#amber s. secret

[realms-and-creatures]

Girl Squad!!

[art-o-gant]

save me nash harding,,,,,,

[s1utla]

ROLLED UP ‘N RUINED ! | MARK GRAYSON X AFAB READER

warnings: 18+, nsfw, usage of weed, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m), cunnilingus, unrealistic pussy eating, mark tries weed but it doesn’t affect him, mark is kinda subby, outgoing ‘n carefree reader, friends with benefits kinda. whimpering.

summary: you try to teach your friend how to smoke a blunt—instead, you learn something entirely different. wc: 3.1k

an: minors dni. i’ve only done weed once n i greened out horribly so this may not be the best description of a good high lmfao. also idc idc mark a d1 eater, literally nothing could convince me otherwise. not proofread excuse any mistakes.

“Does weed even do anything to Viltrumites?” You don’t look at him when you ask, your fingers working the paper, the grind of leaf and resin between your fingertips. A familiar ritual, slow and practiced. The room is thick with the scent of it, sweet and burnt, though the air between you is heavier with something else.

Mark shifts on the couch, the leather creaking beneath him. “Not sure,” he says, voice easy, weightless. He waits, sprawled like a cat in the sun, his hands loose at his sides.You stride over to him ignoring the mess on the table—scattered lighters, empty glasses, a book neither of you had finished—and hold the thing out to him. His fingers brush yours when he takes it.

“Well,” you murmur, striking the lighter, its flame leaping up, carving out the planes of his face in gold and shadow. “Let’s find out.”

The flame kisses the tip, a slow burn. He inhales—too fast, too much—and then it hits him all at once. A sharp cough tears out of his chest, then another, his whole body jerking forward like he’s been punched from the inside. You watch, amused, arms crossed as he fights against his own lungs.

A small laugh escapes you, light and sharp. “You’re not supposed to rush,” you chide, reaching for the blunt, plucking it from his fingers before he can protest. “Here, let me show you.” Smooth, practiced, you bring it to your lips, inhale slow, let the smoke curl inside you like a secret before exhaling in a soft, languid breath.

Mark glares, still half-choking, half-annoyed. “You could’ve started with that first,” he mutters, eyes red-rimmed, voice caught between confusion and irritation.

“’S not even my fault,” you scoff, sinking back into the couch. “Didn’t know you were gonna try ‘n inhale the thing like its air.”

Mark opens his mouth, then shuts it again, because—yeah. Fair point. He takes the blunt when you pass it back, more careful this time, dragging slow like he’s mimicking you. The smoke unfurls from his lips in thin ribbons, dissipating into the dim light of the room.

He exhales, waits a beat. “I don’t feel anything,” he says, flat, like he’s waiting for the universe to prove him wrong.

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts. He cannot be serious. “No shit,” you mutter. The fact that he doesn’t know how weed works is honestly embarrassing. You would’ve thought Amber—Who’s often at party scenes—might have taught him at some point, but apparently not.

“It’s not gonna work instantly,” you say, settling deeper into the couch. “Well—actually, I don’t even know if it’s gonna work at all, considering you’re basically, like, half alien.” Mark looks at you, head tilting just slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. Then that small, lopsided smirk appears. “You say it like it’s an insult.”

You huff, rolling your eyes, but there’s a twitch at the corner of your lips. “Maybe it is,” you tease, watching the ember glow between his fingers. “Maybe it’s not.”

He takes another drag, the ember burning low, and you shift closer without really thinking about it. Your bare knees brush against his, the fabric of his sweats soft against your skin. It’s a small touch, barely anything, but it feels like something.

Mark glances at you, eyes lidded, curious. You hold his gaze longer than you mean to. You’ve never really looked at him before—not like this. He’s handsome. Not in the obvious way, not in the way that makes people stop and stare, but in a way that sneaks up on you. The way his black hair falls over his forehead, just a couple strays stand out of place. The way the dim light catches the sharp lines of his face.

And he smells good. Even through the thick haze of weed, his scent lingers—earthy, fresh, something clean that sticks in your lungs longer than the smoke does.

“Stop hogging it,” you say, voice edged with faux annoyance. “Just ’cause I’m teaching you doesn’t mean you get to smoke the whole thing yourself.”

Mark chuckles, a low but sweet sound, it settles somewhere deep in your chest. Instead of handing it back, he lifts the blunt to your lips himself, holding it there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitate—just for a second—before leaning in, letting your lips part as you take a slow drag. The heat of the smoke curls in your lungs, thick and heavy, but you’re barely paying attention to that. You’re too aware of the way his fingers hover near your mouth, the way his gaze lingers, watching.

Maybe it’s the weed settling into your bloodstream, slow and syrup-thick, or maybe it’s just plain curiosity—but the thought creeps in before you can stop it.

You know he’s not a virgin. That much is obvious. But has he ever eaten pussy? Like, really eaten it? The kind that isn’t just half-hearted, obligatory foreplay, but something done with intent? With enthusiasm? You’d take him for the type.

The idea lingers, unexpected and distracting. You steal a glance at him—his lips slightly parted, still damp from the last drag, his expression relaxed, almost careless.

“Mark, have you ever eaten pussy?”The words slip out before you even think to stop them.

Mark freezes, eyes wide like you just asked him to solve a math equation with a gun to his head. It’s almost comical—the way his entire body tenses, the way his brain visibly lags trying to process if he really just heard what he thinks he heard.

“What—?” His voice cracks, just a little. “Why—why would you even ask me that?”

You almost lose it right then and there, laughter bubbling up at the sheer horror on his face. Like the thought has never even occurred to him before. Like you’ve just introduced a concept so foreign, so absurd, that his brain is rejecting it outright.

You bite down on your laughter, pressing your lips together to keep it from slipping out. “We’ve been friends for a long time, I’m just curious,” you say, trying to sound casual, like this is a completely normal topic of conversation.

Mark blinks at you, still looking like he’s in the middle of a mental blue screen. He shifts slightly, running a hand through his hair, clearly debating whether he should actually answer or just pretend this never happened.

A few moments of silence pass, thick and heavy between you. Then Mark exhales, sinking back into the couch, his body relaxing again—except for the telltale flush creeping up his ears.

“No,” he admits, voice low, almost begrudging. “I haven’t.”

You hum, nodding like you already knew. Like it makes perfect sense. You pluck the blunt from his fingers, bringing it to your lips with an easy inhale. “See,” you murmur through the smoke, exhaling slowly. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Another beat of silence, the kind that feels like it’s waiting to be broken. And, maybe because you’re high, or maybe because you just can’t help yourself, you push further. “Why not?” You glance at him, head tilting slightly. “You’ve had, what, two girlfriends? And you never ate it?”

Mark groans, tilting his head back against the couch like he wants to sink into it and disappear. “Why are you so invested in this?” You smirk, tapping ash off the blunt. “I’m just saying, statistically, it doesn’t add up.”

“I mean,” he starts, still staring at the ceiling like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the room, “I just never really got the chance, I guess.” You blink at him. Never got the chance? How does someone not get the chance? It’s not like his exes would’ve stopped him—if anything, they probably wanted him to. And then you realize.

He’s a superhero. He barely had time to show up to his own girlfriend’s charity drive or whatever that was, let alone explore his sex life. Between saving the world and getting his ass kicked, there was probably never a moment where things could slow down enough for something like that.

You laugh. You don’t even know why you’re laughing, but it bubbles out of you anyway, light and uncontrollable. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the ridiculousness of the conversation, or maybe it’s just him.

And then—before your brain can catch up to your mouth—you say it.

“If you ever want to, you could always practice on me.”

The second the words leave your lips, your whole body seizes with horror. Your once relaxed position vanishes as you jolt upright, hands suddenly restless, fumbling over themselves like they can physically rewind time.

“I meant—like, I meant it—” you stammer, face burning, voice pitching slightly higher. “It was supposed to be comforting!”

Mark finally looks at you, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted like his brain just short-circuited. For a long, agonizing second, he doesn’t say anything. And that somehow makes it so much worse.

Your face is on fire. Actually burning. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, settling hot behind your ears. And then you make the mistake of looking at Mark—his face, usually so composed, is tinted pink, eyes slightly wide, lips parted like he’s still buffering.

Neither of you say anything.

The silence is unbearable. Suffocating. The kind that stretches so long it starts to feel like a tangible weight pressing down on you. You shift awkwardly, hands gripping your knees, mind running a thousand miles an hour trying to figure out how to backpedal—how to undo whatever the fuck this is.

Will you ever recover from this? Can you?

You consider just getting up and leaving. Walking out of the room, out of the apartment, out of the entire city if you have to. Maybe start a new life. Change your name. Forget this ever happened.

Mark’s head is spinning. Racing. In a thousand years, he’s never—never—thought about you like that.

Sure, you’re beautiful. That was always obvious. The kind of beauty that turns heads without you even trying. But he’s never let his mind go there before. Not with you.

You were carefree, nonchalant, always teasing but never crossing that line. Never someone he associated with anything lewd. But now? Now you’re sitting there, flustered and squirming all pretty, looking at him with wide, nervous eyes like you just realized what you said. Like you’re feeling the weight of it at the same time he is.

And fuck—now it’s in his head.

Mark jerks his head to the side, eyes locked on anything but you. The wall, the cluttered coffee table, the faint swirl of smoke in the air—anywhere that isn’t your face, because if he looks at you now, he knows something reckless is going to slip out.

Something he won’t be able to take back.

And then, because his brain is already working against him, because the weight of your words is pressing down on him harder than he can ignore, he hears himself say—“Is—Is that something you’d like?” The second it’s out, he wants to die.

Because now? Now the silence between you isn’t just awkward. It’s charged. Hanging heavy in the air, thick and hot, impossible to ignore. He can’t see your face, but he feels your reaction. The way your body shifts. The way your breath hitches, just slightly.

Your mind is a mess. A tangled knot of confusion, nerves, and something else—something warmer, heavier, something pooling low in your stomach.

And maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s the fact that Mark looks too good right now, all flushed and fidgety, broad shoulders tense like he’s fighting a war inside his own head. Maybe it’s the tension, thick and humming between you, pressing into your skin like static electricity.

Either way, your body reacts before your brain can catch up—nipples tightening under your shirt, thighs pressing together, heat coiling deep in your core. And at this point? It’s probably too late to walk it back.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

The words slip out, smooth and easy, but your heart is pounding. Mark finally looks at you, eyes dark, searching. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you like he’s waiting for you to take it back. You don’t.

You take a deep breath, then exhale, slow and steady. And for some reason, it’s relieving. Like you just confessed something you didn’t even know you needed to get off your chest.

Your body loosens, the tension in your shoulders easing as you sink back into the couch—only now realizing you had been sitting upright, practically perched on the edge, like your body had been trying to flee before your mind even decided.

Mark moves toward you, his face still flushed, that pretty pink creeping down his neck. He hesitates for a second, shifting awkwardly, then clears his throat—but his voice cracks slightly when he speaks.

“Uh—I’m not sure how this works, so… can you guide me?” He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for a moment before glancing back at you. “Or, like, tell me if you don’t like it?”

There’s something endearing about it. The way he’s so earnest, so unsure despite everything else he’s capable of. Mark has fought villains, saved lives, survived things most people couldn’t even fathom, but this? This is what makes him nervous. You should be teasing him for it. You want to. But the way he’s looking at you, waiting, wanting to do this right—it makes your heart squeeze a little.

Honestly, you didn’t think he would do it. Despite your frantic panic, you thought after the initial shock that he’d laugh it off, make some awkward joke, maybe shake his head and change the subject. But here he is—kneeling between your legs, eyes flickering between your face and the space between you, his hands hesitating but steady on your thighs.

