girl - Murdock has sat himself on the floor beside the couch, facing you, and Minnie is tucked in his lap, sucking her fingers still. Both of their focus seems to be on you. So, Frank lets curiosity get the better of him and he goes to snoop.

There’s a bottle of Pedialyte nestled inside the bag, and by the tiny bit missing, he has a feeling he knows who it is for. He looks from it, over to the sweet child sitting in Red’s lap, and decides she probably still needs it if her mom went out in the middle of the night for it. So, he turns his snooping to the kitchen and opens and closes cabinets until he finds the one holding sippy cups. All of them have Braille labels on them and he briefly wonders what each says before grabbing one with Big Bird on it. He gives it a good rinse before filling it up halfway with the blue liquid.

He removes his tactical vest before he heads back to the living room. He thinks of it more of a sign for Red than Minnie. The little girl might be scared of the skull art, but he hopes it will help Murdock relax. He’s putting on a good face for his daughter, but Frank can see the tension in his jaw and how on edge and angry he must be, and he can’t be blamed. He knows how emotional Red can get and he’s surprised he’s managing to keep it together - so subtly letting him know ‘there’s no danger here’ and Frank isn’t a threat to his family might just get him to stop grinding his teeth.

He approaches slowly and somewhat loudly, while holding out the sippy cup, “Here you go, sweetie.”

Minnie blinks up at him with those wide brown eyes and he can see the exhaustion starting to creep in - getting a bottle might just knock her out. He has to lean down so she can take it, but as soon as she does, her hand drops from her mouth and she politely mumbles, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

“What is it?” Murdock questions, nose twitching to try to figure out the smell. Frank doubts he’s familiar with the drink, but soon he’ll have it memorized.

“Blue Pedi-lyte,” the baby grumbles before the spout goes right into her mouth and she starts to nurse it. Almost instantly she starts leaning back against Red’s chest and Frank knows right away she’ll be asleep within minutes.

He checks his phone as he goes to take a seat at the kitchen table. Claire should be here any minute and it's a toss up if Jones comes up or not. He’ll wait until everything is all settled to head out - he does want to make sure you are okay and he’s not going to leave Claire alone with an upset kid and her Dad-devil.

Frank brings up his texts to Karen to start typing out that the op is a bust, when Murdock’s quiet voice interrupts his train of thought.

“Thank you, Frank.”

“Nothing to thank me for, Red. It’s your family. You don’t gotta explain that to me.”

“Still, thank you, Frank. I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Murdock.”

---

a/n: frank has entered the chat and assumed Alpha Dad role. his family now.

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath

@allllium

@anehkael

@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 6 months ago

Note

*pulls the 45 cents I have to my name out of my pocket and drops them on your table*

I can't believe my name will be forever attached to this but one (1) Kenjaku solo session with Heianera!YN portrait, please

❝ life and death will always lead to love and regret (but you have the answers, and I have the key) ❞

warnings: creepy/stalker behaviour, Kenjaku is a 'passive'-yandere (in the sense that Sukuna would and will kill him if he tried anything), manipulative behaviour, gore (detailed), Kenjaku jerking off in front of a portrait of r!, very unrequited

authors note: don't be ashamed, Gabriel. I got way too excited writing this and I think that speaks volumes on how I need to get checked, LMAO. On another note - yes, my YN's will always have a harem of men in the JJK-verse because that's what YN (and you, my dear reader) deserve!

I wrote this partially on my phone so bear with me guys...

*song on repeat: Bernadette by IAMX & Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage. * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned).

People often compared the years they lived as sand. The hourglass holding it is comparable to the human body. He often thought that metaphor was weak. People — humans — were not hourglasses and their years were not sand. No, no. That’s far too neat for humans.

Humans are messy. They are loud, and chaotic, they defy nature's rules and destroy her for the sake of progress. They had no balance, their compass broke when the synapses in their brains sparked conscious thought.

In that chaos, humans made curses. Or, well, you could argue it who came first but without humans and their silly consciousness — cursed spirits wouldn’t thrive.

People are flesh left under the sun. With their blood drying out, flies and maggots eagerly feast on what they can while the meat greys and rots. That’s a much more appropriate metaphor for a human life. If anything, the hourglass comparison should be used for himself. Constantly turning it over to keep going; uncaring of what kept the sands in confinement so long as it could continue its path.

Down, almost empty, flip, repeat.

Kenjaku had perfected his cursed techniques. He had earned this, he had earned his right to let his curiosities run rampant. He had earned the right to be in the presence of Sukuna Ryomen and you.

“Yuuji, you still owe me for eating my yoghurt from the fridge. It was expensive and it took so long for me to find it!” Nobara huffed. “You might as well just buy some for yourself. I’m labelling my food now.”

Megumi glanced over his shoulder at the lack of reply from the pink-haired boy. Nobara stopping next to him with her brows furrowed, sighing as she looks around for him.

“...I was just talking to myself? Seriously?” she grumbled. Megumi adjusts his grip on the bags. The grocery trips were a good team-building exercise according to Yuuji, a way to get to know each other better. Megumi and Nobara agreed after a particularly harsh mission that aimed directly at their novice team fighting experience.

So far, the results that were yielded from it were found that Nobara had an aversion to pineapples, Megumi had expensive tastes, and Yuuji was very good at budgeting money.

“No, he was right beside you a few minutes ago,” Megumi reached for his phone. Nobara placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she continued to scan the crowd.

A gaggle of businessmen came out from the underground train station and between the crowd of slicked-back hair, desperate combovers, and sweaty bald heads, she spotted him.

Tugging on Megumi’s sleeve, she pointed to him. Yuuji was standing and staring up at some sort of vertical banner. As they both approached, they shared a glance.

“Oi, Itadori,” Nobara placed a hand on his shoulder. Smacked it really. He didn’t budge. There was a dullness to his eyes that unnerved her enough to remove her hand. Megumi tightened his grip on his phone as he called out to him again. She took a look at the banner and her brows furrowed.

It was promoting an opening of someone’s private gallery. Some rich kid’s great-great-grandfather’s collection. The painting they used was of a true beauty. A man with long hair, dressed in the finest robes with a serene barely-there smile. It looked to be more European in nature, the art reminding her of the portraits of giant frilly dresses and puffy shoulder sleeves despite the obviously Japanese clothing, accessory, and manner in which the subject was regaled in the painting.

The banner must have costed a pretty penny considering how much detail they could see. Megumi could practically feel the raised textures the artist had used to mimic the pattern of the traditional robe the man wore. The flow of his hair, the texture and pattern it had; and his lashes were surely not that long in reality.

Megumi tore his gaze to Yuuji.

It was like he was in a trance. His mouth was slightly ajar, his brows furrowed and his hands shaking as his knuckles turned white.

“Itadori?”

Yuuji had long forgotten this. This ache in his chest that he sometimes woke up with. When he reaches for the empty space next to him and finds no one. Those moments in the basement when he watches a historical movie and his chest tightens as the nobles courted one another.

“Do you know the painter or something?” Nobara asks.

No, he wants to say. Not the painter. If he knew who it was that did this portrait, he’d tear their heads off their body. But the man? He knew him.

That hellish grin, that perfect face and most importantly those nightmarish eyes.

You’ve seen dolls, right? Those porcelain ones specifically. The craftsmen who make them, the expensive ones with real human hair. To be left on shelves instead of being played with. They would draw these white dots on the eyes, varnish them even, so their eyes would reflect back. A mimicry of humans, that’s what dolls are. But even then, their eyes still twinkled. Not this man. No. It was devoid of light. Pools of (eye colour) and nothing more. These eyes would swallow up any trace of light and diminish the stars from the sky with just a glance.

Yuuji knew him. His soul knew him. His hand clutches over his heart and his friends watch this with trepidation.

It’s been 2,000 years. Sukuna was no longer human and therefore his memory was not as fickle. He still remembers those moments before dawn; the sight of your bare torso breathing softly as you rested next to him. The sun filtering through the windows and making you appear even more ethereal and deadly. How your brows would pinch seconds before you woke. Those soulless eyes that shot through his very soul.

Sukuna could recognize you even if he was blind. He’d be able to hear you just by feeling your chest rumble. If he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, your body and flesh would sustain him.

In his Malovent Shrine, whilst he sat on his throne, he’d summon his flames in his palm. There he’d watch as your figure danced across his hand. You’d twirl between his digits, a smile across your face as he watches the imitation of you.

It used to be enough. Lately, the action brings him more contempt then fondness. The flames never quite catch your shape anymore. Constantly shifting. That coyness is gone, mini-you petulantly staying hidden behind his fingers. So he snuffs you out in his fists.

He hates you for making him miss you. A King should not be missing anyone or anything. Yet, as his vessel stands here, Sukuna teeters on the edge of breaking the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with the brat just to gaze upon you.

The painter got your resemblance and it was agony for him.

How could he continue to be without you when he’s seen you again? Days ago, he wanted to kill you for making him delirious and now he wants you back in his arms.

“Itadori.” Megumi’s tone is firmer. Nobara smacks his shoulder again and Yuuji jolts forward, nearly falling until his rigid legs quickly come back to life.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” Megumi asks, his thumb hovering over the DIAL button of Gojo Satoru’s number. Yuuji glances at his wrinkled shirt and releases it, confusion painted across his face at the fading pain across his chest.

“I...yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I have no idea what that was....”

Rich bodies made life significantly easier.

What was that saying humans used?

Money can’t buy happiness?

Kenjaku chuckles at the thought. Foolish and vain — typical of humans. Clinging onto whatever they can to convince their egos they’re better than most when they’ll all meet the same fate. Kenjaku forgets the exact point where he stopped seeing himself as one of them, but he’s sure anyone would if you’ve lived as long as him. Apathy. Most call it a disease of selfishness. Kenjaku simply thinks they’re lying to themselves.

“Mr Geto?” the gallery was a lucrative endeavour. A piece in his grand scheme that required little effort but great rewards. More personal gain on his end.

“Mr Hajimoto mentioned you specifically in his will. The private room is all yours. Thank you so much for your donation to this fine institution of arts.” Kenjaku offers the man a polite smile and nod. The awkward silence prompts them to open the large doors and Kenjaku is greeted by you.

(Y/N) (L/N). In all your glory. In his favourite colours and his favourite kanza. The bespoke lighting on your portrait makes his hands fall limply to his side. You were a brushstroke away from taking a breath. The colours used to recreate that undertone your skin had, the delicate curves of your lashes and the plumpness of your lip.

The two guards in the corner of the room are a nuisance. But with a simple twirl of his right hand, the Slit-Mouthed Woman makes quick work of them. This curse technique was truly convenient, the mess she made cleaned up by a different curse who laps at the blood with vigor. The noises are all muffled as he admires those vicious eyes.

Just saying your name makes warmth travel down between his legs.

“I’ve almost forgotten how you look like.”

Silence ticks by for a minute.

Then Kenjaku bursts into laughter. Clutching his stomach and covering his mouth as he does. He can still smell your blood. Even if Suguru’s body had never had the pleasure of touching you — Kenjaku remembers it.

The way it flowed out of you like silk ribbons. Warm and wet and virile.

“You are an unusual sorcerer,” those were the first words you said to him. He knows you meant that in a derisive fashion — the curl of your nose was a clear indicator. But that was the day a feverish need was planted inside of his very soul.

You. You. You.

The shape of your face.

The cadence of your voice.

The way the wind carried your scent to his nose.

The sound of your cat-like foot-steps.

The effortless way you carried yourself despite the heavy robes that a revered concubine of your rank would wear, along with the golden hair accessories that would probably break a lesser man's neck.

It didn't stop there either.

Your brain, the wickedness that ran through your very veins and that fire that burns within you. Kenjaku wanted to be inside of you in every he could fathom. To sit within that perfectly shaped skull, to thread his fingers between the locks of your hair and take a scalpel to that skin he so craves to taste. Or perhaps inside in the traditional sense, between your legs, embraced by your warm insides and your deadly arms.

Kenjaku ponders on the time he has. He decides that he should indulge in you. He undoes the robes this body wore and sighs as it reveals the torso. Bodies were all the same but he does appreciate the care Geto Suguru took into his temple — there was no need for shame when he's already desecrated this corpse so viscerally already. His hands travel down his torso and that pronounce v-line and past the patch of wiry pubic hair.

You make him feel young again. Reckless and stubborn. Your eyes watch him as he leisurely spits into his palm and strokes it over the tip.

Evil is such a lame word. So primitive in its nature, another one of human's attempts at letting go of responsibility. If something or someone were evil, they were inherently irredeemable. Humans used to call snakes evil simply for doing what a snake would do when hungry, instead of realising they shouldn't have left the door to their huts opened and their sleeping brat asleep.

Was something evil when it simply did what it was meant to do?

They were simply following natures course.

This act Kenjaku is doing now, is not perverted or evil, he is simply being. Simply living, existing, relishing.

If anything, you were the undoing. The evil. You've made, and continue to make, him lose crave and hunger. You were so cruel, so ethereal — so evil.

Kenjaku groaned your name, walking backwards and dropping onto the low seat the gallery provided. His legs spread and he hung his head down but his eyes remained affixed to your painting.

"He sounds beautiful, Mr Hajimoto," the blonde painter had told him once or twice or thrice. Young but talented, the way he used his brushes on canvas was so impressive and Kenjaku missed you so much (Y/N). He simply had to spread the wickedness of your beauty, immortalize it forever within canvases and lesser non-sorcerers minds.

"Did you know him?" his accent was clunky, the Japanese language tumbling on its delicate legs following the rhythm of the painters voice. Still, he — Mr Hajimoto, Kenjaku — gave him a gentle grin.

"Very well. He was my lover."

The small notebook the painter had written your features down in, it was displayed in this very room as well. In a glass casing, handled with gloves to ensure pesky skin oils wouldn't deteriorate his inked strokes.

Speaking of strokes, Kenjaku's was beginning to pick up it's pace. His smile now looser, like an animal that caught the scent of blood, his tongue curled over his teeth as he imagined the disgust on your face. You'd probably cover your nose with the sleeve of your robe and the thought makes his cock jump; you were wearing his favourite colours and it made him moan.

The notebook was filled with sketches of you. Kenjaku recalls correcting the human, correcting him when he disrupted the harmony of your anatomy. You were the humans muse for years, (Y/N). Even as he neared his death bed, the blonde artist kept drawing you. Sketches lose, your shape less tangible, but hauntingly beautiful. Like your dark flames flowing in the wind. Even as his memories of his life escapes him, the artist remembered you. What a blessing. Kenjaku had visited him before he died and whispered your name into the old man's ear.

Sorcerer Society keeps your name hidden. It's their way of control. Making Sukuna Ryomen more monstrous by telling others he ruled coldly and cruelly alone; death was not as harsh as being erased. They say Sukuna needed 20 of his fingers and his mummified heart to be revived. That's what those poems talked about after all.

A misunderstanding.

The heart was Sukuna's, yes.

But it wouldn't revive him.

"You were so angry," he chuckled out, "so defiant even when I was inside of you."

The sky was blood red, the black smoke making the colour more saturated as it seemed intent on blotting out the sun. Uraume had felt a sudden chill, you did too, and they swiftly rose as the scent of deceit was so thick in the air.

“Uraume,” your voice remained nonchalant. But there was a tenseness in your throat that even they could decipher through the layers of regality. They turned, mouth pressed into a thin line as they went on their knees.