He drags your shorts off, discarding them aside like shed skin, and there’s your pretty, plush cunt laid bare before him. It’s not his first time glimpsing such a sight, but never this up close. His breath hitches, and he stares. You’re confused—does he not know what to do? Why is he just sitting there, staring? You’re on the verge of speaking when he edges nearer, parting your lips with a slow, deliberate nudge—strings of slick arousal gleaming between them.

You twitch as he eases in, his warm tongue sliding slow and deliberate between your folds, lapping at your pussy with a lazy, filthy drag, savoring every slick drop that clings to you. You’re sweet on his tongue—warm, slick. Maybe it’s too soon to admit, but he already knows he could get addicted to this. Just the taste of you’s got his dick throbbing and hard and his mind all hazy.

You tip your head back into the couch cushion, legs falling wider as he keeps licking at your sloppy pussy like some dog, all messy and eager. He glances up at you, and the sight alone makes him whimper against your slick, swollen pussy. Your head tilted back, lips parted, and glossy, soft little moans spilling from your throat—each one sinking into his skin, making his cock ache.

“You can use your fingers too… if you’d like,” you murmur, intending it as advice, but it comes out more like a command—breathless, needy. He obeys without hesitation, sliding two thick fingers inside you, eager to make you feel good. The way you squeeze around him, warm and wet, makes his breath hitch. He watches, mesmerized, as he pumps them in and out, each withdrawal leaving them glistening with your slick.

“Fuck, ‘s good, you’re doing so good,” you moan, voice breathy and sweet, and Mark swears he could cum in his pants just from that alone. The way you praise him, all soft and desperate, makes his cock throb, aching for relief. He zeroes in on your clit, licking over it before grazing it lightly with his teeth, earning a sharp gasp from you. His thick, calloused fingers follow, circling the sensitive bud with slow, deliberate motions. You’re soaked—coated in his spit, in your own slick—and the weed coursing through your system makes every touch feel twice as intense, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

It’s filthy—the way he’s practically making out with your pussy, sloppy and desperate, like he never wants you to leave his mouth. His tongue flicks and drags, lips sealing around your clit with wet, hungry sucks, and when your hips buck against him, grinding down for more, he just moans into you. His jaw and nose are drenched, slick dripping down his chin, but he doesn’t stop—if anything, he dives in deeper, like he wants to drown in you.

“Tastes so fuckin’ good,” he whines against you, voice muffled by the mess of your pussy. His fingers are still buried deep, pumping into you with a steady, obscene rhythm, while his other hand is stuffed between his legs, rubbing over the aching bulge in his pants. He’s desperate—humping into his own palm like he can’t help himself, like just eating you out is enough to get him off.

“Fuck—” His words are slurred, muffled by the slick between you. “Tastes like you were made for me.”

It’s messy, shameless—the way he devours you, like he never wants to come up for air. His jaw aches, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, just pulls you closer, as if he could disappear into you completely. You grind against his face, chasing the sharp coil tightening low in your belly, and he only urges you on, gripping your thighs, moaning as he lets you use him.

Your moans spill into the thick air, breath hitching as your back arches. “‘M—‘m cummin’,” you mewl, voice high, trembling. The pleasure crashes over you in waves, thighs shaking around his head as you unravel, coating his tongue with your release.

Mark doesn’t stop—not yet. He groans against you, drinking in every last drop, licking and sucking like he’s starved, like he wants to commit your taste to memory. His breath is heavy, uneven, and when he finally pulls back, his lips and chin glisten with you.

His own hand moves frantically, pumping his cock through his pants, desperate, chasing the high that’s been building since he first had you on his tongue. The sounds of your pleasure—the broken whimpers, the way you shake, the way you’ve completely let go for him—send him over the edge. With a sharp, shuddering groan, his hips jerk, and he spills hot and thick into his pants, moaning through it, chest rising and falling in time with yours.

For a moment, the only sound between you is your ragged breaths, the faint hum of satisfaction settling between you both.

That night proved two things: first, that weed clearly has no effect on Viltrumites; and second, that Mark, without a doubt, eats pussy like a starved man.

[uhdrienne]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 the embodiment of grace and deviousness

⛓️ pairing: seungcheol x f!reader ⛓️ genre: sfw, fluff, angst, mafia au, soulmate au ⛓️ word count: ~8k ⛓️ warnings: mentions of violence, weapons, open wounds. do not interact if it can be triggering! there's going to be cursing too because seungcheol is a grumpy one :") ⛓️ summary: as an author, it's almost poetic that your soulmate tattoo would be a flower. actually... half a flower. a snapdragon, to be exact. the petals on your arm, the vines on seungcheol's. it's even more cliche when you meet him on valentine's day. to you it means grace, but for seungcheol, he still has zero idea on what flower his tattoo is. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious at all, but during this season of love, you're about to figure out exactly what this all means for you and him, the leader of the city's most dangerous mafia.

author's note: suuurprise! to commemorate my first valentines' on this platform, here is a fic, part of @ddeonghwa-s Secret Cupid Event 💌 thank you so much to @ddeonghwa-s for putting this event together, and of course to the wonderful @kpopflowerfield for giving me this opportunity to write for you, i hope you like this as much as i did💘

here is the event masterlist! do support the works of all other authors too, all of them are so so amazing <3 happy valentines' day!!

depending on the POV, italics signify either the author's writing or Seungcheol's thoughts <3

"Territory 13 is acting up again, sir."

"Are they?"

"They're giving trouble. Threatening to cut off our chain supply in the north."

“Hm.”

“We’ve lost a few men fighting them for the past few days. The situation doesn’t seem to be de-escalating, so we reported to you.”

“Nowhere else we can push to weaken them?”

“They seem to have it figured out, sir. They outnumber us at every turn.”

"Well, we can't have that, can we?"

"No, sir."

"You have three hours till dawn. Take the men you need and get it settled. It won't be pretty if I don't get better news by then."

"Yes, sir."

"Go."

He swings his chair around to the fading sky of the night, nursing his glass of amber. He looks down to his full sleeve of black, red, and blue ink. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, like the highlight of a Naturalism painting, a whorl of vines and small, green leaves, linked to the vines of other flowers. He has no idea what it means, has had no idea since the day he got it. Ever since, all he's focused on is getting it covered, blended in with other flowers on his skin.

What is the point of such a mark on his skin, he wonders for the umpteenth time as he runs his hands over the permanent imprint, if the universe won't show me what it means?

He glances at the corner of his screen. 1:30am. 14 February. Hm.

He looks away.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we can proceed with cover design and vetting for you, ma'am."

"Oh... Not possible? At all?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am. Your drafts weren’t given the green light from our Head of Publishing, and our team can't exactly spare the manpower to help you right now."

"...I see. And there’s no one else I can look for? Or….. any contacts you may have?”

“We can try, ma’am, but we can’t promise anything. It’s busy period for us publishers at the moment.”

“Ah. Well, thank you anyway. I hope we can work together in the future."

You put your phone down and sink back into your chair, covering your face with your hands. Your most recent creative co-director pulled out two days ago, another graphic design deal fell through, and now this publishing company. At this rate, you don't know if your book will even ever reach the local bookstore across the street.

You blow out a breath, look down at the only black ink on unblemished skin, the one that's been there since the day you turned 20 years old.... the petals of a snapdragon.

Your phone lights up with a text from a friend, and as you unlock it, the date catches your attention.

14 February. Happy Valentines' Day to you.

Your final straw comes when you're walking home from your office the next night. You rub your tattoo, which has been irritated the whole of today. You have no idea what it means, just that it can't be good for your soulmate bond. But you've never been concerned for him, not the slightest bit, since the day you got the tattoo. Because he's not something you're looking for right now.

Then you hear scuffling, a familiar thing here in the rougher area of town where you live. Your only intention is to walk past and ignore everything. From prior experience, that's the best survival tactic you have: Don't go looking for trouble, and it won't find you.

A man appears on the sidewalk and walks towards you. You walk faster, calculating the distance it takes. Two hundred metres and you'll be under the safety of the street lights. One hundred and fifty. One hundred. The man seems to be getting closer.

You hear a thud. Fuck. What was that?

You squeeze your eyes together and turn around. It sounds stupid, but you'd like to at least see the face of your captor before you see darkness. You read novels about this. When a character gets out of a captor's grasp, they can never tell the police what the kidnappers look like. If now is your time, you won't go down making the same mistake.

Except there isn't a captor nor a body bag. It's just another man, hands in pockets, bending down to survey the unconscious lump on the concrete ground just behind you. He looks at you, the exact moment that you too meet his eyes. And you feel it. At the worst possible time in your life, ever, for crying out loud.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of volts of electricity. A rising and a pop in your head, a sizzling burn on your forearm. Who knew a soulmate bond snapping into place could be this painful? You choke out a gasp as the pain sears, brands itself into your arm. The outline of the flower appears in full glory, the vines entwining itself around your arm as it links with the petals. It's beautiful and horrifying, and you watch as the flower you've been waiting for finally, finally blooms.

Before long, the bloom appears on your forearm. A snapdragon.

The man seems to feel the same thing, as he doubles over in pain, pupils dilated in shock and clutching his arm. His face is covered by his hood so you can't see what he looks like, but he turns and runs, and before long he's disappeared into the darkness.

A few minutes pass before the pain finally subsides, and in its place comes a wave of exhaustion. You sink on the concrete, careful not to stir your unconscious stalker, who's still lying on the ground motionless.

You've found your soulmate. On the day of love.

You touch your mouth when you feel a smile creeping up your face.

--------------------------------

Seungcheol opens his door, barks an order to his guard outside not to disturb him unless "someone is bloody dead", sinks down on a couch and grabs a whisky. He downs it, the burn of the alcohol close to nothing as compared to that of the flower sitting oh-so-innocently on his forearm. He'll never forget the way the snapdragon petals appeared, as if they were burnt into his skin.

He stares at it, remembers the girl who gasped in pain just as he did. He never meant for this to happen. He was only passing by and saw a man from one of the local, problematic gangs sneaking up on you. He only meant to get the man away as he usually would for anyone else, because his principles, despite his rough line of work, never permitted him to disrespect women. He only meant to do one thing and go on his way. He only felt his arm burning right before he turned onto that damn street.

He glares at his arm, like the ordeal is its fault. His hand is shaking. It never shakes.

He didn't mean to feel his bond snap into place, never meant to meet you. He takes another long swig. This is the worst timing ever, he thinks darkly.

Meeting your soulmate on Valentines' Day can't be pure coincidence. If there wasn't a sign before that this was your chance, there very well was now. The next day you come up with a mission plan.

Find the man who is apparently my soulmate

...........

And that's when you sit down and have a good think. What are you even going to do when you do find him, anyway? Get together with him purely because he's meant for you, as the universe dictated? What if he's a rude jerk? What if he's ugly? What if... oh god, what if his breath stinks?

What if... he doesn't like you?

You continue writing on your notepad, absently, mindlessly writing sentences and paragraphs like word-vomit. Before long, you look down on the page to see almost a full journal entry, like you always do when you're anxious or stressed.

"Great," You mutter. "May as well write a book about this."

You enter the bookstore, waving at the little old lady who runs it.

"Good morning," She hums. "What are you looking for?"

You smile, thumbing through the different books on the shelf. "Morning. Something about flowers, maybe? I'm doing research... for a book I'm writing."

She nods. "Perhaps a book that explains the flower on your arm?"

You chuckle. Nothing could ever get past her eyes. "You caught me."

The lady laughs in return. "That," she says, hobbling out from the counter to rummage her inventory, "is a snapdragon. Yours is lovely -- a nice shade of red."

You smile. "Does its colour represent something, too?"

The old lady pulls down a thick book, flips through it and sweeps off the dust on the cover. "Every colour has its representation, but it's also your choice to decide what it means to you." She passes you the book. "In Chinese culture, it means prosperity. It's a lucky colour. For others, it could mean passion and love. It could also mean danger, perhaps courage..."