You continued to stare, impassively looking down at the patterned swirl of their snow-white hair. The red and black sky turning the colour of your eyes a pleasantly mournful shade; the golden kanza in your hair that your Lord Sukuna himself had commissioned for you glimmered righteously. The teeth of a beast, the curling of centipede legs, and the melded wings of a raven. It was beautiful just as much as it was unusual.

“You leave your Lord’s prized possession to fend for himself?”

Uraume lips reveal a modest amount of teeth. Their face like a porcelain doll as they raise their head. It makes your heart flutter and squeeze.

“You are stronger than these worms, they wouldn’t dare attack you.”

This is true. A fact. You were strong. 100 sorcerers or 1, 000 sorcerers — it made no difference to you. They’d turn into dust and wither right before you. But it shocks Uraume when you place your palm against their jaw, thumb stroking over their cheekbone as you gaze down at them.

“How horrid it is, making me defend myself.”

They see your eyes soften. It was no wonder you were Lord Sukuna’s concubine. Just being touched by you, looked down upon by you; it makes their spine melt.

“I should have your head for your insolence.”

Uraume apologizes, lips stilling when your thumb presses down on them.

“Return to me. Whole. My Lord Husband and I will not be pleased if you do not. We don’t want weaklings to stand behind us.”

Uraume bows, their lips kissing your knuckles as they do before they raise and disappear from your sight. The screams of terror that are heard outside at the sight of them make you slip your eyes close.

Kenjaku appeared before you what felt like hours later. He looks at the scene with a raise of his brow. Your feet were soaked in blood as bodies were strewn across the wide room. The floor was shimmering, looking as though it was breathing as it creaked from his weight. The clothes the bodies wore painted a clear enough picture — they were your servants. Loyalties were swayed as the fight prolonged. These little ants thought they could save themselves from punishment if they showed these righteous sorcerers your head.

He couldn’t smell smoke and there were no signs of charring. The bodies were mangled beyond belief, guts spilling out, eyes gouged, arms bent unnaturally.

Yet, in the gore and horror, you stood across from him with only your feet stained by traitorous blood.

You were a vision. Delicately wiping away blood from the tiger claw kanza with the sleeve of a dead servant. Then, he watches as you carefully put it back in place atop your hair.

“Kenjaku.”

He bows his head, bending at his waist, then lifts himself up again.

“The Kamo clan, your clan, joined this rebellion. I feel that should be a good enough reason to kill you.” The fire in your eyes makes his heart race. He moves forward, casually stepping over a torn torso.

“That would be unwise,” he gives you a grin. This body of his is new. The stitches are still fresh and red. Most likely a desperate attempt of his to hide away while they destroyed his old body. The corpse is younger, and more plain-looking. Despite it’s Curse Technique being a mystery, you’ll take your chances at strangling him.

“I’ve come at the behest of your Lord Husband. To ensure your longevity.”

Your brows pinch. Kenjaku delights at the creases it creates, tucking away this sight into his memories for lonely nights. Then, you scowl.

“You lie.”

His giddiness is palpable. The wide grin on the corpse’s face is clearly not his own; cheeks lifted too high and smile too large and unnatural. Kenjaku must’ve been a truly ugly man with a truly ugly grin. The body struggles to adjust to this display of amusement.

“I’m not.”

He takes a step forward and you lift your hand. The standstill would’ve lasted longer if it weren’t for the yells and thunderous footsteps clambering up to your room.

“You lie!”

Dark flames roared out from the windows. The heat so smoldering it causes a burst of hot air to knock back the men on the stairs, burning their skin and face. The blood on the floor boils, the iron scent now more acidic as the once fleshy bodies now crumble into dust.

You feel his breathe against the nape of your neck. As you turn, he wrings his arms around you like a snake. One across your stomach, the other around your shoulder. That horrible smile is pressed against your skin.

“Kenjaku,” you growl through gritted teeth.

“That’s right. Say my name.”

Fighting feels a lot like sex.

Kenjaku can feel your passion behind every strike, the bruises you leave behind on his skin are akin to hickeys. When you yell out and scream, cheeks so hot he can feel the rush of blood to your face just from looking — the rapid pulse you have and the way your face is contorted.

Kenjaku pins you down. Your legs are thrown over his own while you gnash your teeth at him and spit insults his way. Your hair was so beautiful, thrown back around your head like a lion’s mane. He slides your wrists above your head and holds them with one hand while the other undoes the meticulous array of folds your kimono had.

Sweat drips down his nose. It’s all your fault. Using your Curse Technique in this room, charring the wood and setting it all aflame. Still, he could work in this conditions.

“Ah,” he moans at the sight of your bare skin. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, licking his lips as he places a hand over your heart.

When you kick at his stomach, he acts like he cannot feel it. When you kick again, this time hard enough for a loud crack to be heard, he looks at you.

“If you kill me, you will break the Binding Vow you and Ryomen had made with me.”

He feels your feet dig into his rib, the spiderwebs of cracks spreading further. He allows this with a pleased hum. Your ragged breathing all at once calms and with a blink, your eyes lose that unbridled fury.

“You dare say my Lord’s name so casually?”

Kenjaku laughs. As he leans down, he presses his forehead to yours. Your nose curls in disgust but you keep your lips pursed. The feeling of his sweat sliding down the sides of your forehead and dipping to travel the side of your nose; threatening to get into your eyes as it slips just beneath it.

“Forgive me, venerable concubine.” Kenjaku does not mean this. When he presses his fingers together and imbues his hand with Curse Energy. He enjoys it.

Slicing through your skin at a pace that made the cut more ghastly then it would be if it was done quickly. You remained stone-faced while Kenjaku chewed on his lower lip, every twitch or squint just fueling his hunger.

He is past your skin and now he sees the yellow, when he twists his wrist you grunt as he slices through the threads of muscles. He spreads his fingers and your teeth part as you let out a strained yell.

"You can be louder if you want," his lips brush against your cheek every time he speaks.

"When I return, I'll take pleasure in ripping your head off your body."

"Threatening me?"

He reaches bone. His finger scratching against it before he peels away and settles between your legs. Your hands aren't pinned but you do nothing but curl your fingers into fists as he shoves another hand into your chest. The squelching and pulsing of your flesh, the bursts of blood from your throbbing veins and pumping heart. The wetness and warmth of your insides. He can feel your body clenching around him, and he convinces himself its because you truly enjoy this depravity just as he does.

The size of his hands in your chest is unbearably uncomfortable. Invading you, filling you when you want nothing more than to burn him, as he moves his digits and wrists within you.

He grasps onto your bones and breaks it under the pressure of his wrist. Your blood is spraying him, staining his clothes.

"Your blood looks like ribbons," he whispers to you, "even your insides are like works of art."

You want this to be over with already.

Your arms move down, eyes still set in a glare. You slip your fingers under the soaked clothing and spread it apart further to reveal more of your skin. Shimmying your shoulders so your torso is now bare of any clothing.

The tent between his legs pressed into your crotch. It's hard to ignore, but you push through and grasp onto his elbow and force him to go in deeper.

"Promising you."

Kenjaku's elbow straightens sharply and he moans as he feels your heart beating in his palm. He pulls it out of your body, panting as your eyes slip close and your heart slows. Beating slowly...slowly...slowly...

Kenjaku moans at the memory of your heart in his hands. Your warm blood coating his skin, drying under his nails and crackling in the creases of his joints.

"I wanted to keep you on me forever," he grunts out as his pace gets faster. "The smell of you, of your flesh."

"I didn't need your body, but it was too beautiful not to be admired."

Kenjaku throws his head back, placing his palm across his nose and lips as he sifts through his memories so he can conjure it all over again.

The painting watches on impassively. The croons and purrs of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits echo faintly in Kenjaku's ears while his hips thrusts into his own fist. It's desperate. He usually isn't like this. Even when he was creating the Death Womb Paintings — even when his plans are so close to coming into fruition.

You make him like this. Make him lose control, every thought poisoned with you even when you're nothing more than a mummified heart hidden so desperately away by Sorcerer Society.

"I've gotten a lead," Uraume had informed him just a few days ago. "They've hidden him in the ocean in an underwater research facility."

"Underwater, hah, they think it'll keep your flames contained. Keep your loyal servant away as if the depths of the ocean is enough to scare them, us — Oh, (Y/N)."

His fist stops and Kenjaku stands, removing his clothing fully as he places a hand against the wall of the gallery. The textured wall, the grooves, give way to his nails as he digs them in. He stares into your eyes, imagining the crease of your furrowed brow and Kenjaku groans out your name as he cums all over the wall.

"...Oh, I can't wait to see you again, venerable concubine."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader #sukuna ryomen x male reader #kenjaku x male reader #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader

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lestappen3 · 3 months ago

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Crashing Down | Part 1

pairing: Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader x Lando Norris

word count: +/- 2300

plot: Where reader had a terrible crash two years ago, Lando broke up with her, Toto is back into his scheming ways and Max is just there.

note: I haven't used this account in years, but I genuinely missed writing and thought this was a great way of coming back. I have this entire story planned out, but I am not sure if it's good enough. Please let me know if you're interested.

part 2

masterlist

It was 2024. The new racing season was about to begin, with the yearly reminder that you were forced to stand on the sidelines. The roaring engines of the current generation of Formula 1 cars echoed through the Mercedes garage you were currently settled in.

This sound once fueled your entire driving force, and you first discovered this passion when you visited the racing ground with your parents as a child. It must have been twenty years ago. You were around five or six years old. Since that moment, the sound of engines has been a constant presence in your life.

Anticipation and excitement surged through your body as you lowered yourself for the first time in the car of your biggest idol, Lewis Hamilton. Then, the adrenaline rush followed. It was a moment of realisation as if you had found the path you were destined to follow. This feeling was something you wanted to continue to crave after, and it, racing, became your daily motivation. You were okay with wherever you raced, the important matter was that you were in the car, and the engine roared as loud as possible. The sound became a bittersweet reminder of your unfulfilled dreams as time passed. Instead of contemplating your next race and how you could receive a podium finish or, ideally, take home the trophy, you were consumed by persistent thoughts of missed opportunities and countless “what ifs”.

Your fingers brushed against the faded scar on your upper right leg. It was a hot day, so the scar was visible to everyone. It wasn’t pretty, but you rather had the visual reminder of that terrible Sunday afternoon than the mental one that hunted you daily. It’d still hurt, the ache being a reminder of the crash that had taken everything from you. Your life afterwards instantly became a stark contrast to the life you once lived, and the sport you loved dearly had slipped through your fingers.

As life progressed, with or without your approval, you continued to be a part of the Mercedes crew, but everything changed. Everyone moved on. Your father had to assign someone else your seat. George Russell was your replacement. Initially, it’d hurt to see him wearing your suit, your helmet, and have him sitting in your car. Dinners at home were silent. Your parents were afraid to hurt your feelings by talking about how well George was adjusting next to Lewis. It was a thought that occupied your dreams, but you were better, at least a little better, and you decided you were ready to move on. Perhaps not as a racing driver, but you couldn’t let go of the motorsport entirely. At least not yet.

You stood at the edge of the Mercedes garage, watching as the pit crew worked on their preparations for the weekend’s race. The crew hasn’t changed much since you last were in the garage. Many familiar faces of engineers, mechanics and staff greeted, hugged, and welcomed you back. But you could sense the stress and tension through the smiling faces. Everyone was working more hours than intended to have the best car possible for the first race of the season. Everyone was equally important, including you, whether you were a racing driver or not.

As you stood at the edge of your father’s garage, your gaze drifted across the other side of the grid, landing on the orange-coloured banner of McLarens’ garage. Coincidentally, it was when Lando Norris decided to display his newly found confidence. His arm hugged his helmet tight as he was in the middle of a conversation with a few members of his team. Next to him stood his current girlfriend, watching him like he was the brightest sun.

A pang hit your chest. It was as if someone stabbed you with a knife and then twisted it. Again, and again, and again. You hadn’t expected Lando to replace you as well. The crash had driven a wedge between you, something neither of you knew how to fix. Fear, pain, trauma, and Lando’s career further strained the distance between you. And you both just let it happen. It wasn’t either of your faults. It felt like it was something that was entirely out of your hands. Eventually, the love that was once there was replaced with memories and excoriating silence.

It was hard, yes. But the fact Lando moved on after two weeks was cruel. On the bright side, the pain of your broken heart numbed the pain of your injuries.

Unconsciously, you were twisting the ring on your finger. Honestly, you hadn’t expected to still feel like a drowned, sad baby bunny after two years of not setting foot on the grid. Seeing him, seeing how he’d moved on, was painful, but hearing how the media knew was something else entirely. Your relationship wasn’t a secret, per se. You just never announced it, but people noticed the secret glances and the time you spent together when you weren’t preparing for a race. He never shared anything about you, and you just accepted it. Funnily enough, you still would.

Your father’s voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Brooding was something you did every day after your crash, and you were thankful your father helped you when you got caught in too deep.

“Hey,” he called, walking towards you.

“I wanted to ask if you wanted to join the strategy meeting in fifteen minutes.”

You nodded, “Sure, of course.” Toto paused. He was a considerate team principal but an even more worried father. Since you had asked to join the 2024 season, he had been unsure if it was the best for you. Toto gave you a long look. “Are you alright?”

“I enjoyed plotting strategies to outsmart the other drivers, not just outrace them,” you said with a soft smile.

You noticed your father’s smile turn to a worrying frown. You knew he didn’t want to push you. If it were up to him, you were still at home, watching everything from a TV screen, but he also knew it was in his daughter’s blood to be a part of this world, just as much as it was in his. You had the same fire and the same relentless drive to succeed, especially when it came to motorsport.

As father and daughter made their way to the Mercedes motorhome, the world of Formula 1 came to life. Photographers snapped shots of drivers and team members, while the media and fans went into vulture mode as soon as a driver, or someone who looked like one, walked by them. You became indifferent to the whole ordeal after your second race weekend. The grid was the place you had grown up in, after all.

You felt the flash from one of the photographers’ cameras as you walked through the grid. A little smile started to grow on your face. You were not behind the wheel anymore, not one of the twenty drivers everyone talked about, but it was still the only place that felt like home.

Your mind wandered once more, revisiting your days as a racing driver. You had been good, no, not just good, one of the best. However, everyone makes mistakes, and you were no exception. A single misjudgment had cost you everything. The crash had been brutal and a terrifying reminder of the thin line between life and death in the world of motorsport. Fortunately, you had survived, but your career was not as fortunate. Now, all that remained was walking the paddock as Toto’s daughter, attending meetings, and most frustratingly were the pitying looks from those who stole a glimpse of you.

You had almost reached the Mercedes motorhome as you heard a familiar voice rang out. “Wait!”

You turned around to see the current world champion, Max Verstappen, approaching in his usual attire. His confident stroll, with his head held high and a slight smile playing on his lips, carried him effortlessly through the grid. He had always been like that, confident, walking with a certain amount of presence that made it impossible not to notice him. Whether he was the reigning champion or not, he had this essence.

But Max Verstappen was more than just the fiery Red Bull Racing driver, at least to you. He was one of your closest friends and the rock who had been there for you when the world came tumbling down.

“Are you ready for a weekend of chaos?” Max asked, grinning as he stopped in front of you, leaning casually against the stanchion of the motorhome.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “As ready as ever. How about you?”

Max shrugged. “You know me. I thrive on chaos.” His eyes flashed mischievously, hinting at his love for excitement.

The friendship between the two of you had always been stable. It was built on a shared understanding of being born into a family of motorsport fanatics, mutual respect and the everlasting feeling of stepping in a Formula 1 car simultaneously for the first time in your career.