"Wow," You mumble, flipping through the book. "One colour and thousands of meanings?"

The old lady shrugs. "Colours and nature existed way before we did," She takes the book from you and goes to wrap it up in construction paper. "Is that the tattoo that brings you to your other half?"

"So the world says," You shrug, as you pay for the book. "I had the petals first, so the stem and leaves appeared when I met him, but I don't know where he is... or even what he looks like."

The lady nods in understanding. "I wouldn't worry. You'll find your way back to each other. I'd think that's what the tattoo's for."

"Do you know about them? What do they do?"

"Some stories say they help soulmates detect when one is in danger. Other stories say the closer you are, the warmer it feels... I've never tried."

Huh. You nod. "Thank you. So very much."

There is a soft shimmer of fascination in the old lady's eyes as she waves you goodbye. "I have faith that what's meant for you will come to you in due course, dear. Have a good day now."

------------------------------------

Seungcheol hasn't stopped glowering at his tattoo all day. It looks... out of place. The petals aren't supposed to be there. It looks like an outsider, a strange feeling he can't place. If this is the bond acting up, he surmises, it fucking sucks.

He needs coffee to cure the pounding headache building up.

He orders someone to get his coffee, and as he sits to wait, he taps at his keyboard impatiently, trying to figure out how the tattoo had built up.

The petals came later, he thinks. Is that supposed to mean something?

When his right-hand man, a freckled, tan man comes in with the coffee, Seungcheol is still none the wiser on the phenomenon. So he lowers his guard (for once, he thinks bitterly, for a soulmate bond of all things), and asks the man who's currently laying his coffee cup down. "Lee."

Lee looks up. "Yes, sir?"

"What do you know about soulmate bond tattoos?"

Lee looks visibly excited. "Did you get yours, sir?"

"Asking for a friend," Seungcheol deflects immediately. "So, what do you know about it?"

"I have one, sir," Lee says, and rolls up his sleeve to reveal a... half-faded anchor tattoo. "I was so.... it felt so strange to meet my other half."

"Strange. What was it like?"

Lee shrugs as he sets down a serviette. "Can I speak freely?"

Seungcheol waves at him to go ahead. He's usually the man who acts like he has a stick up his ass, but this time, he wants to find out everything he can about having a soulmate. Just so I don't drag the poor girl down with me for no good reason, he reasons to himself.

"It wasn't all good feelings," Lee explains thoughtfully, hands pausing mid-air. "My soulmate... he was an underground weapons dealer. And you know people in our circle, we don't do feelings. They're liabilities, it's another thing enemies can use against us." He chuckles bitterly. "That was one of the only things we had in common."

Seungcheol doesn't miss the way he's speaking in past tense. "You don't have to explain yourself," He says cautiously.

"No, that's okay," Lee says. "It was a while back. See, I have fading scars to prove that."

"What did it... feel like?"

"It started fading and it hurt so much, I knew something was wrong." Lee shows his arm again.

"What happened?"

Lee shrugs. "He died in an underground turf war. One of those."

Seungcheol makes eye contact. "Did you at least have good days with him?"

Lee looks at him, then looks away. "We did. Almost left the circle for each other, but..." He shrugs again. "Time just wasn't on our side."

"No," Seungcheol agrees. "It wasn't."

His fists clench. So this is what could happen to both parties who were in the circle, nevermind a civilian. He nods. "Thank you for telling me."

Lee gives him a half-smile. "So is this about your tattoo?"

"Y- No, for my friend," Seungcheol replies, cursing himself at the slip-up.

"I see," Lee says, the mischievous glint in his eyes returning. Seungcheol knows Lee doesn't believe him. As his right-hand man for years, how could he not see through Seungcheol? He starts walking towards the door. "Well, tell your friend that if there's anything I learnt, it's that time is a bitch. There's going to be a lot of fear, and it won't be pretty. But... take it from me," He smiles sadly. "It's going to feel worse when you don't treasure time and lose them. After all...." He opens the door. "I lived to tell the tale."

When the door closes behind him, Seungcheol leans back into his chair and rubs his temples.

"Some soulmates you find in the lecture hall of your school. Some you find along the way of life. Some... are pre-ordained by the universe, in the form of a snapdragon tattoo.

But are these... pre-meditated, pre-planned people meant to stay?"

You put down your pen.

You're curious. At the world, for giving you a person. How that system came about. About your soulmate. What he's like, what he looks like.

But there's no straightforward way to find him. No instruction manual that tells you where to go and what to do.

You decide to take a walk that evening. No distance limit. Just wherever your feet takes you.

And it brings you to this cafe on a street you've never been, with soft music and oak furniture, and a smiley, freckled and tan man behind the counter grins at you. "Welcome to Choi's."

"Hello," You say, smiling a bit. "Could I get a latte, and... that croissant? It looks amazing."

"Of course," He says, before turning to another burly staff that just appeared. "Get her a latte, will you?"

The staff nods, and disappears behind the coffee machine.

You take a seat, and hum as you wait. When the pastry and drink appear on your table, you thank the staff and look down to see the milk foam in the shape of a heart. Mmm. You take a sip, already feeling a lot better.

The bell jingles, and a man steps in, hands in his pockets. and heads for the counter. By force of habit, you look up and send him a cursory glance. And then you freeze. The man has rolled up his sleeves as he speaks to the staff, as if they already know each other, and on his arms....

A full tattoo sleeve of flowers. Zinnias, dahlias, rhododendrons, and in the centre, a whorl of vines leading to the most prominent flower. It looks fresh, like it was inked in a mere five minutes earlier.... in a shade of brilliant red... a snapdragon.

It's him.

The man must have excellent situational awareness because he acutely notices someone staring at him and he turns to you. Your shell-shocked face, your trembling hands... and his eyes fall on your forearm.

Choi Seungcheol had never felt this thunderstruck, not even when he found out half his men had been bought over by rivals years ago. He knows he'll never forget this feeling.

So he does the next best thing. He excuses himself from his staff and leaves.

So you get up and run after him.

Seungcheol's in the middle of cursing himself and the world out when he hears your voice calling for him.

"Sir...?"

He can pretend he doesn't know you're calling him. Sure. He can do that. Keep on walking, Seungcheol.

Until he hears running, and a tap on his shoulder. Ah.

He swallows, closes his eyes, and turns around. "Yes?" He asks coldly.

Ah. So he's not in the habit of making conversation, you think. "I'm really sorry about this, but can I...."

"Can you what?" Seungcheol replies, even though he already knows what you're going to say.

"Can I see your arm? For a second? I just wanted to make sure I wasn't seeing wrongly."

"No, you may not."

You cringe. Silence dwindles between both of you. "Uh... right."

Seungcheol reaches for his car key. "Why do you want to see my arm, love?" He casts a cursory glance at your arm. "To see if I'm your soulmate?"

You look down, then at him. "...Yeah. I got this tattoo, and I don't know what my soulmate looks like, so..."

"So you're trying to find him in me, huh?" Seungcheol doesn't mean to be rude, but this is the only way to get you off his back, at least until he knows how to move forward. The least he can do is to warn you. "News flash, love. I'm just a man who enjoys flowers. But me as your soulmate?" He chuckles and presses a button. From a distance, his car makes a beeping sound and unlocks. "I highly doubt it. You'll need to know who we are before you enter our world."

"And who are you?" The words come out before you can stop them.

Seungcheol supposes it doesn't hurt to establish who he is, just so you'll have enough sense to stay away.

"The mafia, love," He says softly, as he walks towards his car. "I'm the leader, here. I'd advise you to stay away from me, soulmate or otherwise."

When his car pulls away, you sigh and look at your tattoo.

The biggest joke the universe could have pulled on you. Making a mafia leader, out of 8 billion other people, your soulmate.

When he reaches home, Seungcheol reaches for his phone. When Lee answers, Seungcheol gives him a long list of things to do, for the cafe and for the mafia.

"Has anyone caught on the cafe yet?" He asks.

"Nope," Lee answers. "It was a good front to keep track of the public, but it seems like a normal cafe to them. So I'd say everything's fine, boss."

"Good."

"Anything else?" Lee says.

"....One more thing." Seungcheol says, sighing through his nose. "A girl came to the cafe tonight."

"...Uh-huh."

"The girl in the white cardigan and jeans."

"Right."

"Warn her not to divulge who we are and what the cafe really is. With any luck, she'll figure out that the cafe is protecting us."

"Protecting us..." Lee gasps. "Sir, you told her who you are? Why?"

"To get her to leave me alone," Seungcheol mutters. "Anyway, just tell her to zip her mouth. I don't care how you do it."

He regrets the words once they exit his mouth. "Just don't hit her or anything. We're not in that business."

A soft laugh comes over the phone. "She your soulmate or something, boss?"

Seungcheol pinches his nose. "So she thinks. Just because we have a matching..."

An idea hits him. "Do me another favour."

"Name it, boss."

"Find out where she was last night. Just to make clear something for me."

"You got it."

A knock on your door sounds in the middle of the night. When you open the door, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you flinch when two burly guys flanking the same freckled, tan man from the cafe last night step in your doorway.

"Uh...you're from the cafe, aren't you?"

"I thought a familiar face might help matters," The freckled man says. "My name's Lee. And you?"

You introduce yourself cautiously, but you look at the two men. "So... what the man said yesterday was true? You're not really a cafe, are you?"

Lee shrugs. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with, anyway." He nods to the men. "We just came here to give a little warning."

You have a feeling you already know. "What warning?"

"Don't pry, and don't tell," Lee says, still smiling, but you sense the underlying threat within. "I don't know what business you have with us, but it should end now." He nods at you. "For both yours and our good."

The burly man on the left makes a point of nodding towards your home. "We know where you live, and we can find you no matter where you go. Don't complicate things for yourself. You won't like what comes next."

And they leave, leaving you shaking in the doorway. Anger courses through you. Your soulmate sent people after you to push you away.

You don't know everything about soulmate bonds, but what you do know is that soulmates are drawn to each other: to protect, and to take care of. Either your soulmate is very, very clueless; or he just doesn't want anything to do with you. You have to find out which answer it is before you decide whether to let go of him or not.

Alright, Mr. Mafia Boss, you clench your teeth. I don't have to deal with your mafia directly to get an audience with you. Let's see how far this game can go.

Moonlight slants through his ceiling-to-floor windows. Seungcheol grits his teeth as he watches the surveillance that Lee found for him. You, walking home the night of 14 February, around 10pm, going faster and faster as that son-of-a-bitch followed you. His arms rest on his chair as he sees himself appear and knock the guy out cold.

He sighs. So it really was you. He'd recognise that face anywhere.

He looks at his tattoo once more, hating how perfectly it entwines with the rest of his tattoos. So much for covering it up. He turns his arm around again and again. It's exquisite, but it lies there like a burden.

And it picks the perfect timing to start burning. Seungcheol grunts in pain, clutching his arm as it burns, sears with the same pain it did that night. He doesn't know how the system came about, but what he knows is this: You're in danger. And as annoyed as he is about this whole situation, he has to find you. If only to make the pain stop.

He reaches for his telephone, and when the other line picks up he hisses: "Find her. Now. Scour all the surveillance in the city. I don't care what you have to do, but find her."

He can hear his man barking out orders in the background, and he shakily puts the phone down. Lee comes bursting into the room, grabs Seungcheol's arm to check on him. Normally, Seungcheol would have the head of anyone who dared to touch him without permission, but given Lee's position in this predicament, he allows him to.

"Is it supposed to be like this?" Seungcheol groans out. "It hurts like hell."

"Yup," Lee mutters. "It is. Looks and seems exactly like mine whenever Bri got into danger."

"Danger--" Seungcheol scowls and tries getting up. "You mean she's injured?"

Lee shrugs. "I don't know if it extends to normal minor situations, but whenever Bri got into a fight, I'd feel my arm burning."