On top of that, Max never saw you as weak, fragile or broken after your accident. He never showed you pity but instead gave you space or an embrace when you grieved everything you had lost.

He smiled, but there was something softer in his gaze when he looked at you. “You know, it’s good to see you out here again. I know it’s not the same, but…”

You swallowed a breath you didn’t know you held and nodded. You understood what Max tried to say even if he didn’t finish his sentence. He was right. It wasn’t the same. It never would be. But being here, the place you used to call home, mended a piece of you you had been missing for the past two years.

Before Max could say more, Toto cleared his throat behind them. “The meeting is going to start soon. We need to go.”

Max straightened and pushed himself off, offering a nod to Toto. “Good luck this weekend.”

Toto smiled politely in return. “You too, Max.”

As Max strolled towards his team’s motorhome, Toto turned to you. “There’s something important I want to discuss about Max,” he exclaimed.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by your father’s sudden change in tone. “What about him?”

“We need him at Mercedes.”

His words lingered in the air, and you blinked, caught off guard by your father’s directness. “Are you attempting to steal Max?” you uttered in a hushed tone.

“He’s the best driver on the grid. We need him for the future.”

Your father’s words took you aback. You had always believed you were destined to be the future of Mercedes, and there was no need for a Max or even a George. But you also couldn’t blame your father, or anyone for that matter. Lost in your thoughts, you realised you had been staring at your father in disbelief as he revealed his plan to take the brown-haired boy away from his supposed forever home.

“I didn’t expect to be involved in some kind of scheme,” you hushed, processing his words.

Toto nodded in understanding, but that didn’t stop him from letting go of the idea of adding the three-time world champion to his roster of drivers. “He trusts you. You have been racing together ever since you were little kids. You have a connection with him that no one else does. If anyone can get him to consider joining Mercedes, it’s you.”

You laughed at him, not believing what your father was saying. Lewis deciding to leave was a little drastic, but this…

He wasn’t wrong though. You and Max were close. But asking him to leave the place that he considered home? He said he wasn’t sure he would ever go. Red Bull was to Max what Mercedes was to you. His loyalty to the team and to Helmut Marko was like family.

“You’re asking a lot, dad,” you whispered, your mind racing with all the possible scenarios. Max could agree, and your anxious time on the grid would be much less, but he could also be enraged at the idea, being so offended by the thought you used him as a pawn to better your father’s team. Perhaps he would leave altogether? How were you supposed to survive this shit show then?

Your father’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “I know, pea, but the sport is always moving forward. We have to think two or three years ahead. I have to think about the future of Mercedes. And Max-”

He thought about his following couple of words carefully.

“Max is the future.”

You glanced back towards where Max went off to, the Red Bull motorhome, where he stood and chatted with a couple of crew members. You sighed, running your hand through your hair. Your father was right, and you hated it. George was good. But Max and George, and with your current expectations for your car in two years? Mercedes could be unstoppable.

But thinking about your father’s plan created a knot in your stomach. You didn’t want to lose him, you weren’t sure if he could be mad, or worse… And then there was Lando…

You pushed your thoughts aside, forcing yourself to stumble back into reality. You have to decide what your future holds. Was it your happiness? Mercedes? Max? Lando? It felt like your head was about to explode.

“I’ll talk to him,” you finally said, your voice the most steady it had been today.

Toto gave you a smile of appreciation. “Thank you, but it’s not going to be easy. We need to be careful. Max isn’t going to be an easy sell, but if anyone can change his mind, it’s my daughter.”

You were unsure whether that was a compliment or a burden. You also weren’t sure if it was a good decision.

This was just the beginning of something much bigger, on and off the track.

#f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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diamonddaze01 · 3 months ago

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The Somerset Affair | Chapter 1: Whispers in the Garden

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.2k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, eventual smut, more to be added a/n: CHAPTER 1 IS FINALLY HEREEEE // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // 2nd chapter will be up soon!!!

summary: lee seokmin is a scoundrel for having beaten your brother at fencing. or... is he?

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the fic taglist here!

Age 8

Mayfair is alive today. The Somerset estate hums with energy, a ripple of excitement passing through the gathered crowd, their eyes all fixed on the fencing match taking place in the wide, manicured garden. The afternoon sun casts a golden haze over the scene, warming the air and wrapping everything in a soft, honeyed glow. Laughter and chatter float like music across the grounds, underscored by the occasional ring of steel clashing against steel. The sweet fragrance of roses drifts on the light breeze, mingling with the fresh scent of cut grass. You sit near the front, your small hands gripping the edge of your chair, bouncing with excitement as you watch your older brother, Minghao, spar against a boy you've never seen before.

This new boy stands tall, his dark hair tousled in the breeze, and a sharp determination shines in his eyes. The way he moves—it’s confident, with an energy that seems far beyond his years. Your brother, usually so self-assured, falters as the boy steps onto the mat. A flicker of unease passes through you, twisting in your stomach. You can feel the tension, see it in the way Minghao adjusts his grip on his sword. The match begins, and every time the swords collide, the sound reverberates through your chest. Your heart sinks a little more with each point your brother loses, and soon, the inevitable happens—the newcomer disarms Minghao with a flourish so smooth it draws gasps and murmurs from the audience.

"Such skill!" someone whispers, while others erupt in applause, their cheers filling the air. But you remain still, arms crossed tightly over your chest, brows drawn into a deep frown. How dare this boy defeat your brother? And so effortlessly! You want to scowl, to hold on to your anger, but the sound of the crowd’s cheers washes over you, making your resentment grow.

Seokmin—that’s his name, you overhear—steps forward, offering Minghao a hand, his smile wide and bright like the afternoon sun. "A splendid match, my lord," he says, his voice rich and full of youthful pride. "I must confess, I didn’t expect to come away unscathed!"

You narrow your eyes, watching as your brother, ever gracious, accepts the handshake. There's a mixture of admiration and annoyance in his expression, a good-natured acknowledgment of defeat. They exchange lighthearted jests, their laughter mixing with the lingering applause. But you? You're fuming. This boy, with his easy smile and seemingly endless charm, had just bested your brother, and you feel a burning need to dislike him for it.

Then, as if sensing your discontent, Seokmin turns to you, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Ah, you must be Lord Minghao’s sister?” he says, his grin widening into something playful, teasing. “Goodness, you make him look like a toad by comparison!”

Your mouth drops open in shock, a wave of indignation rushing through you. How dare he say such a thing? And worse—how could your brother laugh? "I beg your pardon?" you snap, standing as tall as your small frame will allow, arms crossing even tighter across your chest.

"Oh, I mean no offense, miss," Seokmin chuckles, clapping Minghao on the shoulder. "I jest, of course! Merely saying that you’re far lovelier than your brother—though, admittedly, it’s not a particularly high bar."

Despite yourself, your scowl begins to soften. There’s something about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the lightness in his voice. It’s hard to stay angry when he looks at you like that, as if daring you to join in on the joke.

“Mama says men who try to charm without revealing their titles aren’t to be trusted,” you counter, lifting your chin with defiant pride. The quip comes out sharper than intended, but you’re determined not to let him get the better of you.

Minghao gasps, hands raised in mock horror. “Sister, truly, must you always speak so boldly?” He turns to Seokmin with an exaggerated sigh. “Please Seokmin, do forgive her. I assure you, turning eight has done little to improve her temperament.”

“You’re only two years older than me, brother!” you huff, your voice a touch more indignant. Before you can continue, though, Seokmin drops into a low, dramatic bow, the movement exaggerated and theatrical.

“The fault is entirely mine, my lady,” he says in mock seriousness, rising and extending his hand toward you. “Lord Lee Seokmin, future Duke of Lancaster. At your service.”

Two years of etiquette lessons flood your mind, and with a sudden burst of excitement, you place your small hand in his. Seokmin bows once more, this time dropping a playful kiss on your knuckles as you curtsy. You can hear Minghao’s exasperated sigh as he rolls his eyes, but you ignore him, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Maybe Seokmin isn't such a scoundrel after all.

As the day wears on, you find yourself watching Seokmin from the corner of your eye. Despite your earlier indignation, there’s something undeniably captivating about him. You notice the way he treats everyone with kindness, far beyond what’s expected from someone his age. When a younger child stumbles near the fencing ring, it’s Seokmin who rushes to their side, kneeling in the dirt, his voice gentle as he asks, "Are you alright?" He helps the child up, brushing off their clothes with such care, you can’t help but be touched. "Fear not," he says, a smile returning to his face, "you’re not a toad—you’re a knight in training!"

The sight makes your heart soften further. How could someone so infuriating also be so kind? The lines of irritation you had drawn between you and Seokmin begin to blur, shifting into something more like curiosity.

As the sun sinks low, casting a warm amber glow over the estate, you find yourself gravitating closer to where Seokmin and Minghao stand, their voices rising and falling in animated conversation about fencing techniques. Seokmin’s laughter, bright and carefree, fills the air like music, and before you know it, you’re smiling too; there’s something undeniably magnetic about him.

Despite your best efforts, you can no longer deny the strange fluttering in your chest—a curiosity, perhaps even fascination, that you hadn’t expected. Maybe, just maybe, Seokmin isn’t such a scoundrel after all.

The days of the social season unfold like a delicate fan, each gathering adding another layer to the tapestry of your life, and with every event, Seokmin becomes a constant presence. He is no longer just an occasional guest—he’s a breath of fresh air, his laughter ringing through the halls of your family’s estate, turning even the dullest moments into something lively and bright.

The lively soirées your parents host become a stage for his effortless charm. Ladies in the latest fashions exchange flirtatious glances in his direction, while gentlemen engage in animated debates about politics and sport, the buzz of conversation always punctuated by Seokmin’s easy laughter. His presence transforms these gatherings, turning what once felt like routine social maneuvering into vibrant affairs filled with warmth and genuine joy.

Whether he’s lending a hand to your mother in the garden, his sleeves rolled up and face relaxed in concentration, or sparring with your brother in a friendly match, Seokmin has this uncanny ability to elevate the ordinary. What might be a simple afternoon stroll or an idle conversation becomes a moment of significance when he’s around. Sun-drenched afternoons spent wandering the estate take on a new glow, each moment painted with the sound of his voice, the infectious energy he brings.

Age 14

The day Minghao and Seokmin leave for Eton is etched in your mind with vivid clarity, every detail sharp and impossible to forget. The morning is cool, yet the sun spills across the courtyard in golden rays, casting long shadows from the trees that sway gently in the breeze. The scent of dew-laden grass mixes with the faint perfume of your mother’s rose garden, but even the beauty of the estate feels muted by the melancholy lingering in the air.

Minghao, ever composed, stands with the straight posture expected of him, his hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch the young man ready to step into his responsibilities. His face, though calm, carries the weight of leaving home, but he hides it well, his eyes betraying only a flicker of the emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Seokmin, on the other hand, struggles more visibly with the impending farewell. His usual cheerful grin falters, the lightness of his presence dimmed as he glances between you and Minghao. He tries to keep up his usual charm, cracking jokes that feel just a little too forced, his laughter not ringing as true as it normally does. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, a softness you haven’t seen before, as if he’s trying to hide his own sadness behind that well-worn mask of joviality.

As they load their trunks into the carriage, a heavy knot forms in your chest. You know you’ll miss your brother, but it’s Seokmin’s departure that stings deeper. He’s been more than a friend these past years—he’s been a constant, a steady warmth you’ve come to rely on. His laughter, his easy charm, the way he could turn even the most mundane day into something special. The thought of him being gone, of not seeing him wander the estate with his boundless energy, makes your heart ache in a way you didn’t anticipate.

You step forward, your fingers trembling as you reach for Seokmin’s hand, your grip tighter than intended. “Promise me you’ll write?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, each word trembling with the effort to hold back tears.

Seokmin’s eyes soften as he looks down at you, his usual grin giving way to something gentler. "Of course," he says, his voice steady but quieter than usual. He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture meant to comfort. “I’ll make sure you get the best letters—no boring stories, only adventures, I swear.” His grin returns, albeit a little weaker. "Besides, my lady, your brother and I will be back to torment you again come springtime!"

Minghao coughs politely. “No tearful goodbye for me, sister?” he asks, his voice teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of affection in his words. His eyes flicker between you and Seokmin, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, though his posture remains upright and composed as ever.

You tear your gaze from Seokmin and offer your brother a watery smile. “Do not fret, dear brother,” you say, a bit of your usual wit returning. “I’ll save the tears for later, when the house is quiet without the two of you causing chaos.”

My Dearest Y/N,

I trust this letter finds you in fine spirits, though I daresay it is far more likely that you are wrapped in the cozy embrace of your favorite blanket, lost in a book, while the world outside continues on its merry way. I cannot help but smile at the thought, for you have always possessed the rare gift of finding joy in the mundane.

Eton is quite a spectacle, I must confess. The architecture is enough to make one feel as though they have stepped into a storybook. However, I must admit my fellow classmates lack the charm and wit of my beloved friend.

Oh, how I miss our little chats! It is a curious sensation to feel so far from home, yet I am bolstered by the knowledge that you are there, keeping our little world intact. Do tell me that you have not yet taken up knitting—your penchant for wool is far more than my eyes can bear.

Yours most fondly,Seokmin

My Dearest Seokmin,

Eton sounds positively enchanting.I must admit, the thought of you amidst all that grandeur brings me no small measure of joy—though I do hope you have not yet been swept away by the grandeur of it all! I find it impossible to imagine anyone there being quite as dashing as you.

Life here, as you suspected, is a touch quieter without your vivacious presence. I feel compelled to admit that I found myself rather melancholic the day you left. It was a curious sadness, one that clung to me like a shadow. The house feels a touch emptier, and while I do find solace in my books, nothing compares to the ease of our conversations. The warmth of your laughter is a melody I find myself longing for, especially on the coldest evenings.

Do keep writing, dear friend. Your tales from Eton are the very lifeblood of my days, and I shall regale you with the ongoing drama of our little realm. Until then, consider me your most devoted fan, ever eager for your next missive.

With all my affection,Y/N

P.S. You will take great pleasure in knowing that I have, in fact, taken up crocheting. A lovely cap, perfect for early springtime chill, awaits you at the estate.

Age 15:

Seokmin’s return each spring is as reliable as the first crocus peeking through the thawing earth, marking the true end of winter. His arrival is never just an event—it’s a burst of life that sweeps away the dullness left by the cold months. Every year, your excitement bubbles over as you anticipate that familiar moment when the world feels a little brighter with his return. The sunlight bathes the garden in warmth, a golden hue spreading like liquid over the well-trodden path he walks down, Minghao beside him. Their laughter floats through the air, a melody that harmonizes with the soft rustle of blooming flowers and the hum of spring.

When they finally come into view, your heart quickens, as if drawn into the rhythm of their steps. With Minghao’s ever-amiable grin and Seokmin’s radiant energy, they are a pair that seems to make the world tilt just a little toward joy. Every spring, it's the same—they stride toward you as if no time has passed, as if the long months apart were nothing but a brief blink in the grander scheme of your lives. And each time, the three of you fall into the same routines as though nothing has changed.

It usually begins with some mischief. They never fail to poke fun at you until you’re red-faced with exasperation. Seokmin, with that teasing glint in his eyes, will say something absurd or playfully condescending, and Minghao, ever the instigator, will back him up with a sly smirk. It’s only a matter of time before you lose your patience, yell, and stomp your foot, your protests ringing louder than you’d intended.