"Her, fight. Don't make me laugh," Seungcheol scoffs, then grunts again as another wave of pain hits him. "She looks like she couldn't hurt a fly."

"We've located her, boss," Another man comes into the room, holding a laptop towards him.

"Where?"

When silence answers him, he hisses. "I didn't ask you this question for you to not fucking reply. I asked where?"

"The border of Territory 7, sir."

"What the hell is she doing there? Is she an underworld member, too?" Lee wonders out loud.

Seungcheol pushes himself up off his seat, wincing as his arm throbs slightly. "Fuck if I know. But I guess I have to find her if I want this pain to stop."

"I'll get men and go with you," Lee starts, but Seungcheol waves him off. "No need. We don't need to stir up a fuss, not when the territories are already misbehaving these few weeks. I'll get her, and... figure it out later."

You're tapping your foot as you wander the edges of the city's largest turf. It's well-known that civilians shouldn't pass by here if they want to get home alive and well, but with the recent news of unrest stirring in such turfs, you figure that it's the best way to seek Seungcheol out. It's stupid, but it's your best bet. Plus, you figure that the nearer you are to

You must be near a group of militants on patrol duty, because you can hear hushed orders and boots crunching. You sigh and look at your watch.

"Are you actually stupid?"

You raise your head. "So it worked. So nice of you to join me this evening."

Seungcheol storms towards you. "So you tricked me?"

"Wasn't a trick." You mutter. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You are a nutcase," He seethes, as he grabs your arm and starts dragging you away. "Do you have any idea what would happen if anyone caught you? These few places are red-light districts now. You're not supposed to be here."

"I wouldn't know. You came anyway."

Seungcheol lets you go and huffs at you. "Go home, and don't get any more stupid ideas. Yes, I'm your soulmate. Yes, my tattoo is also a snapdragon, and I guess I can sense when you're in places you shouldn't be because my arm fucking burns, okay? Got your answer?"

"No," You say defiantly. "I haven't found out one thing. Why were you so desperate to deny that you weren't my soulmate? But you still came running anyway."

"This," He hisses, stepping closer to you, "is a pain in my ass. I can't work if my tattoo's going to start hurting every half hour. So for god's sake, please stay out of anything that doesn't concern you. Do not run into a lion's den to get an audience with me."

"So you're going to give me a way to contact you?" You shrug. "Sure, if that will keep me from making rash decisions."

Seungcheol furrows his brows. "What gave you that idea?"

"Well, you can't think I'm going to let you go after all of this, do you?"

What??

"Did I not make myself clear en-"

"Oh, you did," You say. "Like you said, you came running because you could sense I was somewhere I shouldn't be. So you can't stay away no matter how much I piss you off, can you?"

"I nev-"

"That's how soulmates work, Mr. Mafia Boss." You say smugly. "We can't stay away from each other, like a moth can't stray from the light."

Seungcheol scowls at you and then proceeds to maintain a ten-second glaring competition until he blows out a breath.

"Ten more reasons why I hate this bond so much," He mutters, before pulling out a business card and shoving it into your hands. "I've got ground rules. Don't call me for stupid reasons. Do not call to ask me out privately. Do not give my number to anyone for any reason. No exceptions, unless you want a bullet through your brain."

"Did you just threaten to shoot me...." You peruse the business card. "Choi Seungcheol?"

"Yes, and what about it?"

"You know nothing about being a gentleman."

"Never said I was one. Get in the car."

"You''re going to shoot me in there? With the expensive leather?"

"I will if you don't keep your mouth shut and start moving."

You zip it and follow him.

Success. You've met your soulmate. (You're sitting in his car, too.)

He said you couldn't call. But texting exists, so.... You're determined to bug him until he takes notice.

"It's me."

He leaves you on read.

The next day you add another message. "I guess I'll write to an empty chatroom. I'm doing good, I just had a sandwich for breakfast and I'm going to continue writing now."

5pm: "I'm done with my next chapter. Trying to find an illustrator for the cover. I'm craving soup."

11pm: "goodnight! hope your work or whatever's going well. You can't tell me anything about what you're doing?"

And so it continues, for a full three days, with silly texts about a sentence error you wrote, or a funny thing you ate, or asking him what he's doing at work, until you get a single response from him that has you rolling your eyes: "Be quiet."

You do not, to Seungcheol's chagrin, keep quiet.

He didn't think you could talk so much to someone who never replied. In a week he'd all but figured out your life pattern: wake up, eat, write (he had no idea what you were writing), find publishers and illustrators, take a walk maybe in the late afternoon, eat again, and write until it was time to sleep. You lead an awfully idyllic life compared to him, he thinks as he closes your text.

You also seem to have a love for soup, he realises. The weirdest fucking craving.

And croissants from his fake cafe. You sent him photos of it across the week, and he wonders how you never get tired of the damn thing. Your food cravings change from soup to something else every now and then, getting more bizarre with each one. (Pasta with pickles? Really?)

It was cute. (He cursed himself out after thinking about it.)

And so it goes for two more weeks until Seungcheol decides this has to stop. He texts you back for once, and you're elated as you read his text.

"Be ready Saturday night. Zip it for now, will you? I'm trying to work."

You're waiting outside your house when he pulls up. You already know that he knows exactly where you live, so you never bothered texting him your address. You get in once he stops the car, his grumpy face still on full display.

"Thanks for taking me out," You say, smiling at him, and he grunts as he pulls out and steps on the accelerator. "Isn't that exactly what you wanted?"

You shrug. "And you gave in. Is that a soulmate thing?"

"I will drop you off right this second if you say 'soulmate' one more time." He threatens.

He rubs the sleeve covering the skin on which his tattoo lies, and you frown. "Is it causing you trouble? I haven't gone anywhere weird recently, though."

"No. And you better not have."

He doesn't say much after that, simply drives about twenty minutes to a sleek, al fresco restaurant. The neon lights, warm-looking space draws you in, and when you read the menu outside while waiting for him to park...

"Soup? So you did read my texts!"

"You won't shut up about it. A little hard to miss it even if I wanted to."

You chuckle and flip through the menu. "So what're you getting?"

"You pick, you're the one craving soup of all things," He mutters absently. "Don't really care. Just came to get a message across."

"What is it?"

"Sit first before I tell you."

And so you do. He lets you get tomato soup and grilled cheese, pasta and a soda, and says absolutely nothing. He eats a little, rolling his eyes at the amount you inhale. Finally, you put down your fork. "So what did you want to tell me?"

He swallows his water before putting the glass down. "Just one thing."

You cock your head. "I'm listening."

"Why are you contacting me personally, so often? I'm sure I said not to do that."

"You said not to call," You reply, smiling. When he looks like he's about to protest, you smile again. "So I texted."

"You're fucking impossible," He mutters.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing. Anyway, stop that. I'm a busy man."

"I know. That's why I text, like, three times in a day. It's not a lot, is it?"

His hand comes down on the table, not loud enough to cause a scene but firm enough to catch your attention. "I don't have the time to entertain you, Miss Y/N. You know who I am, and that was my fault, and I think it would do you good to remember that."

"Pulling the mafia leader card on me, again?" You sigh and shake your head. "I don't know what you do, and you won't tell me. I write about people like you and mobsters. You're exactly what I write in my books."

"I am not one of your little book characters," Seungcheol hisses back. "I am not a work of fiction or something you pull out of your imagination and twist about like your plaything. I am real, and I am someone who can hurt you if I want to. And I don't owe you any information. Stop bothering me, got it?"

"Is that why you brought me here?" A surge of confidence and defiance grips you. He couldn't have taken you out to somewhere he knew you'd enjoy for no reason.

He scowls. “I can go wherever I want. Don’t read too much into it.”

You grin. “Sure.”

He nods.

“So can I continue messaging you?”

He groans. “Did you not get any of what I just said?”

You shrug. "Guess you’ll have to tell me a few more times.”

He sighs loudly, and his fingers drum the table as he seemingly goes deep into thought. The scowl is almost becoming a permanent fixture on his face, you think.

After a long moment, he groans and utters: “Next Sunday. 6pm.”

He takes you out two more times. The next Sunday, to a small restaurant you chose. This time he ate better, the consistent strain in his forehead almost easing as he bit into the lasagna.

He answered your questions, albeit grumpily, and when you got off his car that night, you thought, as you opened your journal up again, that he was finally, finally warming up to you.

But the next time he brings you out, he is visibly in a stormy mood, barely making conversation and stabbing his meat with his fork.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask.

“No.”

And there the conversation ends.

As dessert rolls in, you try one more time.

“So… how’s work lately?”

“Fine.”

“Ah.”

Please talk. Please.

“You know, I always wonder what a mafia boss does,” You pick up your spoon. “Like, order kills or something?”

Seungcheol picks up his glass. “I remember telling you not to ask about what I do.”

“And you don’t have to give me a full answer,” You shrug. “I’m just asking for a general idea. I thought it’d be nice if I got to know what you do.”

Seungcheol sits back in his seat. "Don't read too much into what I do, love." He takes another sip of water. "You can't honestly think I'm interested in you enough to reveal myself after a few meals. You said you're a writer. You shouldn't be this easy to lie to, you know that?"

Yeah, screw this.

Any confidence you had sizzles out. Easy to lie to. He thinks you're a gullible, small girl eating up every morsel of attention he deigns to give you when he feels like it. Red-hot, burning humiliation and shame rise in you.

After a long pause, you nod. "Alright. Fine. I get it. I apologise for occupying your time."

He surveys you for a second, then nods, like he just made a good business deal. "Just so we make things clear with each other."

"Crystal," You reply, no warmth in your words. "I think I finally got what you wanted to say. I thought you just weren't used to this... idea of having a soulmate, so I wanted to warm you up to it. But now I see you never wanted one in the first place."

Seungcheol furrows his brows just a fraction.

You push your chair back. You're careful not to look or seem angry, in part not to show him you're affected, and also to just... save face. He already embarrassed you. No need to do it again in public. "Take care, Mr. Choi. Thanks for putting up with me, anyway. It won't happen again. I’ll get the bill."

Soulmate, my ass.

----------------------------------

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to turn out this way.

Glass meets the plaster of the wall. His tattoo lies there, barren, lacking its usual warmth even though nothing was taken away.

----------------------------------

Ladies and gentlemen, this is perhaps how the story goes. He pushed her away, and she realised how the universe’s plan, this whole concept, had utterly failed. There were never meant to be pre-ordained people. People change, and oftentimes they disappoint…

The journal remains open, the last sentence discontinued.

T w o M o n t h s L a t e r

Soft, oozing vocals of Clara Bow fill your apartment as you pack your writing materials. You're done writing for the day.

You glance at the clock. Nine p.m. In time for a snack and TV before you head to bed.

When you turn on the TV, the news catches your attention. Another territory struggle, another turf battle for control. You shake your head and switch the channel. Typical.

As you settle down into the cushions with chips and a glass of white wine, sudden searing pain, hot and white and agonising, shoots down your arm. You gasp and grasp it in your other hand, almost keeling over at how painful it is.

Something is wrong. Very, very, wrong.

You sink to the floor, clutching your arm and sweat starting to bead your forehead. It hurts, your arm hurts, everything hurts.

Is Seungcheol in trouble?

His name card. Right. You can just find out for yourself, and if he asks, you could just say the tattoo's causing you a lot of pain. Yes. That's it.

You stagger to your drawers to find his card, messing everything up in the process. You fumble for your phone and dial his number, again and again and again, but all you’re greeted with is a beep and an automated voice instructing you to leave a message.

You don’t know what to do. No emergency contact, no one you can find… hell, you don’t even know where he is. As you’re standing, getting ready to run out and search, there's a pounding on your door.

You barely make it to the door and open it, and there stands the freckled, tan man whose name you never got. He looks awkward, eyes racing to your tattoo. "I'm sure you must be in a lot of pain," He says. "Mr. Choi ordered me to check on you."