Your raised voice inevitably draws the attention of your mother, who reprimands you from the kitchen window with her usual fond disapproval. "Now, now," she’ll chide, a soft laugh hidden in her voice. "There’s no need to shout, dear. They’re only playing."

Of course, that’s the cue for Seokmin and Minghao to burst into laughter, doubling over in amusement at how easily they’ve ruffled your feathers. You scowl at them, but it’s hard to keep a frown on your face when they’re both so gleeful, their joy infectious, lighting up the entire garden.

One afternoon, not long after their return, Seokmin and Minghao find their old practice fencing swords—long forgotten and buried deep in the flowerbeds, peeking out from beneath the tulips. You watch as they unearth the swords with a mixture of surprise and amusement, both of them laughing as if uncovering a treasure trove of memories. Their faces are bright with nostalgia as they pull the dirt-encrusted weapons free, brushing off the petals clinging to the blades.

It's then that Seokmin starts to call you "Tulip," a private little nickname he utters only when it's just the two of you. The first time he says it, there’s a lightness to his tone, his lips curling into that mischievous smile of his. “You know,” he says, leaning in closer as you both watch Minghao attempt a ridiculous fencing stance in the distance, “it only makes sense. After all, you’ve been hiding our swords with the tulips. I think ‘Tulip’ suits you.”

At first, you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance, but there’s a warmth in your chest at how easily he’s assigned you such a tender nickname.

One particularly warm afternoon, your mother summons you to help her with the flowerbeds, a chore you reluctantly take on. The sun beats down, the heat pressing into your skin and the earth beneath your fingers, while the scent of soil and fresh blossoms hangs thick in the air. You sigh, resigning yourself to the tedious task when, suddenly, a familiar voice cuts through the stillness.

“Ah, the fair lady in her noble endeavor!” Seokmin’s voice rings out, full of his usual playful grandeur. He strides through the garden gate, sweeping an imaginary cape behind him with exaggerated flair. His smile is as bright as the sun itself, lighting up the whole space. “Fear not, for I shall be your loyal squire in this quest for botanical beauty!”

Despite your earlier annoyance, a reluctant smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Seokmin has a way of making even the most mundane tasks feel like an adventure. You watch as he bounds toward you, his movements light and full of energy. With an exaggerated show of determination, he rolls up his sleeves, pretending to prepare for battle. The weight of the day feels lighter already.

Together, the two of you dig your hands into the soil, your fingers dirty and the air filled with the soft rustling of the leaves around you. Laughter bubbles up between the two of you, mingling with the breeze as Seokmin’s animated voice brings life to the still afternoon. As you plant flower after flower, he regales you with tales of his fencing matches at Eton, his voice lively, arms waving dramatically to mimic the grand duels he’s fought.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he says with mock gravity, “this boy was at least twice my size, and I won the match with nothing but clever footwork and a flick of the wrist!” He pantomimes the move, his arm cutting through the air like a sword.

You laugh, shaking your head at his theatrical retelling, the tension of the task dissolving with every story. It’s impossible not to get caught up in his enthusiasm. “Is that so?” you tease, barely holding back a grin.

“I daresay, footwork in fencing is quite the advantageous skill,” Seokmin says, dropping to his knees beside you with faux-seriousness, inspecting the flowerbed as though it holds the secrets to the universe. “If one can move with the grace of a dancer, one can—”

Just as he gestures again, his elbow brushes against your arm, and suddenly, time seems to slow. The lighthearted atmosphere is pierced by a spark, a ripple of warmth that travels through you. Both of you freeze, his eyes widening in surprise. His cheeks flush a light pink as he quickly pulls back, his confidence faltering for a brief second.

“My sincerest apologies,” he stammers, the usual brightness in his voice now tinged with uncharacteristic bashfulness. He resumes his work, his fingers trembling slightly as they sift through the soil. The warmth of the sun suddenly pales in comparison to the heat between you.

“It’s quite all right,” you reply, your voice shaky, your heartbeat far more rapid than you’d like. “Just... gardening, after all.” You try for casualness, but the words sound ridiculous even to your own ears, given the charged air lingering between you.

Moments later, you stand to stretch, hoping to shake off the strange energy that has settled over the both of you. Seokmin leans in to grab a nearby tool, and his shoulder brushes against yours again—this time, the contact lingers for just a second too long. The heat of it sends another jolt through you, making your heart stutter.

You gasp, startled by the unfamiliar sensation, your breath hitching. The warmth spreads from your chest down to your fingertips, a strange, foreign feeling you can’t quite name.

“Goodness! I beg your pardon again,” Seokmin says quickly, his sheepish smile returning, though this time it’s softer, more hesitant. His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place. “It seems I have a propensity for unintentional collisions today.”

That smile—it makes your chest tighten. His presence, usually a source of comfort, now awakens something new within you, something unsettling yet undeniable. Gardening, once nothing but a mundane chore, has transformed into something far more intimate with Seokmin by your side. The flowerbeds seem to flourish under his laughter, vibrant blooms swaying as if they, too, revel in the joy of the moment.

But that foreign sensation? You tuck it deep into your mind, burying it along with the seeds you’ve planted, afraid to decode what it could mean. After all, this is Seokmin—your friend, your constant. And yet, the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin longer than it should, as if it’s quietly asking you to look closer.

My Dearest Seokmin,

I hope this letter finds you in moments of solace amidst the tumult of your recent loss. It is with a heavy heart that I pen these words, having heard of your father’s passing. The news struck me with such a weight, as though the very air around me had grown thick with sorrow. I cannot begin to fathom the grief you must be experiencing, yet please know that my thoughts and prayers are ever with you during this difficult time.

Your father was a remarkable man, a beacon of kindness and integrity, and his absence will undoubtedly leave a profound void in the hearts of all who had the privilege of knowing him. I remember fondly the stories you shared, of his wisdom and warmth, which have clearly shaped the exceptional person you have become. His legacy, I have no doubt, will endure through you.

With his passing, I know you now bear the title of Duke. While this new responsibility may feel daunting, I have every confidence you will honor his legacy with the same grace and strength he embodied. I want you to remember that you are not alone. I am here, dear friend, steadfast and unwavering, ready to support you as you navigate this uncharted territory.

I eagerly await the day when I can see your smile again, and we can talk about the flowers in the garden, just as we always have.

With all my love and deepest sympathies,Y/N

My Dearest Tulip,

Your letter brought me a flicker of light amidst the shadows that have enveloped me since my father’s passing. It is a solace to know that you, too, share in my grief, and your words resonate deeply within me, reminding me that I am not alone in this turbulent sea of sorrow.

Thank you for your kind remembrance of my father. He often spoke of you with such fondness, and knowing how he impacted your life brings me a measure of comfort. His lessons of kindness and integrity remain etched in my heart, and I strive to honor his legacy in every decision I make as Duke. It is a weight I carry with both pride and trepidation, yet the knowledge of your unwavering support gives me strength.

Though this season feels uncharted and daunting, your friendship is a cherished constant. I, too, long for the day when we can stroll through the gardens, exchanging thoughts about the flowers and sharing laughter, just as we once did. Until then, I will hold onto the warmth of your words and the memories we’ve created.

With heartfelt gratitude and affection,Seokmin

Age 16:

When Seokmin and Minghao return home the next spring, it’s clear that Seokmin carries more than just the usual joy and liveliness he always brings with him. A new weight settles over him, one you haven’t seen before. The responsibility of the Dukedom starts to bear down on him, heavy as the cloak he will one day wear. His laugh remains bright, his smile still warm, but there’s something different now—an unspoken awareness that the carefree boy of the past is slowly giving way to the man he is becoming.

He has grown taller, his limbs long and strong, and the way he carries himself now commands attention. The once-boyish face is now defined, the angle of his jaw sharper, while his arms, corded with muscles, show the signs of hard work and training. It’s as if each inch he’s gained has come with a newfound strength, and when he meets your gaze, his eyes hold a certain seriousness, as if he is seeing everything with a fresh perspective.

The easy rhythm of your old routines stays intact—Minghao teasing you until you yell, Seokmin’s booming laughter echoing across the fields, and the reprimands from your mother when your playful shouts interrupt her afternoon peace. It all feels the same, yet beneath it all, you know things are changing.

On one such afternoon, you discover their practice swords—once lost and forgotten—buried haphazardly in the flowerbed among your mother’s beloved tulips. You pull them free with a gasp, the soil still clinging to the metal, and when you bring them to Seokmin, he chuckles, the sound a little sadder than you remember.

“Well,” he says, wiping the dirt from the hilt, “seems like even the tulips want to keep us from growing up too fast, eh, Tulip?”

Despite the weight of responsibility that now shadows him, he still calls you “Tulip.” The name slips easily from his lips, playful and tender, a thread that ties your past to the present. The quiet nickname carries the bittersweet truth: your days of carefree adventures and playful banter are slowly fading, giving way to the responsibilities of adulthood. And while the world around you shifts, that name—whispered in secret—feels like a promise that some part of him, some part of both of you, will always stay the same.

My dearest Tulip,

It is with a heart full of sorrow that I write to you, upon receiving the most distressing news regarding your father’s passing. The world seems dimmer without him, and my thoughts are consumed with the weight of your grief. I wish I could be there, to hold your hand and share in the memories of a man who undoubtedly brought so much light into your life.

When the silence envelops you, when the days stretch long and heavy with unshed tears, know that I am here for you. You need not wear a mask of strength; I shall not expect it. Life has a way of changing in an instant, and though we are thrust into roles we may not be prepared for, there remains solace in companionship.

Please remember, my dear friend, you are not alone in this journey. I stand with you, ready to lend my support and share in whatever you need.

With the utmost affection,Seokmin

My dearest Seokmin,

Your letter reached me at a time when silence has settled heavily over the estate, wrapping around us like a shroud. It feels as though the laughter that once danced through these halls has been swallowed by a void, leaving behind a hushed emptiness. My mother, once so vibrant, now moves about with an air of resignation, her spirit dimmed as if she carries the weight of the world upon her shoulders. The joy that once bloomed within her seems to have withered, and even the flowers in the garden appear to droop, their colors muted in sympathy for our grief.

I often find myself worrying for Minghao. The new title of duke weighs upon him like a heavy cloak, and I fear that the responsibilities thrust upon him will change him in ways I cannot yet understand. I can only imagine the burden he feels, trying to uphold our father's legacy while grappling with the uncertainties of leadership. It frightens me to think of how this shift may alter our relationship, how he might feel compelled to step into a role that distances him from the brother I’ve always known. I fear I may lose him just as I have lost my father.

Yet, amid this uncertainty, your words bring me a flicker of comfort. The knowledge that you stand with me during this turbulent time is a balm for my spirit. I long for your return, for the laughter and warmth that you bring.

Until then, I hold your friendship close to my heart, a gentle reminder that even in the darkest of times, I am not alone.

With all my affection,Y/N

Age 17:

At the onset of spring, when Minghao and Seokmin return to the estate, the world feels subtly transformed. The air is perfumed with the scent of blooming flowers, yet there’s an unmistakable weight in the atmosphere, a quiet acknowledgment of the changes that accompany their new titles. As dukes, both acquire an aura of responsibility that overshadows the playful ease they once share.

The lighthearted teasing that characterizes your interactions is now less frequent, often replaced by a more thoughtful camaraderie. It’s as though their titles impose a certain decorum upon them, one that even the most mischievous of spirits cannot easily shake off. Their laughter, while still present, bears the faintest echo of seriousness that wasn’t there before.

Yet, despite this change, you find immense joy in their company, particularly when they engage in spirited sparring sessions in the training yard. As wooden swords clash and echo, it’s impossible not to feel a thrill at the sight of them—two young gentlemen, once boys, now embodying a gravity that demands respect even in their play.

The matches become a spectacle, each clash of wooden swords accompanied by shouts and laughter that echo through the estate. You perch on the sidelines, an amused spectator, as Seokmin and Minghao banter playfully between bouts. “You call that a strike?” Seokmin teases, deftly dodging your brother’s advance with a lightness that seems almost effortless. “I’ve seen more ferocity from a kitten!”

Minghao rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth betraying a grin despite his best efforts to maintain an air of dignity. “One day, Seokmin, you shall learn that mocking your opponent is a perilous game.”

You perch on the sidelines, unable to stifle the laughter bubbling forth at their antics. Each exchange between them is a delightful dance, weaving a tapestry of shared history and unspoken affection. Yet, as you watch, you cannot help but feel a twinge of wistfulness; the exuberance of their banter now seems to emerge from a place tinged with nostalgia.

The sun dips low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the training yard; both young gentlemen wield their wooden swords with a fervor that sends a thrill through the onlookers. You remain at a distance, your heart pounding in rhythm with each clash of wood, an exhilaration mingled with unease coursing through you.

Seokmin, with his characteristic bravado, flashes a teasing grin as he engages your brother. “Come now, my lord! Surely you can do better than that!” The laughter in his voice rings like a bell, though you can’t help but feel a knot of apprehension tighten in your chest.

As the match continues, you find yourself transfixed by Seokmin’s agile movements, the way he dances about the training yard with a carefree spirit. However, just as you begin to relax, a delicate butterfly flits past, capturing Seokmin’s attention momentarily. It is in this fleeting distraction that your brother seizes his opportunity, lunging forward with surprising speed.

“Seokmin!” you cry out, the word escaping your lips before you can restrain it. Time seems to elongate as you watch, breathless, as Seokmin turns just in time to evade the wooden sword’s path. He stumbles slightly, regaining his balance as he casts a quick glance your way, surprise etched upon his handsome features.

With your heart racing, you dash to his side, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “Are you quite well?” The urgency in your voice is unmistakable, for the thought of his injury sends a chill through you.

“Indeed, I am unharmed,” he replies, though the forced joviality of his laugh belies the tension of the moment. “Merely caught off guard, I assure you.”

Yet your heart refuses to calm. “You cannot be so reckless! What if you had been injured?” The fervor of your concern envelops you, and you see a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes as he steps closer, the air between you thick with a burgeoning intimacy. That same foreign sensation – the one from years ago when he had brushed against you in the gardens – ignites within you, one you had tucked away and kept hidden, rearing its head in this moment of vulnerability.

“Thank you, Tulip, for your ever-present concern for my well-being,” he murmurs, his voice lowered as he meets your gaze, the world around you fading into an indistinct haze. Just then, Minghao loudly clears his throat, and Seokmin drops his eyes, a bashful blush appearing on the apples of his cheeks.

You step away, embarrassed, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

Minghao corners you in the gardens that night, the cool summer breeze brushing against your skin as you take a walk, seeking solace from the tempest of thoughts swirling in your mind. The encounter with Seokmin lingers like a gentle whisper, an unsettling mixture of warmth and confusion that dances at the edges of your consciousness, teasing you with emotions you struggle to understand.

“Sister,” he begins, his voice so soft that you nearly startle. In an instant, he presses a hand against your mouth, his finger raised in a quiet plea for silence. “It’s only me, Y/N. I fear you’ll wake the entire estate.”

“It’s your fault for skulking about the gardens like a common thief!” you whisper back, fiercely. “What on earth could possibly require such urgent discussion that you couldn’t grant me one night of peace?”

His expression grows serious, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. “You must be careful, sister,” he admonishes, and in that moment, he seems less like your brother and more like the Duke of Somerset—tall, proud, and formidable. “There are whispers… about you and Seokmin.”

“Whispers? Whatever do you mean?” You search his face for clarification, anxiety bubbling within you.

Minghao shakes his head as if dismissing the very idea of this conversation. A wave of indignation washes over you, eager to burst forth. He may be only two years your elder, yet he still insists on treating you like a child. “Your debut into society draws near,” he continues, his voice measured and resolute. “You mustn’t jeopardize it.”

“But Minghao—” you begin, but he raises a hand, silencing you with a mere gesture.

“Listen. You know how these things unfold. A mere hint of impropriety could tarnish your reputation. I don’t want you to suffer from the kind of gossip that twists the truth.” His tone softens, revealing a hint of genuine concern that pierces through your indignation. “I only want what’s best for you.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. “I am not a child anymore,” you protest, the tremor in your voice betraying a mixture of frustration and uncertainty. “I am capable of making my own choices.”

“Perhaps,” he replies, his eyes steady and unwavering. “But I have a responsibility to protect you, Y/N. I don’t wish to stifle your spirit, but you must grasp the implications of your actions.”

The night air grows thick with unspoken sentiments, and as the stars twinkle overhead like mischievous spectators, you grapple with the tumult in your heart. There’s something about Seokmin that sends ripples of confusion coursing through you, a fluttering sensation that stirs your chest whenever his name crosses your mind. You do not fully comprehend what it is, but it’s undeniably present—a flicker of something more, leaving you teetering on the precipice of feelings you are not yet ready to confront.

My dearest Seokmin,

As I sit here with this pen in hand, I find myself quite at a loss. The arrival of my debut looms on the horizon, and while I am certainly filled with anticipation, I must confess that trepidation dances in my chest, quite uninvited. The notion of standing before an audience of peers—well-bred and well-mannered—fills me with an unease I cannot quite articulate. Will my words tumble forth in a jumbled mess? Or worse, will they fall on deaf ears?

I cannot shake the dreadful thought that I may never find a match. What if I enter that grand ballroom, adorned in my finest gown, and am met with indifference? Will the charming suitors twirl past me, whisking away others while I stand, forgotten, on the periphery? The idea sends a shiver down my spine, as I fear I may spend the evening watching the festivities unfold without me.

As I consider the expectations that accompany my debut, I can’t help but reflect on how you and Minghao have gracefully embraced your new roles as dukes. You carry the weight of your responsibilities with such elegance, while I find myself yearning to flourish in a world that feels daunting. Will I, too, be able to navigate this landscape of expectation and propriety, or will I falter under its weight?

Forgive my ramblings, dear friend. I suppose I am merely hoping for reassurance, a kind word from you. Perhaps if I know you will be there—your presence a familiar balm—I might muster the courage to dance and revel in the splendor of the evening.

With warmest regards and hopeful heart,Your Tulip

My Dearest Tulip,

Your recent letter has landed in my hands like a most delightful spring breeze, though I must confess it carries with it a hint of unease that quite unnerves me. How is it that my steadfast friend, who has faced the world with such spirited determination, now frets over the prospects of the ballroom?

First and foremost, allow me to put your mind at ease. The mere thought of you standing in that grand ballroom, adorned in the finest gown, is enough to illuminate the dimmest of corners. Your charm will be as radiant as the most exquisite of chandeliers, drawing the gaze of all who are fortunate enough to cross your path. I assure you, the gentlemen will hardly be able to focus on anything—or anyone—else.

Now, I cannot let this opportunity pass without a bit of teasing – regarding your step upon my toes during our lessons – I daresay I must bring up a rather amusing memory. I cannot help but recall how you sent both Minghao and me reeling across the room, much like a pair of wayward marionettes! One can only hope that with age comes grace—or at the very least, a better sense of foot placement! If not, I shall be prepared to don the most resilient shoes in all of England.

Worry not, dear Tulip. I shall be by your side the entire season, if you shall have me (although, I am not entirely certain your dear brother will be entirely pleased by this idea).

Your most loyal servant,Seokmin

Dearest Sister,

As I sit at my desk, I cannot help but feel a mixture of pride and exasperation as I pen this letter. Our infrequent exchanges have become quite the tradition, have they not? I find it amusing that as your brother, I am often left to await your words while Seokmin is constantly regaled by your stories.

With your debut looming closer, I feel it is my solemn duty as both your brother and your Duke to remind you of the delicate nature of polite society. Your debut is not merely an occasion to don a gown and curtsy to the queen; it is a rite filled with expectations and decorum. I implore you to be mindful of the company you keep and the propriety that is expected of you as a young lady and the sister of the Duke. I have taken it upon myself to speak to Seokmin, warning him of the same – he has a habit of forgetting his own station in moments of levity.

While I know you must find these constraints stifling, know that the eyes of the ton will soon be upon you, not only assessing your beauty but also your character. You are the jewel of our family, and I trust you will shine brightly, even amidst these expectations.

Write to me when you can, dear sister, even if it is infrequent. Your musings are treasures to your dear elder brother, and I await them constantly.

With all my love, Minghao

Dearest Brother,

I say this with the utmost love and devotion:

Damn you.

(Please forgive my language, and please, do not show this letter to Mama. I fear her admonishments may never end if she hears of my vernacular)

I am acutely aware of the expectations that accompany my debut – how could I forget when both you and Mama loom over me like a pair of hawks? While I recognize your intentions, your words do little to alleviate my anxiety.

Your warning regarding Seokmin only serves to make me laugh. It is amusing, truly, to envision the Duke of Lancaster being chided by my brother on the virtues of propriety. I promise to keep my wits about me and to present myself with all the elegance expected of a young lady of my station (the sister of a Duke, no less!).

I will do my utmost to avoid a scandal – or at the very least, I shall ensure that you do not hear of it. I shall write again soon, if only to unleash more of my exasperation upon you.

Yours, in (implied) rebellion, Y/N (Sister of the Duke of Somerset)

Age 18:

On the eve of your debut, you find yourself seated on the swing in the garden of the Somerset townhome, the night cloaked in an almost palpable tension. The sounds of Mayfair filter through the stillness—a symphony of distant laughter, the soft clatter of carriages, and the occasional rustle of silk skirts—as the ton settles into slumber. The air feels electric, crackling with anticipation, as if the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for the events of the morrow to unfold.

You take a deep drag from the cigarette you swiped from Minghao’s rooms, the smoke spiraling into the night like a fleeting thought. With each inhale, you hope to drown out the anxious fluttering of your heart, a dissonant rhythm that accelerates at the mere thought of tomorrow’s debut.

“Why, Lady Xu Y/N, are you smoking?” The voice breaks through your reverie, causing you to sputter and cough, hastily attempting to conceal the cigarette behind your back. You turn to see Seokmin, leaning casually against the sturdy oak tree that secures the swing, his figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

His presence is both familiar and disarming, the boyish charm of his smile juxtaposed against the weight of his title. “No, Seokmin, I—” you stammer, flustered.

“Shove over,” he commands lightly, and before you can protest, he plucks the cigarette from your frozen grip, taking a deep, leisurely drag. The sight of him—so confident, so carefree—sets your heart racing in a way that both delights and terrifies you.

“What on earth are you doing here?” you ask incredulously, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“I was with your brother at White’s,” he replies, amusement dancing in his eyes. “It was my mistake to forget how little he can imbibe before devolving into an utter fool. I was merely making sure he returned home safely.” His tone shifts, curiosity sparkling in his gaze. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”

“Excited? Hardly,” you grumble, kicking at the scattered rocks beneath your feet. “What my heart truly desires is to run away—pack my things, flee to Paris, and open a quaint little bookstore. Perhaps live out my days as a spinster, surrounded by novels and solitude.”

Seokmin’s expression shifts, a shadow of understanding passing across his features. “We cannot always have what our hearts desire,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of sorrow as he exhales a plume of smoke. “Sometimes, we must accept that we can find happiness in what we have, not in what could have been.”

You watch the smoke dance and dissipate into the night sky, thoughts swirling as restlessly as the tendrils of fog around you.

“And you?” you ask quietly, the question escaping before you can catch it. “What does your heart desire?”

“Desired,” he corrects, taking another deep drag. “I once dreamed of being a fencer, of dueling beneath the sun. But above all, I yearned to find love.”

Your heart stutters at his admission. His thigh brushes against yours, an electric touch that feels so scandalously intimate you can hardly breathe. You suddenly become acutely aware of the nightgown you wear, the thin fabric doing little to shield you from the heat radiating from his body. If Minghao were to catch you in this moment, you are certain he would demand that Seokmin either marry you on the spot or duel him for your honor.

The very thought sends a shiver down your spine—an improper thought that both terrifies and thrills you. You are a young lady, poised to make your debut, and here you are, perched so closely to an eligible duke, the expectations of the ton looming like a dark cloud. What would society say if they were to discover you in this clandestine moment? The whispers would be deafening, your reputation in tatters, and yet… the thrill of it, the danger, pulls at you like a siren's song.

“And you believe you shall never find it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I am a Duke, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it barely pierces the night air. “Duty must come first. If there is any part of me left, which there rarely is, only then can I pursue love.”

The distance between you feels both impossibly vast and achingly close, the weight of his words pressing against you like an invisible force. You can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the unspoken longing that mirrors your own.

You hum, encouraging him to continue, yet the weight of his words presses down on your chest.

“But how fortunate am I,” he continues, his gaze piercing through the night like a beacon, “to have found such a remarkable friend who stands by me even as duty threatens to drown me where I stand.”

A friend. The word lingers between you, heavy and loaded. Is that truly all he sees you as? The realization sends your mind reeling, your heart racing in an entirely different way.

No, the trees whisper, urging you to reconsider.

Could it be…love?

That foreign sensation, long buried beneath layers of propriety and friendship, now unfurls within you, roots taking hold. You realize with a start that you have loved Seokmin, perhaps from that very first kiss on your hand all those years ago, long before you could articulate the feelings swirling in your heart.

Panic courses through you, and you leap up from the swing as if it has burned you. “It is late, Lord Lee. I must take my leave now,” you stammer, unable to meet his gaze. “I hope you find your way home safely.”

He reaches out, his hand brushing against your wrist, and your breath hitches at the contact. “Wait,” he says, his voice low, almost laced with concern. “Are you alright? You seem... distant.”

His eyes search yours, and you feel the weight of his gaze, an anchor that both comforts and terrifies you. Your pulse quickens, a frantic rhythm echoing in your ears. What would it mean to linger here a moment longer, to let the night wrap around you like a cocoon?

But all the books you’ve read offer no preparation for the heartache that comes with knowing he regards you as merely a friend. A friend, just like your brother. You are his friend, and the shattering realization settles in: he will never love you back.

“Tulip?” he adds softly, the word a whisper that brushes against your skin like the wind.

You swallow hard, every part of you aching to give in, to lean into the connection pulsing between you. But the truth looms like a storm cloud overhead, dark and inevitable.

You love Lord Lee Seokmin, Duke of Lancaster, but he will never love you.

And with that heavy knowledge weighing on your heart, you turn to leave, every step toward your room feeling like a betrayal to the emotions simmering just beneath the surface.

You don’t sleep at all, thoughts consumed by a boy you had once known and the man you now love.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits @moondustmemories @shinwonderful @ivehypnosis @gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13

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chrrychills · 4 months ago

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Hi!!!! Do you think you could do SBG main six with a really affectionate S/O? Like there S/O is always around them and most of the time is clinging onto them in one way or another. Examples: hand holding, pinky holding, hugging there arm, hugging them, leaning on them, random kisses.

baby, tell me what you need .

main six « affectionate s/o!

ashlyn banner:

•she's not into affection at all. ashlyn gets uncomfortable when people are in her personal space, especially in public. she'll hold your hand/ pinkie while around others, but that's pretty much it. maybe she'll let you lean on her shoulder if you're tired, and that's a big maybe.

•in private, though, she's a little more affectionate but it isn't by much. when you two are alone, she doesn't mind cuddling and kisses much. if it's excessive, she'll find a way to nicely tell you to tone it down.

•the longer you two are dating, the more you end up adjusting to each other. she gets more comfortable with physical affection, and you get better at understanding her boundaries and when she doesn't want to be touched. you two end up being really in sync with the other's emotions.

•the only time she shows affection beyond hand holding is when you're hurt/in danger. if there was a close call or you got injured, she'll definitely wrap you in a pretty tight hug while scolding you/ apologizing, depending on what happened.

•overall, she gets used to your affectionate tendencies and eventually grows fond of them.

aiden clark:

•aiden's big on physical touch, so your affection is definitely welcome. be prepared to always be touching in some way– wether that's cuddling or just holding hands.

•in all honesty, he's probably the one to initiate affection most of the time. he'll stop if you tell him to, but if you don't he's practically attached to your side the entire time you two are together.

•a huge cuddler. although he's hyper, he can knock out in seconds if you're cuddling and playing with his hair.

•he literally never gets embarrassed, so he doesn't care if people think the affection is weird or gross. he's also lowkey whipped so it just might not occur to him.

•the longer you two are dating, the more normal he gets about affection. it's a lot more casual and subtle then it was at the beginning of the relationship, but it's aiden so he's obviously still touching you in some way.

•he's annoying and likes to stick his foot in your face, especially when you're concentrating on something and he wants your attention. it usually works, too.

ben clark:

•he's internally freaking out every. single. time. it doesn't matter what you're doing– holding hands, holding his arm, kissing his cheek, anything. he's a mess.

•he gets better at handling the affection a couple months into the relationship, but he's still lowkey giddy and it's hilarious. aiden's on his case about it constantly, which doesn't really help.

•ben isn't one to initiate affection, just because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable. it doesn't bother him when you do it, but he'd be beating himself up for weeks if he accidentally did something you were comfortable with.

•he doesn't initiate a lot of affection, but what he will initiate is hugs. expect a lot of them– not that you can complain. ben gives the warmest, softest, most comforting hugs known to man. you could literally fall asleep standing while hugging him.

•100% a pinkie holder. he won't give a reason as to why he prefers it over holding hands, but you do it anyway because he always smiles a little when you wrap your pinkie around his, and it's worth the sight.

tyler hernandez:

•at the beginning of the relationship, he has a hard time accepting, much less reciprocating any type of affection in public. he isn't embarrassed, he's just nervous of making a fool of himself.

•he does a complete 180 when you two are alone, though. wether your studying, making food, sleeping, etc etc etc. if he isn't touching you somehow, he'll pout until you hug him.

•he gets better with PDA the longer you date, but it's still subtle. he'd rather perish than be the overly-touchy couple that people hate. the most affection in public is hand holding and cheek kisses when picking you up/dropping you off. maybe a quick peck on the lips if you haven't seen each other in a while.

•the cuddle bug. he loves cuddling, especially if he's in a bad mood. there's been multiple times where he's dragged you into bed and didn't let you leave until he felt better. also lowkey forced you to play with his hair, but you don't mind because he might as well start purring with how content he is.

•cheek kisses! he thinks they're cute, and he thinks you're cute. so in his mind, you = cheek kisses.

taylor hernandez:

•she loves your affection. she lives for it, and will reciprocate every time without fail.

•chronic hand squeezer. it helps her stay grounded when she's stressed, upset, or scared. you two 100% squeeze each other's hand three times to say 'i love you' without actually saying it.

•forehead kisser. she thinks it's sweeter and more intimate than anything else. her dad used to kiss her forehead to comfort her when she was a kid, so she doesn't it to you in hopes of providing you with that same comfort.

•she loves when you kiss her hands. knuckles, palms, wrists, it doesn't matter. since she does mechanics, her hands get kind of roughed up. she'll melt when you kiss any cuts, bruises, or callouses she may have.