"Check on me?" You almost wheeze. "What's going on that my arm hurts this badly?"

Lee shakes his head. "Not right now. We will talk in the van."

"Of course you can't say." You snap, patience wearing thin, temper as riled up as the pain in your arm. You're done with his secrets. "I can't know what he's doing, I can't know where he is, or if he's alive or dead, even if the pain he's causing may very well kill me too."

"You won't die," Lee says, a little more kindly. "If this comforts you, my soulmate's gone, and I'm still here."

Your anger evaporates a fraction. "I'm sorry about that."

"No need to be." Lee sighs, then reaches his own arm out. "Hold on to me, I won’t do anything weird. I'll take you to him. He's going to be a bitch when he sees you, but... I think it would be good for both of you. More often than not, distance breaks things apart."

"He's enough of a bitch even when I'm around," You mumble, but you take his arm anyway as he helps you out.

Without much effort, he gets you into the van he came in, and barks out an order to the curious men inside to drive into what he calls "The Heart".

"What's the Heart?" You ask, as he passes you a canteen of water to drink from.

"It's what it sounds like. The heart of our territory." Lee explains, eyes trained in front. "Mr. Choi's there when we... have scuffles, and that's usually the place where security is tightest, so he can be near to us to get updates and give orders, and still not get into danger."

"So he is a leader."

"He is, and one of those you wouldn't want to cross. He's quick with his work, and he can resort to getting his hands dirty if he has to. His network and connections are... frighteningly impressive, to say the least."

"Funny how I'm hearing it from you and not him," You huff as you lay your head back, trying not to think about the pain.

"He hasn't had the experience of telling people about his life, Miss," Lee chuckles. "But I figured you'll know eventually, so better sooner than later, right?"

"Sooner than later?"

"You're meant to stick around him, Miss. For the good and bad. You're his soulmate, after all."

"I don't know if we'll get there." You sigh, and close your eyes. "Is he badly hurt? Will me being there even help matters?"

Lee shrugs. "We'll find out."

Lee gets six men to flank you both as he walks you in. Up ahead, there's a building seemingly made of unforgiving steel, it's blank canvas looming in the dark red, streaked sky.

"That's the Heart?"

"That’s the one. Unpenetrable, Miss. Let's go in."

You pray for all your sakes it really is as Lee takes you up into the elevator. When he opens one of the (almost) hundreds of similar doors to lead to an empty, cell-like room, and inside sits Seungcheol, with a red fabric pressed---

"You're bleeding," You blurt. The pain in your arm subsides just a fraction, perhaps jarred by the sensation of finally, finally, meeting him.

He looks up, eyes twisting in furious shock as he glares at Lee, and then you (you don’t know why). "Exactly which part of my order did you not understand, Lee?"

Lee bows his head in apology. "I'll never take away a chance to meet your soulmate away, you know that, sir."

Seungcheol scowls hard, and you're almost afraid he's going to shoot Lee there and then.

"Get out."

Lee smiles, ushers you in and walks out. "I'll be back in half an hour to report. I'll call for the doctor again."

You bend and peel aside the fabric. Once white, it's now soaked red, it's warmth unsettling. There's blood, so much of it, and on his once unblemished skin now contains a mess of open flesh, blood, and a...

A bullet.

"A gun." You mumble.

"Try not to throw up." He replies, ever-so-gently nudging you away. "This is Armani."

"You jerk."

His face twists in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." The anger is returning. "You say all sorts of fucking nonsense to keep me away, and we meet again months later because you're shot. And that may be a normal day for you, Mr. Choi, but us civilians don't go about our day-to-day expecting a bullet hole to appear in our skin."

His hand clenches up.

"This is why I said everything I did," He snarls in return, putting more pressure on his wound. "I knew I would never want you to try to handle what I am!"

"You never let me try," You hiss. "You refused to tell me anything, to let me see what your life was like. No, you chose to shut me out! And don't you dare tell me what I can or can't handle."

He huffs. "I see no reason in dragging you, or anyone else, in when it isn't needed."

"Yet Lee brought me here tonight." You point out. "He knows something you clearly don't."

"Lee is a nosy fucker." He snaps.

"He's someone who's experienced it all. His soulmate is gone, Seungcheol."

"And look at the pain it caused him. At least if anything happens to me, it's no love lost for you."

"Shut up."

"What?"

"I said shut up. Sometimes people want to help you. Sometimes people wouldn't actually mind, I don't know, going into this Heart place to check on you. Sometimes, you need to get it into your thick skull that I actually want to be here, to make sure you don't die while this stupid snapdragon is burned into me!"

His eyes meet yours.

"But you won't get it!" You chuckle. "You send men to check on me when I’m in pain, but I doubt you have any intention of finding me after all this gets better."

"You think I wanted to?" He shoots back.

"And you think I had it all settled for me? That I was better off not knowing the person that was meant for me, this whole time?"

"I never wanted that." Seungcheol insists hotly. "Look at my world, it's a mess, a violent place, a--"

"And there has to be a reason I'm the one picked out!" You defend. "Do you have any idea what snapdragons stand for?"

When he doesn't reply, you continue. "It stands for grace and strength. I can handle all of this. I'm not meant to measure up with your headstrong personality anyway."

"Then what are you meant for?" He asks, tone now soft, dejected.

"To complement you," You reply. You've never been this sure in your life. "To make up for the traits you lack. I'm not supposed to be as strong, or as fierce as you are. I'm meant to... ground you. That's what soulmates are. To... allow each other's strengths to shine and make up for what they don't have yet."

Seungcheol goes quiet.

"And you?" He asks, after a long pause. "What do I complement you in?"

You survey him again. "That's something I can't discover yet, because you won't let me."

“So what do you suggest?” He continues.

“No more hiding. Show me who you are. No restraint, I don’t need you to keep anything secret.”

“What if you end up like Lee?”

“Then it would have been a life well spent, at least.”

Seungcheol grunts with effort as he leaves his seat and stumbles to you. "And if I obeyed, and let you in?"

You look at him square in the eye. "Then it would be my honour to stand with you... or in the shadows, or wherever you make me stand."

"This sounds a lot like an induction of one of my men," Seungcheol murmurs. "I don't want that."

"Then what do you want?" You ask softly.

Seungcheol looks down at you, emotions warring in his eyes. After a while, he slumps and turns away. “Fuck. I can’t do this to you.”

“Tell me what you want, Seungcheol,” You say quietly. “You order people around for a living. I’m telling you to be honest with me, too.”

"…You. With me. Wherever you, or I, want to be."

You shrug a little as he cups your face. "I can live with that."

"You better," Seungcheol mumbles, as his mouth finds yours at last, burning more than any wretched tattoo, warmth spreading to your fingertips. "After everything you just said... I don't imagine you're going anywhere for a while."

February 14, 2026

The doctor came to patch him up. His hand squeezed yours hard as the bullet was finally pried out of him.

It's honestly a blur to you now when you think about it, but all you remember is his eyes boring into yours, his unwavering, callused grip on your hand.

"The snapdragon symbolises strength and grace reflected in their tall, strong stems, blooms and resistance to colder temperatures. Others believe they also represent deception and deviousness.

She embodied grace. She was his missing piece, the trait he needed to complement his headstrong nature. But he also needed someone strong enough to stand with him, through every obstacle his work throws him in. And she... she needed his courage and unwavering will to stand with her through it all."

You put the pen down. Mmm. Not too bad for a closing chapter. You send a text to the new publishing house that you contacted two weeks ago. They had seen your draft, and they loved it. Two weeks from now, when everything is settled, you promise yourself, you will show Seungcheol. He'd been curious for a while now about what holed you up in your writing room.

"Love?"

You look up from biting into your croissant. "Well, look who's back from Sicily. How did the meetings go?"

Seungcheol smiles and opens his arms. "Not too bad. I suppose the love you share for novels, along with the Don's* wife, was a selling point. She was most keen on sending you," He cocks his head to the pile of books at his feet, "this. She said it'd make a good Valentines' gift, since I've been poor at accompanying you these few months."

"That sounds perfect. We're both suckers for romances."

As you sink into his embrace, the tattoo once again burns, but it's not the passionate, red-hot zealous heat. It's warm, comforting, like a hot chocolate in winter.

He sighs. "Happy Valentines', love. I'm going to lose my girl to a bunch of fictional mafia men again?"

"You know it."

"I still don't understand why. You have one right here, next to y-"

"Softer! Do you want the whole town to hear you?"

fin.

*Don = the highest role in an organised crime family

thank you for reading 💟

main masterlist

[buttercandy16]

Mistress

PAIRING(s): Vampire!Agatha Harkness x Maid!Reader

SUMMARY: Your mistress becomes obsessed with you, leading to a dark, twisted relationship where love, power, and obsession collide.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive, Blood, and SMUT.

A/N: Been a while since I've written some smut. Enjoy!

The halls of the Harkness estate were vast and cold, like a labyrinth of secrets etched into its ancient stone walls. Candlelight flickered across shadowy corridors as you carried a silver tray of wine toward the parlor, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. You tried to focus on balancing the tray, but you couldn't ignore the eerie stillness of the estate or the way the other servants whispered nervously about their mistress.

Agatha Harkness.

Even among her wealthy contemporaries, her name was uttered with equal parts reverence and dread. She was a woman of unparalleled elegance and power, known for her biting wit and an aura of danger that clung to her like a second skin. Rumors swirled about her cruelty, her temper, and her insatiable appetites—not just for luxury but for something darker.

You’d taken the job as her maid out of desperation, knowing little of her reputation. Now, after only a few weeks, you wondered if the warnings had been an understatement.

And yet, you found yourself drawn to her in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

The moment you entered the parlor, you felt her eyes on you.

Agatha lounged in a grand velvet armchair, her long fingers elegantly wrapped around the stem of a wine glass. Her gaze slid over you like a caress, sharp and assessing, making your skin prickle under the weight of her attention.

“Finally,” she purred, her voice smooth as silk. “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

“My apologies, mistress,” you said quickly, setting the tray down on the table before her.

“Hmm.” She didn’t look away, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes, mistress,” you said, fighting to keep your hands steady under her piercing stare.

She stood slowly, her towering frame somehow both graceful and intimidating as she circled you. The scent of her perfume—a dark, heady mix of amber and spice—wrapped around you, making it hard to think clearly.

“I noticed you the moment you arrived,” she murmured, her voice dangerously low. “There’s something… unique about you. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

Her fingers brushed your shoulder lightly as she moved behind you, and your breath caught.

“Tell me,” she said, her breath warm against your ear, “do you enjoy working for me?”

The air felt heavy, and the words got caught in your throat. “Y-yes, mistress,” you managed, though your pulse quickened for reasons you couldn’t fully name.

Her low chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. “Good. I have high expectations, and I’d hate to be disappointed.”

Over the following days, her interest in you only grew more intense.

She began finding reasons to summon you alone—fetching her wine, helping her dress, accompanying her on her nightly walks through the moonlit gardens. Always, she kept close, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of you.

At first, you thought it was simply her eccentric nature, but soon it became clear there was more to her obsession.

“I can hear your heart racing,” she said one evening as you stood in her chambers, tidying the delicate lace cuffs of one of her gowns. Her tone was amused, but her eyes burned with something primal.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you replied, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Oh, but I think you do,” she said, taking your wrist in her hand. Her grip was gentle but unyielding as she pulled you closer. “You’re quite… intoxicating.”

One night, you found yourself summoned to her private chambers. The room was dimly lit, the scent of wax and roses thick in the air. She stood by the fireplace, her long dark gown catching the light like a pool of ink.

“Come here,” she said, her voice low and commanding.

You hesitated but obeyed, stepping closer until you were standing just inches from her.

Her hand reached out, her fingers trailing over your cheek. “You’re shaking,” she whispered. “Are you afraid of me?”