•also a big cuddler, but not as much as her brother. she likes to take an hour or two when you can to just lay in bed, holding each other and whispering stories and quiet i love you's.

lacey's notes:

i officially don't write logan anymore. sorry to those who love him, i just feel like my writing doesn't do him justice.

tumblr has deleted this draft four fucking times the stupid cunts.

not edited because if i have to spend another minute on this i'm deleting my entire blog.

title inspo:

#sbg #sbg x reader #x reader #sbg ashlyn #ashlyn banner x reader #sbg aiden #aiden clark x reader #sbg ben #ben clark x reader #sbg tyler #tyler hernandez x reader #sbg taylor #taylor hernandez x reader

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roosterforme · 11 months ago

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Adult Education Part 20 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Knowing that Jessica loved him was opening up a whole new world of possibilities for Jake, and his mind was running wild. With Brian's return to campus looming in front of her, Jessica relies on Jake to be the best kind of distraction.

Warnings: Fluff, oral, angst, language, 18+

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

The next week was one of the best of Jake's life. When he admitted that he didn't like sleeping without his girlfriend, Jessica told him, "Then don't." The midweek sleepovers quickly turned into Jessica having a permanent toothbrush at his place, and Jake having one at hers. When he inevitably ended up washing some of her clothing with his laundry, he didn't mind one bit. He knew there would come a day when he'd be deployed and separated from her, so he absolutely wanted to spend as much time with her as he could right now.

"Baby, you want a bedtime snack?" he asked, and she looked up at him from her seat at his kitchen island.

"Are you referring to yourself?" Her smirk was aimed right at him, and he couldn't help but smile.

"I was actually talking about some fresh fruit and yogurt."

She shook her head and adjusted her glasses as she closed her red notebook. It was the same one she'd had with her the day they met, and now she was pushing it aside to get to him in his kitchen on Thursday night. "I'd rather have you," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

He knew she was a little nervous about her tenure review, and all he wanted to do was help her get through this. Maybe keep her mind off of things. But he should have known who was in charge when she started to push him back toward the bedroom. "I don't get a say in the matter?" he asked jokingly as she gave him a soft shove so he was sitting on the end of the bed.

"Not at all," she replied as she leaned down and kissed him. When he tried to wrap his arms around her, she jumped out of his grasp and giggled.

"Come back and let me show you how much I love you." His voice sounded needy, but he didn't care. He needed Jessica, and now she knew it. He'd been telling her nonstop since Saturday.

He tracked her movements as she made her way to his nightstand and opened the drawer. The only things in there were the condoms he bought that they never used, a pair of her crotchless underwear, and a few physics journals. She dipped her hand inside and hid something behind her back before she nudged the drawer closed.

"Will you let me show you why a blowjob from me is the best kind?" she asked softly, and Jake almost laughed out loud. He already knew she was the best in every way.

"Reedy, you've got nothing to prove. That being said... I'm already a little hard just from you mentioning it."

She came to stand between his splayed legs, and he watched her thumb casually through the pages of the journal she removed from behind her back. "You really want it?" she asked. When he nodded vigorously, she said, "I'm going to make you use your brain, Smart Boy. Now get undressed."

Jessica's words of praise washed over him along with the feeling of comfort he knew every time she touched him. Jake stripped off every bit of his clothing and waited patiently. She placed a soft kiss on his forehead before she handed him the journal which was opened up to a page about the environmental impacts of fuel combustion, but he couldn't focus on it.

"Start reading," she commanded, her voice soft yet firm as she pulled her shirt over her head. The sheer champagne colored bra did nothing to hide her furled nipples from him. When she put her hands on her hips and raised one eyebrow, she repeated herself. "Start reading."

Jake grunted and peeled his eyes away from her body and focused on the journal. When he started reading, she pulled her leggings down and stepped out of them. He could see her matching panties hugging her hips before she sank to the floor in front of him. Jake cleared his throat and read, "The combustion of fossil fuels leads to the output of pollutants, causing variation in atmospheric composition." He paused and grunted as she took his cock between her lips and swirled her tongue around his tip in that familiar way that he loved.

Then she stopped, pulled him free and looked up at him. "If you want more, then you have to give me more. Keep reading."

It was a game. The kind of game that was designed specifically for Jake to lose. He throbbed in her hands as she stared up at him with parted lips. He had to force his eyes to focus on the page. "The content of nitrogen oxide and nitrogen dioxide in the air have been studied extensively after newer types of fuel have been developed for military aircrafts."

He drew in a deep breath as she started to bob up and down on his length, her glasses sliding lower on her nose. She sucked hard on him one time before popping him free. "Don't make me repeat myself."

"Oh my god," he groaned, balls tightening in her hand at her stern words. He started reading again, and she started going again. "In lower atmospheric layers, energy from the sun acts as a catalyst in chemical and physical reactions." He kept reading, very slowly, and she kept sucking his cock. Every time he hesitated over a word, she slowed her movements, leaving him twitching in her wet mouth and soft hands until he could gather his focus once more.

Cheeks hollowed out and softly moaning, Jessica sucked on him while he read to her about air pollutants from fuel, but he was barely absorbing a single word he said. The combination of reading to her while she gave him head was something he'd never imagined could be so sexy, and all too soon, Jake's hips were thrusting gently forward as she took him to the edge of orgasm.

When she met his eyes above the rim of her glasses, Jake repeated the same sentence he just read over again. As soon as he tapped the back of her throat, he was panting, and then he came. He tossed the journal on the floor as he begged, although he wasn't sure what for. "Please, Baby. Please."

His hands were in her hair as she drained him, and when he opened his eyes a moment later, he realized he was on his back on the bed with Jessica on top of him. "That was fun," she whispered. "I think you like it when I tell you what to do."

Jake snorted. "Really? I think I love it. Like I love you."

---------------------------

When Jessica arrived at work on Friday with a cooler bag filled with the lunch and snacks Jake packed for her, she logged into her email account with a smile on her face. She had a message from Dr. Rosenthal letting her know that he would be spending the weekend reviewing all of the information he had gathered and all of the notes he had taken while sitting in her classes for the past few weeks. He would let her know soon if she was being awarded tenure or not.

Her smile started to fade as nerves rushed in. There was another email from Dean Walters letting her know that the extra work she put in had been much appreciated, and that she only needed to cover Brian's class one more time before he returned to campus. After next week, he would be back from his leave of absence. The peace she felt this whole time he was gone would be taken from her. And if Dr. Rosenthal didn't find her worthy of tenure, Brian would never give her another chance at a review.

She felt sick now. Last night was so much fun. Teasing Jake and getting him all wound up before bedtime still had her smiling this morning. Now she just felt too warm and prickly all over as she gathered the notes she needed to teach. And of course, just because she already felt kind of terrible now, Dr. Rosenthal quietly crept into her class right when she started, giving her a little way. He must have wanted one last chance to see her in action. She tried to smile in his direction before she got started.

Jessica felt like she was on autopilot right now, which was never ideal for a teacher. She made it to lunchtime when she ran back to her office, desperate for some quiet solitude and her homemade lunch. Of course as soon as she poked her fork into the container, there was a knock on her door.

She groaned softly before she called out, "Come in."

Jessica saw the flash of a tie dye lunch box and then her friend was sitting across from her. "You are not going to believe the day I'm having." She was already furiously dipping some carrots into a container of hummus. "I caught a student cheating on an exam. I am so pissed off."

"That's the worst," Jessica groaned, and then she felt a little guilty. "I'm sorry if you're going to be spending all weekend working up my tenure review with Rosenthal."

"We're not supposed to talk about that. And don't be sorry. And anyway, I'm not planning on working the whole weekend... Bradley and I have a trip to the school library planned for Sunday afternoon."

"Oh, is that some sort of romantic date for the two of you?" Jessica asked as she ate her delicious lunch, starting to feel a little better.

Her friend nibbled on her lip and giggled before she bit into a carrot stick. "Something like that." After she finished another carrot stick, she cocked her head to the side. "What's wrong? I thought you'd still be ecstatic today. Apparently Jake can't stop talking about the fact that you told him you love him back. Bradley said he couldn't shut up about it at work on Monday."

Jessica flushed with embarrassed excitement; she hadn't even mentioned it to anyone else yet, but Jake had? She felt her whole body clench with need for him. "Yeah... he said it at the Hard Deck. On his birthday," she whispered. "And of course I love him. What's not to love? I mean, other than the unfortunate time he called you Dr. Tits."

"At least he got the honorific correct," she mumbled. "Then why do you look miserable?"

There was no point in beating around the bush with this woman. "I'm nervous all over again now. Rosenthal sat in my class earlier, and it threw me. I honestly don't know if I'm good enough. And Brian is coming back after next week." She took a deep breath before she blurted out, "I was hoping and praying that somehow he wouldn't return. That something would prevent it from happening, because I don't want to see him at all."

She was met with a long stretch of silence as the other woman nodded, and it felt like her words were still echoing around the tiny office. Eventually the other woman said, "I know he's returning in a week. I also know that Dr. Rosenthal will have a decision about your tenure before then, because I explicitly asked him to finalize it before the month ends. And... I have to attend a meeting next week in regards to Brian."

"A meeting?" Jessica asked as tears burned her eyes. "About what?"

"I'm not sure yet. But I'll let you know when I can."

Jessica nodded, feeling even more uncertain, but she whispered, "Thanks for having my back."

---------------------------

Ten minutes with Jessica, and Jake knew something was wrong. He drove to her place to spend the night on Friday, and one thing he wanted to mention was his idea of her moving into his condo with him. He had no idea when her rental lease was ending, but he thought it was worth mentioning now, even if it didn't happen for a while. He thought better than to bring it up as soon as she started giving him one word answers.

"Hey," he whispered as she stood in front of her refrigerator looking for something he could make for dinner. He carefully closed the door and spun her around to face him. "I know something's bothering you. I can tell." He stroked her cheek and tipped her face up so she was looking at him. "Why don't you get it off your chest and let me try to make you feel better?"

She nodded gently and said, "Brian is coming back in a few days. And I'll know about my tenure review decision next week."

"Right," Jake said slowly as he wrapped his hand around her waist. "We knew both of those things were going to be happening though?" He was still a little confused as to why she looked like she was going to cry.

"Yes," she replied as she squeezed her eyes closed. "But everything has been so good the past few weeks. I haven't felt like I'm slowly suffocating at work anymore. I have all the graduating chemistry majors bringing their grades up, because teaching the senior studies class is actually really fun. And... you told me you love me. And Brian is going to come in and ruin everything, especially if Rosenthal doesn't think I'm good enough."

She was sobbing as Jake collected her against his chest. "You're a really good teacher, Reedy," he whispered. "You are the reason all those students have higher grades now. And you told me yourself that Dr. Rosenthal is very smart, so just give him a chance to show you that he's also very fair. And as for Brian? That asshole can just fuck off. He's not going to mess with you anymore, and if he tries to, I'll be there in his face in an instant, and I can guarantee he'll back off."

She nodded, and her glasses dug into his chest as he kissed her head. Jake wasn't going to let Brian near her if he had anything to say about it. Part of him had been hoping he'd just resign instead of returning to work, but no such luck.

"I love you, Jessica," he whispered as she took a few deep breaths. "And I really don't think Brian is dumb enough to give you a hard time again. But if he does, I'll break his nose every week if that's what you want me to do." That made her laugh in his arms, so he kissed the top of her head again and said, "As soon as you say it looks like it healed, I'll stop by and punch him again."

She was laughing and looking up at him as she wiped her tears away. "Maybe every time you stop by for my office hours, you can just punch him."

"I'll add a recurring notification to my phone calendar." She kissed his cheek as he said, "Why don't you get changed out of your work clothes, and I'll take you out for dinner."

The loud growl from Jake's stomach might have been the reason she agreed to his plan. "Where are we going?"

"Anywhere you want. If you come out of the bedroom wearing a dress, I'll take you somewhere nice. If you come out wearing jeans, we can go get burgers or tacos by the beach. And if you put on leggings and one of the shirts you stole from my dresser, I'll order some takeout, and we can drive to pick it up together."

Jake ended up at the burger shack, sitting at a lopsided table on the back deck while the last glimpse of orange sunlight vanished on the horizon. Jessica was so close to him, she was practically sitting on his lap, and they were sharing French fries and an enormous chocolate shake. "You feel a little better?" he asked as he kissed her ear.

"I do. You're so sweet, you always make me feel better," she replied, dipping a fry in some ketchup. "But I like it more when you cook dinner."

Jake groaned. This woman thought he was smart, sweet and interesting, and she liked the food he made. She liked being with him. She even loved him. "I'm going to mention something. Just really quickly. And we don't actually have to discuss it right now since there's a lot going on this week. But I just thought that maybe soon or maybe in a few months or next year.... you might move into my condo with me?"

She smiled at him, rerouting the French fry to his mouth instead of her own. "Are you saying you don't want me to renew my lease when it ends in two months?"

He quickly chewed the fry before wrapping her in his arms. "Please don't renew it, Baby. I really don't want you to."

"Okay. I won't." She laughed as he smothered her face in kisses.

--------------------------

The weekend was of course perfect. Jessica woke up to the sight of Jake's handsome face and messy hair bathed in sunlight in her bed two days in a row. They slept in, they made love, they went to see a movie, and Jake made every meal with just the slightest bit of help from her.

"I need my assistant," he called as he prepared pancake batter at lunchtime on Sunday after taking her grocery shopping.

She groaned as she poured two more mugs of coffee. "But I'm barely even any help to you at all."

"But I like it when you're with me."

"Yeah... I'm not going to argue with that," she said, tucking herself in front of Jake and helping him scoop the batter and pour it into the hot pan. She smiled at the pancake as it started to cook. "What are you making for my lunches this week?"

He kissed her shoulder. "Lasagna and garlic bread. Can't wait for two months from now when we can combine all of our grocery shopping. But I just realized one more thing we need to do before then... right when your semester ends."

"What's that?" she asked as they flipped the pancake together.

"Gotta fly to Massachusetts and meet your family, and then I'll take you to Texas so my mom and dad can meet you. That'll be a first for them," he said with a laugh. "Might shock them to death."

"Why?" she asked as butterflies erupted in her tummy. She wanted him to say it. She desperately wanted him to say it.

"I've never had someone I wanted them to meet before."

Jake ended up eating that very burnt pancake after Jessica spun in his arms and kissed him until they were both breathless. Eventually he made the lasagna for her, and she portioned it into her lunch containers while Jake looked at different flights for the week she would have off after she submitted final grades for the semester.

On Tuesday afternoon, she was still thinking about the sincere look on his face when he told her he'd try to get that week off too. Jake made her feel better about everything that was happening. It was almost time for her office hours, and she expected to see Luca at some point. He was doing really well in her class now, and as long as he kept coming back for more practice problems, she would keep making them up for him.

When she heard a tap on her door, she called out, "Come in!" But instead of Luca and his skateboard, her heart started pounding double time when she saw who was there. She was on her feet immediately. "Dr. Rosenthal."

"Dr. Reed," he mumbled, juggling a binder and some folders as he closed the door behind him.

He wasn't really meeting her eyes, and she swallowed hard as she said, "Have a seat." The words came out as barely a squeak, and she realized her hands were shaking a bit as she dropped back into her chair as well.

He was shuffling papers around and trying to dig a pen out of his shirt pocket. "I have frankly a whole bunch of papers for you to sign here. I just need to sign a few of them myself first." Then he looked up at her and chuckled. "Did you have a chance to read the science joke of that day that I emailed to you earlier?" he asked.