“N-no, mistress,” you lied, your voice barely audible.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You should be.”

Before you could respond, her grip tightened on your arm, and she pulled you against her. Her other hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes glowed faintly in the firelight, hungry and unrelenting.

“You don’t understand yet, do you?” she murmured, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “The hold you have over me. Your scent, your warmth, the taste of your fear…”

Her lips brushed against your neck, soft and deliberate, and your breath hitched. You wanted to pull away, but her presence was overwhelming, suffocating, and somehow… thrilling.

“I could devour you,” she whispered, her voice tinged with both lust and menace. “Body and soul. And I don’t know if I could stop myself.”

You felt her teeth graze your skin, a soft scrape that sent electricity coursing through you. But instead of biting, she pulled back, her expression carefully controlled.

“Not yet,” she said, more to herself than to you. “Not yet.”

Her fingers lingered on your wrist as she let you go, her touch burning long after she released you.

“Leave me,” she said abruptly, turning away.

You didn’t wait for her to change her mind.

The next day, she was colder, more distant, as though trying to suppress whatever had taken hold of her. But the heat in her gaze never dimmed when she looked at you, and you knew the storm wasn’t over—it was only just beginning.

Every interaction with her left you more confused, more tangled in her web of obsession. The line between fear and something far more dangerous blurred, and you found yourself standing at the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to flee or to fall.

And as her lips curled into a knowing smirk, you realized that decision might not be yours to make.

The air in the Harkness estate grew heavier each day, as though the house itself was responding to the tension between you and its mistress. Agatha’s presence loomed everywhere—her perfume lingering in the hallways, her voice echoing in the back of your mind, her piercing eyes locked on you at every stolen glance.

You told yourself it was just her nature, an eccentricity fueled by wealth and boredom. Yet deep down, you knew it was more. Agatha wasn’t merely interested; she was consumed. And despite the gnawing fear in your chest, part of you couldn’t help but lean into it, daring the flame to burn brighter.

One evening, you were summoned to her private chambers yet again. The summons itself wasn’t unusual by now, but the tone of her note was: “Tonight, you’re mine.”

You smoothed your trembling hands down the front of your uniform as you knocked on the grand wooden door. Her voice drifted through, low and sensual.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, only to be greeted by a sight that made your breath hitch.

Agatha stood in front of a gilded mirror, her silhouette framed by the glow of the roaring fireplace. She was in a deep plum silk robe, tied loosely at her waist. The fabric clung to her curves, revealing far more than it hid. Her hair tumbled down in dark waves, and her gaze met yours through the reflection.

“You kept me waiting,” she said, her tone soft but full of unspoken weight.

“My apologies, Mistress Harkness,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Agatha,” she corrected, turning to face you fully. “When we’re alone, you’ll call me Agatha.”

Her smile was slow and predatory as she crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the thick rug. She stopped just in front of you, her presence commanding every ounce of your attention.

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” she said, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. “Have the other servants been treating you well?”

“Yes,” you replied, though the closeness of her fingers to your skin made the word come out shakier than intended.

“And yet,” she continued, tilting her head, “I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. Do they know how much you give?” Her fingers lingered on your cheek, her touch as delicate as a whisper.

“I—”

“Shh,” she interrupted, pressing a single finger to your lips. “No need to speak. You’ve already given me enough with just your presence.”

The air between you crackled with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. Her eyes roamed over you, her gaze so unashamed and hungry that you felt exposed even in your modest uniform.

“Have you thought about me?” she asked, her voice a low, dangerous hum.

Your throat tightened. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

Her smile deepened, a sly curve of her lips that seemed to peel away every pretense. “Don’t lie to me. I see it every time your hands tremble when I’m near. The way you avoid my gaze, yet I catch you staring when you think I’m not looking.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your heart thundering in your chest. “Mistress, I—”

“Agatha,” she corrected again, more firmly this time. Her voice softened as she leaned closer, the scent of her perfume intoxicating. “Do you feel it too? This… pull between us? Don’t deny it.”

Her hand trailed down your arm, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your wrist. The touch was light, yet it left a trail of fire in its wake.

You stepped back instinctively, trying to create distance, but she followed. Her movements were slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring its prey.

“You’re nervous,” she said, her voice almost teasing. “Good. I like the way your pulse quickens when I’m near. Like it’s calling to me.”

Her fingers brushed the delicate skin of your neck, lingering for a moment as her gaze followed the motion.

“Do you know how hard it’s been to restrain myself?” she whispered, her voice dripping with hunger. “You’ve awakened something in me—something dark, something primal. I can hardly stand it when you’re near.”

Her lips ghosted over your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Every time I see you, every time I smell you, I wonder… how would you taste?”

Your knees threatened to buckle beneath you, but her hand moved to your waist, steadying you. It wasn’t just her words—it was her voice, her touch, her presence. It was overwhelming.

“You should go,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Her laughter was soft and rich, like the purr of a satisfied predator. “Go? You’re the one in my chambers, darling.”

Agatha’s other hand slid around your back, pulling you impossibly close. The silk of her robe brushed against you, her warmth seeping into your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” she said, her lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “One word, and I’ll let you walk out of here. But if you stay… you’ll belong to me.”

Your breath caught as her fingers tilted your chin upward, her dark eyes blazing with intent. It felt like the world had stopped, like the only thing that mattered was her—her lips, her touch, her dominance.

This was no longer just your job, your duty. This was something much deeper, darker, and inescapable. And as her lips brushed against yours, soft and commanding all at once, you knew there was no going back.

The kiss started soft—tentative even—but there was no denying the fire that ignited the moment her lips claimed yours. Agatha wasn’t the kind of woman to ask twice, and now, her dominance poured over you like molten honey. Her hand tangled in your hair, holding you in place as her lips parted yours, the taste of her intoxicating.

“Do you feel it now?” she murmured against your lips, her voice like a low growl. “How you’ve bewitched me?”

Your body trembled under her touch, your breath hitching as her sharp nails dragged lightly down the curve of your neck. The trail they left tingled, a shiver that rippled through you like electricity. She stepped back, just slightly, her hungry eyes roaming over you as though she was calculating her next move.

Then her expression shifted—intense and dark, her pupils dilating as she fixated on your neck.

Before you could speak, she moved, gripping your waist and pressing you against the cold stone wall of her chambers. Her lips brushed your collarbone, soft and deliberate, as she inhaled deeply.

“Your scent…” Her voice broke, heavy with need. “It’s… maddening.”

Her mouth trailed along the line of your throat, kisses becoming hungrier, rougher. Then you felt it—the sharp press of her teeth.

"Agatha—" you gasped, half-panicked and half-lost in the thrill coursing through you.

“Shh,” she cooed, pinning your wrists above your head with surprising strength. “You’ve already given me your lips… your trust… What’s one more thing?”

Her teeth broke the delicate skin of your neck with a swift bite, pain mingling with the heat of her lips. Your cry was stifled as she pressed her mouth fully against you, drinking deeply. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt—the sharp sting giving way to a strange, dangerous pleasure as her body molded against yours.

The world blurred at the edges, your heart hammering as she drank, the wet, visceral sound filling the chamber. Your pulse slowed, your knees weak, but Agatha didn’t falter. When she finally pulled back, her lips and chin were smeared with your blood, crimson standing out stark against her pale skin.

“Look at you,” she whispered, her voice husky, her eyes glowing faintly with an otherworldly hunger. “So fragile, so perfect. Do you understand now what you do to me?”

Her hands slipped to your waist, her grip firm yet somehow tender, steadying you as you sagged against her. “You taste like heaven,” she murmured, licking the remnants of your blood from her lips as though savoring a fine wine.

“You—” You tried to speak, but the words didn’t come, your breath hitching as her thumb traced over the fresh wound on your neck.

“Shh, don’t speak,” she said, her voice softening, almost tender now. “You’ve given me so much already. Let me take care of you, darling.”

She lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the massive bed draped in deep violet and gold linens. You felt the world sway as she set you down, her robe falling open just enough to reveal the smooth curve of her shoulder. Her predatory grin had returned, but now it was laced with something gentler—a strange, possessive affection that made your stomach twist.

“I told you, didn’t I?” she murmured, brushing your hair away from your face. “You belong to me now. Completely.”

She leaned over you, her bloodstained lips brushing yours in a kiss that was gentler this time. It was possessive yet worshipful, as though she was memorizing every inch of you.

The blood loss left you lightheaded, the line between fear and desire blurring until it vanished entirely. Agatha’s hands roamed over your body with reverence, her touch burning like fire.

“Such strength,” she purred, her lips hovering over yours. “Yet so vulnerable.”

She pressed another kiss to your neck, careful to avoid the wound this time. Her tongue flicked over the edges of the bite, soothing the sting, even as her hands trailed down your sides, setting every nerve ablaze.

The fire in the hearth crackled, casting flickering shadows across the room as Agatha’s lips left your neck, her tongue lapping at the wound she’d made. Her hands were everywhere—tracing your collarbone, gripping your hips, sliding up your thighs with a possessiveness that left you breathless. She pulled back slightly, her eyes dark and glinting with something primal, something that made your stomach twist in a way that was equal parts fear and desire.

“You’re trembling,” she murmured, her voice low and rough, like the growl of a predator savoring its prey. “Do you want me to stop?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your body was betraying you, your pulse racing as her fingers slipped under the hem of your uniform, brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Her touch was electric, sending shivers up your spine, and you bit your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape.

“No?” she teased, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Good. Because I don’t think I could stop even if you begged me to.”

Her hands moved with purpose, yanking the fabric of your uniform up and over your head in one swift motion. The cool air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her gaze as she took you in—every curve, every inch of exposed flesh. Her eyes burned with hunger, and you felt utterly exposed, utterly at her mercy.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, her voice dripping with reverence. “Every part of you.”

Her hands were on you again, rough and demanding, as she pushed you back onto the bed. The satin sheets were cool against your back, but her body was a furnace as she climbed over you, her robe falling open to reveal the smooth, pale skin beneath. Her breasts brushed against yours, and you gasped at the contact, your nipples hardening instantly under her touch.

“You’re mine,” she growled, her lips trailing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

Her mouth closed over your nipple, her tongue flicking against the sensitive bud, and you arched into her, a moan escaping your lips before you could stop it. She chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin, and her teeth grazed you lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through your body.

“That’s it,” she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

Her hand slid down your stomach, her fingers dipping between your thighs, and you gasped as she found your wetness. She groaned, low and guttural, as she felt how ready you were for her.

“So eager,” she purred, her fingers teasing your entrance. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t think, as her fingers pushed inside you, curling just right to hit that spot that made your vision blur. She moved with a practiced precision, her thumb circling your clit as her fingers worked you, and you writhed beneath her, your hands gripping the sheets for dear life.

“Look at you,” she said, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “So desperate for me. So perfect.”

Her pace quickened, her fingers thrusting deeper, harder, and you felt the coil in your stomach tighten, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “Come for me, darling. Let me feel you fall apart.”

As the firelight flickered in the darkened chamber, her mouth found yours again, her kiss consuming you entirely. She poured everything into it—her obsession, her hunger, and her unspoken claim over you.

When you woke, you were wrapped in satin sheets the color of freshly spilled wine. The dull ache in your neck reminded you that last night hadn’t been a fever dream. You touched the spot cautiously, your fingers finding tender flesh but no wound. Agatha had tended to it somehow; you could still feel the faint sting of her tongue against your skin.

As you turned, you realized you weren’t alone. Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, her robe draped loosely over her, revealing more than it hid. She held a glass of dark red wine in one hand, her other hand lazily tracing patterns on your thigh.

“You’re awake,” she said without looking at you. Her voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a sharp edge to it—possessive, in control.

You tried to sit up, but the room spun, and Agatha’s hand was on your shoulder in an instant, pressing you gently back down.

“Easy, darling,” she murmured, her fingers cool against your flushed skin. “You’ve given me so much already. You need to recover.”

Her words were kind, but her tone betrayed her satisfaction—like a predator who’d gorged herself on her prey and was now savoring the aftermath.

“Why?” you managed to whisper, your voice hoarse.

Agatha smiled, setting her glass aside. She leaned down until her face was inches from yours, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath.

“Because I couldn’t resist,” she said simply. “You’re… exquisite. Every look, every breath, every drop of blood.” She cupped your face in her hand, her thumb grazing your cheekbone. “You have no idea the effect you’ve had on me.”

You flinched as her lips brushed over your forehead, but you didn’t pull away. There was a strange tenderness to her touch that made it impossible to move, even as your heart thundered in your chest.

“I should have left you alone,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But I’m not that strong. Not when it comes to you.”

The days that followed blurred together.

Agatha no longer kept her distance. She was everywhere—in the gardens during your morning chores, in the kitchen as you prepared meals, in your dreams every time you closed your eyes.

And always, her hands were on you—brushing against your arm as she passed, grazing your neck when she adjusted your collar, lingering on your waist as though she couldn’t stand to let you go.

“I’ve been patient,” she said one evening, pinning you against the cool stone of the hallway. Her voice was low, dangerous. “Do you think I’m a patient woman, darling?”

You shook your head, your words stolen by the heat of her body pressing into yours.

“No,” she said, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “I’m not.”

Her hand slid up your thigh, her touch searing through the thin fabric of your uniform. “Do you understand what you’ve done to me? How you’ve consumed my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment?”

Her mouth found yours before you could reply, the kiss rough and commanding. You couldn’t think—only feel. The way her hands gripped your hips, the way her teeth scraped your bottom lip, the way her breath mingled with yours as though she intended to drown you in her need.

The next morning, you woke again in her bed. She was watching you, propped up on one elbow, her fingers idly playing with your hair.

“Good morning,” she purred, her voice soft and lazy, though her eyes held that same dangerous glint.

“Why… why me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Her smile widened, and she leaned down until her lips hovered just above yours.

“Because you’re mine,” she whispered, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Her teeth grazed your ear, and you shivered. “And I don’t share.”

The days turned to weeks, and the line between fear and desire blurred beyond recognition. You found yourself waiting for her touch, aching for her attention, even as a small part of you screamed to run.

But there was no escaping her.

Agatha Harkness had claimed you in every way that mattered—body, blood, and soul.

And as her lips trailed down your neck, her sharp nails leaving burning paths along your skin, you knew you didn’t want her to let you go.

Because no one could consume you like she did.

No one could burn you so beautifully.

You belonged to her, entirely and inescapably.

And somehow, you didn’t care.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, and comment 💜

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Family Secrets ⭑

Masterlist

A/N: (s)creaming-

Request: No

Pairing: Perv!Aemond x Niece!reader

Warnings: NFSW, +18 mdni, male mastrubation, aemond fr being a nasty perv be warned no but like fr, female mastrubation/pillow humping, making out, dirty talk in high valyrian, p in v sex and creampie.

Summary: Aemond finds it hard to control his sick desires for his niece and can't help but play with her.

Word count: 5k

The sea waves crashed against the side of the large Targaryen fleet, nerves flowed through you at every shake of the wooden planks. Usually a voyage on the sea didn’t scare you in any way but the windy and stormy morning made it a lot less pleasant. Your brothers however didn’t seem to mind, the clinging of their swords ringing through the air.

They loved to practise whenever they could, and if you didn’t feel so unnerved by the weather you would’ve joined them. You were glad to see one of the servants coming towards you with a flagon of wine. Raising your cup she swiftly filled it with the red liquid. Sipping on the strong dornish wine, you tried to focus on anything but the assault of the waves.

The dragon calls could be heard above, Caraxes, Syrax, your own dragon, Vermax and Arrax soared along the ship. The walls shielded you from the sight of them though. The amber glow from the candles filled the darkened royal cabin, secluded on the quarterdeck of the ship. 

The dark clouds shielded the sun from shining its warmth on the waves of the sea and so even on the ship it was quite chilly. But nothing ran a shiver up your spine more than your family's return to King’s Landing. You didn’t understand the need for it but you didn’t have the nerve to tell your mother that.

The future queen was filled with dread herself, you noticed. Word had reached Dragon Stone from Alicent that King Viserys was in a bad condition and even though they had their differences, she felt like a reunion between father and daughter would do her husband some good.

And so the morning after the raven arrived, you had set sail. You wondered how your family was doing, but with the likely chances of this whole visit ending badly, you wished you could only wonder. But there was no turning back now as you looked out the small window and The Red Keep came into view.

And so it was only about half an hour later when your weakened legs stepped onto the shores of King’s Landing, a coach and some members of the King’s Guard waiting for you. Following your mother and Daemon, with your brothers behind you, a hand reached out to help you inside.

The rattling coach did not help calm you as you anticipated the whole ordeal, your mother spoke softly with Daemon about sending for maester Gerardys and your brothers both silently stared out the window. Everybody was tense, the unspoken past lingered in the air. It was only six years ago that your sweet younger brother Luke, took Aemond’s eye. 

Even though a little boy like him had no idea what he had done, it was still a grave wound that cut the family in half. What only made the situation worse was the bullying Aegon had led, making it seem like Luke had done it on purpose. Your uncle and yourself were never necessarily friends either, but at the least friendly with each other.

But who could blame him for hating all of you from that moment on? No one. It was only fueled by Alicent as well, her own spite for her step-daughter and her bastards burning inside her. Alas after all these years, you would have to face each other again. 

After what seemed ages you finally arrived within the courtyard of The Red Keep, the door of the coach opened and your mother stepped out as a shrill voice announced her, Daemon followed and so did you and your brothers. There, only a few paces in front of the coach were Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, Otto and three of the small council members. 

Your mother went first to greet them, Daemon by her side, hand on the hilt of his sword. Dragons could be heard and seen flying in circles above you, it gave you comfort that your own dragon was close, if something were to happen. You took a deep breath and followed with your brothers to greet Alicent, Otto and your uncles and aunt. It was awkward enough and thank the gods over quickly.

When you were led inside, nostalgia was the last thing you felt as you peered over your mother’s shoulder. All the Targaryen heraldry had been replaced, all with stars of the faith of the seven. You knew Alicent was quite religious but never had you thought she would dare such an insult. 

You could already hear the grumbles of Daemon in front of you, and you shared a look with Jace and Luke. You were all led to a more familiar place, the dining hall where you would share some food together at the start of the afternoon. You were glad when your place was between your brothers, it felt safer. A buffer of sorts. 

Servants filed in with various fruits, wines, breads and spreads for you to indulge in and it became a little less tense when there was some food to chew on. Since you had grown quite the appetite from the horrendous voyage here, you gathered some of your favourites on your plate and shared some quiet conversation with Jace and Luke.

It was better to keep them distracted and apart from Aemond, who sat at the other end. After a while, Alicent rose from her seat, cup in hand. “I wish to give a toast, to the Princess Rhaenyra. The circumstances of which we have gathered here are grim, but nevertheless it is a pleasure to receive you, and your family. To the princess.” She uttered, a bit too appropriate. 

Everyone raised their cups and took a sip, it was all very stale and tense. But you could tell that especially Aegon and Aemond tried to keep as quiet and ‘nice’ as possible. Helaena seemed almost out of it and Otto kept to himself. It was just Alicent who engaged in some polite conversation with your mother and Daemon, but always about the king.

It was quite dreadful, but when everyone seemed finished, the children were excused to explore their old home and get accustomed again, while the adults went to pay a visit to the king. Your heart rose when you realised there would only be guards around to keep an eye on you and your brothers.

Your mother and most importantly Daemon wouldn’t be able to defend you now, if anything happened. Both of your brothers joined your side as you strolled through the halls of the Red Keep. “Luke, I probably don’t have to say this but still, just- watch your back. He probably won’t try anything but I saw the way he looked at us, at you.” You whispered to your right. You noticed the way Luke’s shoulders tensed but he simply nodded. 

“Will you join us in the training yard?” Jace asked, a bit too chirpy. “Maybe I’ll visit you later, I need some air in the gardens, at least I can be certain I won’t bump into our uncles there.” He gave you a soft smile and then took off with Luke to the yard beyond the doors, two guards following them outside.

“Shall I escort you princess?” Ser Erryk asked, joining your side. “Has my mother asked you to keep an eye on me Ser?” He gave you an awkward smile. “Yes princess,” his next words fell to a whisper, “it would be safer.” You only gave him a nod and he stepped back a pace, making sure you still had your own space.

When you stepped outside, the sun had finally made an appearance. A quiet sigh left your lips and the smell of flowers and various plants filled your nose. It was almost the only place left untouched by Alicent and her stars. You strolled through the gardens, took in all the flowers and birds. Even the beautiful butterflies that were almost magically flying around.

A while later you stumbled across a bright ladybug resting on the leaf of a bush. You admired it for a while, having no idea someone was also admiring you... 

Aemond’s POV

He was quite grateful the strong bastards kept to themselves. As soon as he had entered the training yard, in search of Criston Cole, the both of them left as soon as they caught sight of the common louts admiring the training weapons. Only a brief look was shared and Cole joined him to turn back inside. 

“It is an insult to us, their presence alone. I can come to terms with the fact they live in my ancestors castle far away from us, but them being here now-” Aemond got cut off by Cole. “It is repulsive, them being here. But the best we can do is keep our distance, only look in their direction or even speak to them when absolutely necessary.” 

Aemond nodded, “Fucking mongrels, the girl is lucky to have silver hair or they would have her head the second her arse sat on the throne. But who knows, after my sister is dead, what will become of my niece?” He smirked, before turning towards his own chambers. His only place of safety and solitude.

Only he got distracted when he passed a window that overlooked the gardens. There she was, the lucky girl. To Aemond’s displeasure, she looked almost ethereal. The now softened wind breezing through her long silver curls, the sun making her hair almost glow. Her purple eyes inspecting a nearby bug or butterfly he would imagine. 

What made his mouth turn even more sour was where his eye almost naturally shifted to. Her body. She had rather matured and was only two years younger than him, her body now...more grown. Beautiful hips, tits that bulged slightly out of the top of her bodice. Long fingers adorned with rings, a necklace resting on her chest. 

He scolded himself for even stopping in his tracks in the first place. Her Valyrian features linger in his mind as he resumes to his chambers. Once there he tried to distract himself with some studying. He could hardly focus on the words, when her tits kept reappearing in his mind. Then it only got worse, his mind drifted off while he sat at his desk. 

Cock swelling alive at the thought of ripping that gown off her, her nipples would harden through her shift because of the breeze, her curves on better display through her smallclothes. But he would rip that off too, display her nakedness for all to see. Then he would get her on her knees, mouth open, tongue out and ready for him.

His cock was now pulsing, the outline of it extremely visible through his pants. He swiftly undid them and already found that precum stained his breeches. He palmed his cock and hissed at the sensitivity, he loved to wait a longer period between pleasuring himself, knowing that the sensation would be far better.

Even though he wanted to wait just one more day, he couldn’t help himself; he was way too aroused. He started to softly tug the skin over the head of his cock, face contorted in pleasure, a grunt left his lips. Fuck it felt good. He didn’t care what anyone would think, all that filled his mind was his pretty little niece.

Seven hells, the way she would gag and tear up around his cock as he fucked his cock in her mouth. Not giving a shit that they’d be out in public, gods she would probably touch herself too, the little whore she is. He could imagine it all too well, the way her tongue would glide over his sensitive skin. Would she know to lick his slit? Suck on his balls to give him even more pleasure? Even if she did not, he would teach her, corrupt her.