Jessica nodded, wishing he'd just get on with why exactly he was here. "The one about the Roman numerals and the gladiators? Yes. It was very good."

He was still chuckling to himself when he laid out a stack of papers on her desk in front of her. "Okay, go ahead and sign all of these, and make sure you date them as well. I would have brought them in earlier, but the copier was jammed again." He set his fountain pen down after he uncapped it, and Jessica just stared at him.

"What's going on here exactly?" she asked, finally sliding the first page a little closer to her.

He looked at her in surprise. "Why, it's your formal paperwork, of course. For your tenure."

She squeezed her hands into fists, pressing her nails into her palms as she started sweating. "My tenure?" she whispered, too afraid to say anything else until he spoke again.

"Yes," Dr. Rosenthal replied. "The university is awarding you tenure based on my findings. I spoke with Dean Walters earlier today. Were you expecting a different outcome?"

"No," she gasped as tears welled up in her eyes. "No, this is exactly what I was expecting." She struggled to keep her voice under control as she breathed in and out awkwardly and picked up his pen. "Thank you for taking the time to do my review."

He flapped his hand casually in the air as if he wasn't aware that he'd just made her whole existence vastly better. "Oh no, don't thank me. It's all just part of the job. Happy to do it."

She shook with silent tears as she skimmed the paperwork and signed her name over and over again. She even saw Advanced Calculus' signature on a few lines. Each time she looked up at Dr. Rosenthal through her watery smile, he was just sitting there calmly, and Jessica wondered if anyone else ever cried when he told them they got tenure.

On the last page was the certification that had been signed by Dean Walters, and Jessica smiled when Rosenthal said, "That's the page you're going to want to frame and hang up there next to your diplomas."

She had to fight the urge to hug him when she stood to shake his hand. "Thank you again."

He just shrugged it off once again. "You have a very good friend in the math department. Well, I suppose two, if you include me. Don't forget to schedule a meeting with Dean Walters, because you'll need to return some of that paperwork to him. I just wanted you to have it in writing as soon as possible."

"Okay," she said with as steady a voice as she could muster. And then she was opening the door for him to go.

In the silence of her office, Jessica dropped back down into her desk chair and sobbed. She took her glasses off and pressed her hands to her face as her whole body shook in relief at finally getting what she knew she deserved all along. She could finally look to the future knowing that even if Brian Conley didn't want her at this school, there were other faculty members who recognized her worth.

"Oh my god," she moaned to herself as she wiped at her tears in vain as they just kept coming. She felt inexplicably weightless, like years of pressure just suddenly ceased to exist. Her breathing started to even out, and then she laughed before she started crying all over again.

There was a firm knock on her door, and she had to pat around her desk for her glasses as she stood. If it was Luca, she would just excuse herself to the restroom and then come back to help him. When she opened the door, Jake's green eyes were immediately alert and upset.

"What happened?" he barked, reaching for her with the hand that wasn't holding a snack container. "Is Brian back already?"

And then she was crying again. "No," she sobbed against his uniform shirt, smearing her glasses in the process. "Oh my god, Jake," she wailed and he dropped the container on her desk to take her face in both of his big hands. He looked like he was on the verge of panicking when she reached for the certification page and held it up for him. "I got tenure." He made a loud noise, and he hoisted her in the air as she clung onto the sheet of paper and his shoulder. "Dr. Rosenthal just told me. I just signed all the paperwork."

She was crying so hard, she was shaking again, and when her feet finally met the ground, Jake's lips were on hers. "I'm so proud of you," he said between kisses. "So fucking proud of you. I love you so much."

She laughed and cried and held onto him as he murmured the sweetest things in her ear while she traced his name tag with her fingers. Then he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles as she smiled at him.

"Let's go pick up some champagne and celebrate."

But there was a third knock on the door, and this time, Jessica could hear Luca kick and flip his skateboard into his hands. "I have to finish my office hours first."

Jake grinned and kissed her forehead. "Of course you do. You're such a good teacher."

------------------------

Masterful, Jessica. It should have been yours all along. You got your tenure, and you got the guy.... what are you going to do next? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 21

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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Flames in the West (for better or worse)

- Summary: During the royal hunt in honor of Aegon's second nameday, you insult a lion and gain his attention.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: his rock

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

The journey back to King’s Landing was marked by golden sunlight filtering through the trees, the steady clatter of hooves on the dirt path, and the ever-present bickering between you and Jason Lannister. The man seemed utterly incapable of silence, trailing your horse like a particularly persistent shadow.

“Really, Princess,” Jason began, his tone teasing, “do you always wear such practical clothing? You’ll find Casterly Rock has little use for muddy boots and hunting gear.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your reins. “Forgive me, Lord Jason, but I hadn’t realized I needed to start dressing for an audience of stone lions.”

Jason chuckled, his golden hair catching the light. “Stone lions, real lions—it’s all the same. A lady of your standing deserves silks and jewels to match her beauty.”

You arched an eyebrow, smirking. “I suppose you think I should be draped in Lannister crimson as well?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Jason replied with a grin. “Red and gold suit you.”

“Red and gold suit you, my lord,” you shot back. “I’ll wear what I please, and you can thank the gods I don’t show up at Casterly Rock in dragon scales.”

Jason’s laugh was loud and genuine, earning a few glances from the Lannister retainers riding behind. “Now that’s an image,” he said, clearly picturing it. “You’d frighten the servants half to death.”

“Perhaps that’s the point,” you quipped. “It would make up for the fact that I’m being dragged to your oversized pile of rocks.”

Jason placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Oversized pile of rocks? Princess, Casterly Rock is a marvel of the Seven Kingdoms! Wait until you see it—you’ll change your tune.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you muttered, though your lips twitched in amusement.

The banter continued for hours, ranging from the superiority of lion sigils versus dragon banners to the merits of hunting stags versus boars. Jason seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, his grin never faltering no matter how sharp your words became. You suspected he was intentionally prolonging the exchange, as though every quip of yours was a treasure to him.

By the time the Lannisters reached the fork in the road where they would part ways to return westward, the procession slowed. Jason dismounted, his crimson cloak billowing behind him as he approached your horse.

“This is where we part, Princess,” he announced with exaggerated solemnity. “For now.”

You tilted your head, feigning surprise. “You mean I’ll finally get a moment’s peace?”

Jason smirked, looking up at you with those ever-confident eyes. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll be preparing Casterly Rock for your arrival.”

“Preparing it?” you echoed, your tone skeptical. “What does that even mean? Polishing the stones?”

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Hardly. I’ll have the halls filled with music, the chambers adorned with the finest tapestries, and the kitchens stocked with Dornish wine—all to make it worthy of you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity, leaning slightly forward in your saddle. “You’d better be careful, Lord Jason. If you keep this up, I might start to believe you.”

“Good,” he replied simply, his grin softening into something almost genuine. “Because I mean every word.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily without a retort. Jason seemed to notice, his grin widening once more. He took a step back, bowing with dramatic flair.

“Until next we meet, Princess,” he said, mounting his horse with practiced ease. “And when you see Casterly Rock, you’ll realize what an excellent decision you’ve made.”

“You’re assuming I’ll even make it that far without changing my mind,” you called after him, though your tone was more playful than cutting.

Jason turned his horse with a flourish, raising a hand in farewell. “I’ll take my chances.”

As the Lannister party rode off, Rhaenyra pulled her horse alongside yours, a knowing smirk on her lips. “He’s relentless, isn’t he?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Relentless and insufferable.”

Rhaenyra laughed, clearly unconvinced. “And yet, I’ve never seen you smile so much on a journey.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. Instead, you turned your attention to the road ahead, Jason’s laughter still echoing faintly behind you.

The sun rose over the cliffs of Casterly Rock, casting its light over the sprawling fortress as its lord, Jason Lannister, paced through the Great Hall with all the grace of a lion trapped in a cage. Servants scurried around him, their arms laden with tapestries, wine casks, and golden candelabras, while Jason barked orders like a commander preparing for battle.

“No, no, no!” Jason exclaimed, pointing at a newly hung tapestry depicting a lion surrounded by roses. “This is all wrong. Where’s the one with the lion and the dragon? The dragon, Roderick, not a bloody garden party!”

Roderick, the steward of Casterly Rock, adjusted his spectacles and sighed. “My lord, the lion-and-dragon tapestry is still being embroidered. It won’t be ready for another fortnight.”

Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “What am I supposed to do with roses? She’ll think I’ve gone soft.”

Tyland Lannister, who arrived one moon ago to assist his twin, leaned against a nearby pillar, watching the chaos unfold with a smirk. “Perhaps she’ll think you’ve developed a love for horticulture. Isn’t that charming?”

“Not helping, Tyland,” Jason snapped, gesturing wildly at the hall. “This has to be perfect. The princess deserves the finest welcome Casterly Rock has ever seen.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow, sipping leisurely from a goblet of wine. “And you think she’ll notice the difference between one tapestry and another? From what I’ve seen, she’s more likely to mock you for fussing over it.”

Jason paused mid-step, his expression turning thoughtful. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Tyland replied, clearly enjoying himself. “But don’t let that stop you. Your suffering is highly entertaining.”

Jason rolled his eyes and turned to a group of servants struggling to arrange an elaborate floral display in the shape of a lion’s head. “Higher on the mane! It looks like it’s sulking! And where’s the gold thread for the eyes?”

A young maid curtsied nervously. “My lord, the gold thread is being used for the banners in the courtyard.”

Jason threw his hands in the air. “Banners? Who’s looking at banners when there’s going to be a lion made of flowers in the hall? Priorities, people!”

Tyland chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re going to exhaust half the servants before she even arrives.”

Jason shot him a glare but didn’t have time to retort as the steward returned with a scroll listing the preparations. “The kitchens are finalizing the feast, my lord,” Roderick reported. “Roast boar, Dornish pears, and the finest Arbor gold. We’ve also prepared a selection of the princess’s favorites, including lemon cakes and—”

“Wait,” Jason interrupted, holding up a hand. “Did you confirm she actually likes lemon cakes?”

Roderick frowned, adjusting his spectacles again. “Er… no, my lord. I assumed—”

“Don’t assume!” Jason barked, pacing again. “What if she hates them? What if she’s allergic? Gods, imagine if she took one bite and—”

“And choked to death before the wedding?” Tyland offered helpfully. “Now that would be memorable.”

Jason groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re insufferable,” Tyland replied, clearly unbothered. “But do go on. This is the most fun I’ve had in moons.”

Ignoring his brother, Jason turned back to Roderick. “Forget the lemon cakes. Just stick to the Arbor gold and the roasted boar. And don’t burn anything!”

As the hours passed, Jason inspected every corner of the Rock, from the newly polished golden lion statues in the courtyard to the lavish guest chambers prepared for the royal family. He even ventured into the kitchens, where the head cook waved a ladle threateningly until Jason backed out, muttering about “artistic temperaments.”

By the time the sun began to set, Jason was standing atop the walls of Casterly Rock, his crimson cloak billowing in the sea breeze as he scanned the horizon. Tyland joined him, his usual smirk firmly in place.

“They’ll be here soon,” Tyland remarked, gesturing to the distant road winding through the hills. “Still time to add a few more flowers.”

Jason ignored the jab, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement on the horizon. “There,” he said, pointing. “The royal procession.”

Sure enough, a long column of banners and carriages was snaking its way toward the castle, the Targaryen sigil gleaming in the fading light. Jason’s heart raced as he imagined her among them, her sharp tongue ready to flay him alive if anything was out of place.

Tyland clapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “Relax, brother. If you’ve survived her insults this long, a wedding should be easy.”

Jason let out a breath, his nerves warring with excitement. “Easy for you to say. You’re not marrying a Targaryen.”

“And thank the gods for that,” Tyland quipped. “Good luck, Jason. You’re going to need it.”

Jason stood tall, a determined grin spreading across his face. “Luck has nothing to do with it. Casterly Rock is ready.”

The procession drew closer, the banners fluttering in the wind as the Lannisters prepared to welcome their royal guests. Jason adjusted his cloak one last time, his heart pounding as he prepared to greet the woman who would soon be his bride.

The courtyard of Casterly Rock was a hive of activity as the royal procession finally arrived. Jason Lannister stood at the gates, flanked by his brother Tyland and an entourage of Lannister bannermen, their golden banners billowing in the warm breeze. The royal party entered in a slow, regal procession, the sound of hooves echoing against the stone walls.

King Viserys rode at the head, his crown glinting in the sunlight, followed by Queen Alicent, holding a fidgeting Prince Aegon. Rhaenyra rode close behind, her fiery gaze scanning the courtyard with faint amusement. The Targaryen knights followed, their armor shining as brightly as the dragon banners trailing behind them.

Jason stepped forward, his expression carefully composed, though his heart pounded in his chest. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing deeply to King Viserys. “Welcome to Casterly Rock. It is an honor to host you and your family.”

Viserys smiled warmly, dismounting with some effort before clasping Jason’s shoulder. “The honor is ours, Lord Jason. You’ve prepared magnificently.”

Jason’s grin widened, and he straightened to address the rest of the royal party, his eyes scanning the procession. He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Where is the princess?” he asked, his tone polite but edged with curiosity.

Rhaenyra smirked, her eyes glittering with mischief as she swung down from her horse. “Missing her already, Lord Jason? My sister will arrive soon enough.”

Jason frowned, glancing at her, then at Viserys. “She didn’t travel with you?”

Viserys chuckled, his tone reassuring. “There’s no need to fret, my boy. Y/N is… making an entrance.”

Jason blinked, his mind racing. “An entrance?”

“On dragonback,” Rhaenyra said, her voice laced with humor. “Surely you didn’t expect her to leave her dragon behind?”

Jason’s jaw slackened slightly, but he recovered quickly, forcing a smile. “I hadn’t considered it,” he admitted, though his voice betrayed his unease.

Tyland, standing beside him, muttered under his breath, “Well, you did say you wanted a dragon.”

Jason shot his brother a glare, but before he could respond, a deep, resonant roar echoed across the sky. The Lannister bannermen shifted uneasily, their horses whinnying in protest as the sound reverberated through the courtyard.

Jason turned sharply, his eyes scanning the horizon. “What in the Seven Hells—”

Rhaenyra interrupted with a smug grin. “Ah, there she is.”

A shadow passed over the sun as your dragon, Sylveris, appeared on the horizon. She was a magnificent she-dragon, her scales shimmering like molten silver in the daylight, flecked with faint streaks of gold that rippled as she moved. Her wings were vast, their translucent membranes catching the light and casting shimmering patterns over the ground as she soared closer. Her long, sinuous tail ended in a sharp, golden barb, and her golden eyes burned with intelligence and fierce pride. The spikes along her back glinted like a crown, and her roar was like thunder, commanding and unyielding.

Sylveris descended gracefully, her massive claws kicking up dust as she landed just beyond the gates. The ground seemed to tremble beneath her weight, and the Lannister knights instinctively stepped back, their hands tightening on the hilts of their swords.

Jason stood rooted to the spot, staring up at the beast with a mix of awe and apprehension. “By the gods…” he murmured.

Rhaenyra leaned toward him, her tone mocking but amused. “You didn’t think she’d come in a carriage, did you?”

Before Jason could reply, Sylveris lowered her neck, allowing you to dismount with practiced ease. You stood tall, your riding leathers bearing the Targaryen sigil, your silver hair flowing in the breeze. The confidence in your stride as you approached was unmistakable, and the faint smirk on your lips suggested you’d been looking forward to this moment.

“Lord Jason,” you greeted, your voice calm but commanding. “I hope my arrival hasn’t caused too much of a stir.”

Jason quickly gathered himself, bowing deeply. “Princess Y/N,” he said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “Casterly Rock is honored by your… dramatic entrance.”

You arched an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Dramatic? I thought it was appropriate. Sylveris insisted on accompanying me.”

Jason glanced nervously at the dragon, who was now watching him intently, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “I see. She’s… magnificent.”

Rhaenyra laughed softly from behind you. “Get used to it, Lord Jason. Sylveris doesn’t leave her side.”

Jason straightened, his confidence returning as he met your gaze. “I look forward to seeing more of her,” he said, his tone earnest. “And of you, Princess.”

You inclined your head, though the faintest smile tugged at your lips. “We’ll see how you fare, Lord Jason.”

As you turned to join your family, Jason remained rooted to the spot, his gaze shifting between you and your dragon. Tyland stepped closer, his expression caught between disbelief and amusement.

“Well,” Tyland said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “You wanted a dragon, and now you’ve got two. Congratulations.”

Jason exhaled slowly, straightening his doublet as he watched you disappear into the castle. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he muttered, though the nervous edge in his voice betrayed him.

Behind him, Sylveris let out a low rumble, almost as if in answer.

The great hall of Casterly Rock had never been more resplendent. Crimson and gold banners bearing the Lannister lion draped the towering stone walls, interspersed with black and red sigils of House Targaryen. Hundreds of candles flickered in ornate chandeliers, casting a warm, golden glow over the sea of assembled guests. The air was filled with the mingling scents of freshly cut roses, polished wood, and roasted meats from the kitchens below.

Jason Lannister stood near the altar, flanked by his brother Tyland and several Lannister cousins, his palms slightly damp despite his composed demeanor. His golden doublet was embroidered with a roaring lion, and his usually unruly blond hair had been tamed—though Tyland had already teased him about the absurd amount of effort it took.

“You look like you’re preparing to face a battle,” Tyland whispered, smirking.

Jason shot him a look. “It feels like one.”

Tyland chuckled, adjusting his own cloak. “If you faint, just try to fall gracefully. The guests might assume it’s part of the ceremony.”

Jason ignored him, straightening his shoulders as the crowd quieted. The sound of the great doors opening echoed through the hall, and every head turned to see the procession begin.

King Viserys entered first, his crown gleaming as brightly as the smile on his face. He walked beside Queen Alicent, who carried a squirming Prince Aegon, who had managed to smudge dirt on his tunic despite her best efforts. Behind them was Rhaenyra, radiant in crimson and gold, her smirk evident as she scanned the hall. Jason caught her eye briefly and immediately regretted it—her expression promised trouble.

And then, you appeared.

The room seemed to hold its breath as you stepped forward, your gown shimmering like molten silver. Threads of red and gold wove through the fabric, catching the light with every step. A delicate crown rested atop your silver hair, and your piercing gaze swept the hall with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly the effect they had. Behind you, the faint scent of dragonfire lingered, a subtle reminder of Sylveris, who had taken to perching atop the highest cliff of the Rock.

Jason’s breath caught as he watched you approach, his nerves momentarily forgotten. You met his gaze briefly, your expression unreadable save for the faintest hint of amusement.

“You’re doomed,” Tyland murmured beside him, though there was no malice in his tone. “She’s magnificent.”

Jason didn’t respond. He already knew that.

The septon stood before the altar, resplendent in his robes, though he seemed slightly nervous. Perhaps it was the presence of King Viserys, or the looming shadow of Sylveris visible through the arched windows, but his hands trembled slightly as he began the rites.

“Today,” the septon announced, his voice echoing in the hall, “we join two great houses: the mighty lion of Casterly Rock and the indomitable dragon of House Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra leaned toward Alicent, whispering something that made the queen purse her lips. Jason, standing at the altar, tried to ignore it, though his curiosity burned.

As the septon continued, Jason risked a glance at you. You stood beside him, composed and regal, though there was a faint gleam of mischief in your eyes. When the septon asked if you accepted the union, you tilted your head slightly, as though considering it, before answering.

“I do,” you said, your voice carrying across the hall.

Jason’s heart nearly stopped when the crowd chuckled softly. Even in this moment, you were playing with him.

“And you, Lord Jason Lannister?” the septon prompted.

Jason cleared his throat, managing a steady, “I do.”

Tyland coughed behind him, muttering, “Barely.”

As tradition dictated, the septon wrapped a ribbon of red and gold around your joined hands. The ribbon, woven specially for the occasion, was said to symbolize the blending of fire and gold—a union of strength and passion.

“May the Seven bless this union,” the septon intoned, though he seemed to be glancing nervously at the arched windows again, where Sylveris had let out a low rumble moments earlier.

Jason tightened his grip on your hand slightly, and you glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Nervous, my lord?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jason replied, though the faint sheen of sweat on his brow betrayed him.

“Liar,” you murmured, your lips twitching into the faintest smile.

Finally, the septon raised his hands. “You may seal your union.”

Jason turned to you, his heart pounding. He hesitated for the briefest moment, then leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was both tentative and reverent. The crowd erupted into cheers, though Jason barely heard them. For that moment, it was just the two of you, the fire and the lion.

When he pulled back, you arched an eyebrow again. “Not bad,” you whispered. “For a lion.”

Jason couldn’t help but laugh, the sound filled with relief and joy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

As the ceremony concluded, the crowd rose to their feet, applauding as you and Jason turned to walk down the aisle. The combined banners of House Lannister and House Targaryen hung above the hall, and the guests murmured among themselves about the strength of the union.

Rhaenyra caught your arm as you passed, leaning in to whisper, “He looked like he was about to faint.”

“I noticed,” you replied, smirking.

Jason overheard and shot Rhaenyra a pointed look, but she merely winked and stepped back, letting you and your new husband continue your procession.

As you left the great hall, Jason glanced at you, his smile softening. “You didn’t make that easy.”

“I didn’t intend to,” you replied, though your tone was lighter now, the edge of amusement lingering.

Jason laughed, shaking his head. “Then I suppose I’ll have to get used to it.”

You glanced at him sidelong, your expression unreadable once more. “You’ll have to do more than that, my lord. But perhaps you’ll surprise me.”

And with that, the dragon and the lion stepped into their new life together, the roar of Sylveris echoing faintly in the distance as if to mark the occasion.

The Great Hall of Casterly Rock was ablaze with music and laughter, the echoes of revelry bouncing off the gilded walls. The grand feast stretched out before the assembled lords and ladies, a decadent display of roasted meats, exotic fruits, and golden goblets brimming with Arbor gold. Lions—real lions—sat in golden cages positioned around the hall, their low growls occasionally punctuating the festivities.

At the center of it all sat the newlyweds. Jason Lannister and you occupied the high seats at the head of the table, framed by the banners of your respective houses. Jason leaned casually toward you, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, Lady Lannister,” he began, swirling his goblet of wine, “how does it feel to finally join the pride?”

You arched an eyebrow, your own goblet resting untouched in front of you. “It feels remarkably similar to being badgered by a persistent lord.”

Jason chuckled, undeterred. “Persistent, perhaps. But successful.”

“You only succeeded because the alternative was never hearing the end of it,” you retorted, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I had to accept, if only for my own sanity.”

Jason raised his goblet in a mock toast. “And here I thought it was my charm.”

“No,” you replied simply, though the glint in your eye betrayed your amusement. “It certainly wasn’t that.”

Jason laughed, leaning closer. “Admit it, Princess. You’d miss me if I hadn’t tried.”

“I’d miss the silence,” you quipped, sipping your wine as Jason placed a hand dramatically over his heart, feigning offense.

Further down the table, King Viserys observed the exchange with a bemused smile, his goblet resting comfortably in his hand. Beside him, Otto Hightower leaned in slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the opulent surroundings. “Lord Jason certainly spared no expense,” Otto remarked, gesturing subtly to the caged lions and the extravagant decorations. “The pomp of this wedding rivals even King’s Landing.”

Viserys chuckled, his gaze shifting back to you and Jason. “It’s clear the lad wanted to make an impression.”

“And yet,” Otto continued, his tone slightly dry, “they seem more interested in bickering than anything else.”

Viserys’s smile widened as he watched Jason lean closer to you, clearly enamored despite your sharp retorts. “Ah, but that’s the charm, isn’t it? A lion and a dragon—they’ll keep each other entertained.”

Back at the high table, a string of lords began stepping forward to offer their congratulations. The first was a balding lord from the Westerlands, his doublet embroidered with a modest sigil of a burning tree.

“Lord Jason, Princess—ah, forgive me, Lady Lannister,” the man stammered, bowing deeply. “Congratulations on your union. May it bring strength and prosperity to both your houses.”

Jason nodded graciously. “Thank you, Lord Denys. Your loyalty is always appreciated.”

The man turned to you, his nervousness evident. “My lady, if there’s anything the Westerlands can offer you, you need only ask.”

You inclined your head politely. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

As Lord Denys stepped away, Jason leaned toward you once more. “You’re already charming the lords of the Rock.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you replied, your tone dry. “He’s terrified of the lions in the cages.”

Jason grinned, glancing toward one of the massive beasts lounging lazily behind golden bars. “A fitting addition, don’t you think? Nothing says ‘welcome to Casterly Rock’ like a lion or two.”

“Or ten,” you muttered, glancing around the hall. “I half expect one to escape just to prove a point.”

Jason laughed, clearly delighted. “If it does, I’ll protect you, of course.”

“How brave of you,” you deadpanned, earning another hearty laugh from your husband.

As the next lord approached—a stout man with a nose that seemed permanently red from drink—Rhaenyra caught your eye from further down the table. She raised her goblet in a silent toast, her smirk unmistakable. You narrowed your eyes at her briefly, knowing full well she was reveling in the sight of you seated beside Jason.

The stout lord launched into a rambling speech about the glory of House Lannister, but you barely heard him. Jason had leaned in again, this time under the pretense of adjusting his goblet, and you could feel his attention entirely fixed on you.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, not looking at him.

“Am I?” he asked innocently. “Perhaps I’m just admiring my bride.”

You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “If you’re trying to flatter me, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Jason grinned, leaning just a fraction closer. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

At the other end of the table, Viserys chuckled softly, shaking his head. “The man’s completely smitten,” he said to Otto, who only sighed.

“He certainly doesn’t lack for enthusiasm,” Otto replied.

The feast continued, filled with laughter, music, and the occasional roar from the caged lions. And though you wouldn’t admit it, you found yourself smiling more than once—not just at the festivities, but at the ridiculous, endearing man seated beside you.

The feast at Casterly Rock reached its crescendo as the last of the dishes were cleared away and the minstrels struck up a lively tune. The hall echoed with laughter, clinking goblets, and the occasional roar from one of the caged lions, who seemed less impressed with the festivities than the guests. Jason Lannister sat beside you at the high table, his golden goblet raised as he toasted yet another well-wisher. You were beginning to feel the weight of the evening, though Jason seemed buoyed by the sheer energy of the crowd.

As the music swelled, a particularly boisterous lord from the Reach stumbled to his feet, raising his goblet high. “A toast!” he bellowed, his voice slurring slightly. “To the lion and the dragon! May their union be as fiery as it is golden!”

The hall erupted in cheers, and Jason leaned toward you with a grin. “It seems they’ve taken a liking to us.”

You smirked, swirling the wine in your goblet. “Or they’ve taken a liking to the wine.”

Jason laughed, though the mirth in his eyes flickered briefly into something more cautious as another lord—a Lannister bannerman this time—rose to his feet.

“And now!” the bannerman shouted, his cheeks flushed with drink. “It’s time for the bedding ceremony!”

The room erupted in a cacophony of cheers, whistles, and laughter. Lords pounded their fists on the tables, and ladies covered their mouths with their hands, their eyes sparkling with mischief. Jason froze, his goblet halfway to his lips, while you raised an eyebrow, your expression cooling into something dangerously calm.

Jason recovered quickly, holding up a hand in mock protest. “Now, now, surely we can skip that tradition this evening.”

“Skip it?” a burly knight called from a lower table. “What’s a wedding without a proper bedding? It’s tradition, my lord!”

The crowd roared its agreement, and you turned to Jason, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, Lord Lannister, it seems your bannermen are eager to see this through.”

Jason chuckled nervously, setting his goblet down. “I’m not sure this is entirely necessary—”

“Oh, it’s necessary,” Rhaenyra interjected, stepping forward from her seat at the king’s table, her smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. “It’s not every day my sister gets married. Why deprive us of the entertainment?”

“Rhaenyra,” you said warningly, shooting her a glare. “Don’t.”

She held up her hands innocently. “What? I’m merely supporting tradition.”

Before Jason could reply, a group of lords surged toward the high table, clearly emboldened by the call for the ceremony. The ladies weren’t far behind, their laughter ringing out as they began plotting how best to assist you in the “removal” of your wedding attire.

Jason stood abruptly, raising his hands in an attempt to regain control of the situation. “Friends, let’s not get carried away!”

“Oh, we’re just getting started!” a younger lord from House Tarbeck shouted, grinning wickedly.

Two burly knights grabbed Jason by the arms, dragging him down from the high table despite his protests. “You’ll regret this!” he called, though his laughter betrayed him as he was swept into the throng of revelers. They cheered loudly as they began pulling at his doublet, the golden fabric slipping free as Jason half-heartedly struggled against them.

Meanwhile, the ladies turned their attention to you, their smiles deceptively sweet as they approached. “Come, Lady Lannister,” one of them cooed, her hands reaching for the delicate fastenings of your gown. “It’s all in good fun.”

You stepped back, your expression one of cold defiance. “If any of you touch this gown, I’ll set it—and you—on fire.”

The group hesitated, glancing nervously at each other. Rhaenyra, however, was thoroughly enjoying herself. “Let them try,” she teased, sipping her wine. “I’d pay to see Sylveris crash through the roof.”

The mention of your dragon seemed to give the ladies pause, and you seized the opportunity to step forward, your voice commanding. “Enough! This is ridiculous. The bedding ceremony is a relic of drunken lords with too much time and not enough sense.”

From across the hall, Jason—now missing one sleeve of his doublet—called out, “I agree with my wife!”

The crowd roared with laughter, and you couldn’t suppress a faint smirk as you turned to the group surrounding you. “If you want to carry someone to bed,” you said dryly, “feel free to toss Lord Tarbeck into the sea.”

Jason, still caught in the chaos, raised a hand. “Or Tyland! He deserves it more.”

Tyland, seated smugly at a nearby table, merely raised his goblet. “I’d like to see them try.”

Eventually, King Viserys stood, his voice cutting through the commotion. “Enough!” he commanded, though his tone carried more amusement than authority. “Let the newlyweds retire in peace. I’m sure they have… important matters to attend to.”

The crowd erupted into laughter again, but they began to disperse, releasing Jason from their clutches. Disheveled but grinning, he made his way back to the high table, adjusting what was left of his doublet as he sat beside you.

“Well,” he said, breathless but amused, “that went well.”

You shot him a look, though there was a faint smile on your lips. “You call that well?”

Jason shrugged, pouring himself another goblet of wine. “We survived, didn’t we? And besides, I think it’s safe to say they love us.”

“They love a spectacle,” you corrected, leaning back in your chair.

Jason grinned, raising his goblet in a toast. “To spectacles, then.”

You shook your head, muttering under your breath, though you clinked your goblet against his all the same. The feast continued, the chaos subsiding into a warm, golden glow of laughter and music, and for the first time that evening, you found yourself relaxing—if only slightly.

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