He could feel himself get closer and closer, tugging on his cock faster, his loud breathing filled his chambers, his groans bouncing off the walls. He moved his free hand to massage his stones, a whine leaving his lips at the added stimulation. Imagining it was her. With only a couple more tugs and firmer fondles on his balls, ropes of cum painted his thighs, hands and some on the cold stone floor.

He jerked himself a bit more, to fully empty his satiated balls until he got too sensitive, before fetching a rag to clean his hands and the floor up. Opting for a change of pants either way. Then an idea came to his mind, a sick and disgusting idea. He grabbed his cum covered pants and rolled them up to disguise the item.

He knew exactly what chamber she resided in, it was one of the chambers that was connected to the secluded and utmost secretive halls that Maegor created. And so he moved one of the books in the library, almost no one remained in the halls as it was already close to supper so he had free reign. 

The book allowed for a door to open, hidden as just another bookshelf and Aemond stepped inside, even just the thought of what he was about to do made excitement fill his chest. He used the torch he fetched off one off the walls in the hallways to navigate the dark secret corridors. 

His cum soiled pants still clutched tightly in his hands as he let the flame guide him, soon enough he was certain he had reached the right wall. He opened the small wooden door and entered a small and short hallway, a wooden screen blocking his way, but he discovered he could open it slightly and peer inside, only to be met with a thinner tapestry. 

And pleasantly sensed he could see through the fabric art that hung inside her chamber, and as if the gods had willed it so, she was still out. Her bed was on the opposite side of the room and his mind only filled with more perverted ideas as he realised he could watch her here at night. A new pastime he could enjoy, and she would have no idea.

Placing the torch in an empty holder in the small hallway. He moved the screen and tapestry to the side and strolled over to her bed. He could feel his cock swell alive again as he placed his pants on her bed, not fully spreading it out yet. He wanted to watch her unfold them, and question what the stickiness on it was.

Satisfied with his work, he was certain she must return soon to freshen up before supper. He knew ladies always did. So he left her chambers and waited for her behind the slightly ajar wooden screen, making sure the tapestry covered it again. His perfect little hiding spot. It seemed as if hours passed yet it was only about twenty minutes when the door opened and she entered.

Your POV

“Would you need the help of a handmaiden, your grace?” Ser Erryk politely asked. You shook your head, “That won’t be necessary, thank you. I’ll be quick.” He nodded curtly and closed the door of your chamber behind you. You walked over to the vanity against the wall and found that your household had already unpacked your jewelry, you wanted to change your earrings and necklace for a nicer pair and then would head right to supper. 

When you had finished changing them out, you felt a weird sensation. You peered around the room but of course no one was there, right? You blamed the long morning for your weird feelings but then spotted something on your bed. Has one of the servants readied something for you? You walked over to your bed to find out what it was.

It was a black fabric, leather, and looked like what seemed to be pants. Your face twisted in confusion and grabbed it to unfold them and confirm your suspicion. Further confusion washed over your face as the pants were not only for men but they were dirty. Was this some twisted joke? 

You quickly let go of it and it fell to the floor, you thought of fetching a maid to get it out but then thought against it. What if they thought you had a man in here and your innocence was ruined? It was too big a risk, then your eyes shifted to the fireplace. Filled with disgust you grabbed the leather pants by the end of the leg and dragged it to the flames, throwing in the pants.

The room filled with an uncomfortable smell of the charring leather and you hurriedly went outside, Ser Erryk trailing behind you as you made your way to the dining hall.

Aemond’s POV

His hand undid the laces of his pants as he watched you eye the black material with caution. Palming his cock as you now dropped it to the floor with disgust. His lips fell agape as he tugged on his cock, feeling more aroused and sensitive than ever before. Fuck it felt even better then the very first time he mastrubated. 

He felt his release near when you had thrown the soiled pants in the fire, the smell of burning leather somehow turning him on even more. He stifled his groans with his mouth as he jerked himself to release, his cum painted the floor and his hand, as he was careful not to stain his clean pants this time. 

He cleaned his hand up with his own mouth and left the floor for what it was. He moved his now soft cock back in his breeches. Lacing his pants up again, he started his walk to one of the hallways of the Red Keep, he kept his ear to the unassuming door and heard nothing. He found the small servants hallway empty and quickly made his way to the dining hall.

Your POV

Heads raised as Aemond walked in, a soft satisfied smile on his face. “You're late.” Otto spoke. “I had matters to attend to.” He replied coldly before taking his seat. You avoided his gaze as you could feel it on you and continued picking at the rabbit meat before you. The sticky pants had never left your mind.

Supper was not so much different from your shared meal earlier, still polite conversations and the table almost split in half. But this time your eyes kept glancing back at Aemond. Why was he so content all of a sudden? Maybe he just had a good training in the yard with Cole, as you heard they spent a lot of time training together.

You decide to ignore it and finish the remainder of your meal, before long you were excused once again, and this time decided to head straight to your chambers. A bath and a good book afterwards would calm you. And so it did, after a nice hot bath and slipping into a fresh clean nightgown, you had read a bit of your new found book and lulled into a deep sleep, but still Aemond’s eye felt like it never left you.

The following days were filled with garden visits, sowing work with Helaena and some other ladies of court and avoiding your 'green' family at all costs. But much to your surprise it seemed Alicent and your mother got along pretty well, which could only be bad for you. 

Happy memories of King’s Landing never left your mind at the cold and stormy island of Dragon Stone, but now you missed it and you missed your dragon. So on the fourth day after your arrival, you headed to the dragonpit along with Jace and Luke. You felt like you could stay on dragonback forever, with your brothers flying close to you but the sun was setting and it was time to head back.

After a meal shared with just your brothers as the three of you were too late for supper, you found yourself back in your chambers. But not without some entertainment, one of the ladies of court was a pleasant company, and you felt relief wash over you as her laughter and humorous jokes fell on your ears. 

You were the same age and shared similar personalities, her father was a member of the small council and so she had the pleasure of the Red Keep’s walls protecting her, as well as learning all the gossip and the secrets, which she gladly shares with you. And so she shared all she knew, of how horrible a marriage Helaena and Aegon had, how their children were so unhappy and of putting. 

But then she said something that really caught your attention. “I heard one of the maids the other day, she said she was certain she could hear prince Aemond, well- how do I put this, having… fun? With himself? If you catch my meaning.” She giggled. Your mouth fell open and a loud laugh left you. 

“I do catch your meaning!” You laughed, she couldn’t help but laugh too. You couldn’t believe it, you never knew men did that too. Your knowledge went as far as that they used whores when they had urges. You thought only women did it, since many men didn’t care about women’s pleasure. 

She filled you in on much and more, about how many were certain Aegon has a thing for unflowering maidens and how Larys Clubfoot had an obsession with feet. Much to your dismay, it had grown late and she sadly had to go to her own chambers. As you said your goodbyes, you couldn’t help but feel it again. Like someone was watching you. 

You shook off the feeling and called for your handmaiden to ready you for bed. She took down your hair from your beautiful braids that day, helped you undress and bathe. Then she waved your hair in a single braid and helped you into your nightgown. When she left, you slipped into bed, however tonight, sleep could not find you.

You went over the day, as you usually did when you couldn’t sleep. But your mind kept hanging on to what your new friend said, Aemond pleasuring himself. You tried to think back on your flight today but you couldn’t help it. Why was the thought so erotic to you? You shouldn’t think about your uncle this way but still, your hand snaked down between your thighs.

Your cunt throbbed with desire, and you lifted your ass a bit to lift up your nightgown, as it was a hotter day, you had nothing underneath. Your fingers caressed your folds and you couldn’t help the whimper falling from your lips. But it wasn’t enough, you craved more. Then something occurred to you, you shoved the blankets off you and grabbed your pillow. 

You knelt on the bed and placed the pillow between your thighs, nerves flowing through you as well as excitement. When you thought the pillow was well placed on the long side of it, you sank down on it and leaned forward a bit. When you felt the position was good, you experimentally grinded your clit against it.

An uncontrollable moan left your lips and you hoped Ser Erryk hadn’t heard anything, you stilled for a moment but nothing happened, so you resumed. You rolled your hips against the pillow again and you allowed for soft whines to leave your lips. The rough but soft enough fabric against your clit had your mind dazed.

You humped the pillow like a bunny in heat, your clit getting the perfect stimulation from your pillow. Soft moans left you as you chased your release and you couldn’t help but imagine your dear uncle. So you let it consume you and let your desire for him flow through you. It made you burn with arousal and you imagined you were humping his lap instead. 

It didn’t take long for your peak to overcome you, and you frantically humped the pillow as you were near. The bed creaked with your wild movements and you couldn’t help but moan his name, you were so so close. With a louder whine of ‘Aemond, I’m cumming uncle!’ Your orgasm exploded and your thighs clenched the pillow between them hard. And with a few more grinds, you let yourself fall to your side, mind completely fogged and in bliss.

Then a loud scratch of wood on stone, pulled you out of your daze. You gasped and quickly pulled your blankets over yourself to cover your nakedness. Your eyes were met with Aemond’s single one as he emerged from behind the screen, he walked over to the foot of your bed.

“W-what are you doing here? Get out, at once, get out.” You stammered. But he just smiled. “Is that what you wish? I could give you far more pleasure than your pillow ever could niece.” Your face fell at his words and you held your breath as he came over to the side of your bed. “I heard what you and your little friend talked about, and I bet that it turned you on, didn’t it.” 

It was hard to deny since you just came with his name on your lips but you couldn’t speak. Frozen in shock. “Hm. Don’t worry, I think about you too, when I’m having fun with myself.” He smiled. Realisation dawned on your face. “The pants.” Aemond grinned. “A little gift from me, did you like it?”

You couldn’t help but feel wet at the thought that they were from him, but you quickly reprimanded yourself. It was wrong, not only him being here but everything about this was wrong. “Oh come on, you moaned my name so sweetly just now. Don’t you want your Kepus to actually pleasure you?” You could only shake your head. 

“Aemond- no, no it’s wrong. We can’t.” He chuckled in response. “Are we going to ignore that your mother is married to her uncle? So how is it wrong? You are mine. And I will have you.” He then raised his knee and climbed on your bed, but you made no move to run from him. Too excited to see what he would do next. “I see you are staying put, you can say no all you want, but I know how much you want me, as much as I want you.” 

“Ivestragon nyke, gaomagon ao gīmigon īlva muña ēngos?” Tell me, do you know our mother tongue? You nodded, “Gaoman Kepus.” I do uncle. “Sȳz riña.” Good girl. Aemond smiled. Then his hand moved to the edge of your blanket which you were still using to cover yourself. He pulled it off you and let his eye roam over your naked form.

“Fuck.” He whispered, he was already wet in his pants due to the amount of precum that leaked out of him at the sight of your humping, but now he couldn’t wait. “Gaomagon ao pendagon kostā gūrogon nyke? Kostagon mazemā aōha Kepus?” Do you think you can take me? Can you take your uncle? You knew the weight of his words but desire and lust clouded your senses, your will to refuse.

“Kessa, Nyke jorrāelagon ao sīr olvie Kepus.” Yes, I need you so much uncle. He hurriedly unlaced his pants at your words and took his cock from his breeches, stroking himself at the sight of your tits. But he was a gentleman and wouldn’t treat you like a whore. So he fully undressed, and crawled on top of you. 

“Vūjigon nyke tala.” Kiss me niece. You lifted your head to meet his lips, you gave him a peck but that did not satisfy him, he pulled you back and kissed you with greed. His lips harshly moving against you, his hand then massaged your breast, making you gasp against his lips. Then his tongue invaded your mouth.

His hand moved to your cunt and he let his finger inside. He let go of your lips so that the both of you could catch your breath. “Still wet for me aren’t you, so warm and slick.” He groaned, retreating his finger to grab the base of his cock instead. “Kostilus Kepus.” Please uncle. 

He had mercy, and let the tip of his cock glide through your folds, before carefully prodding in his tip. He moved just the tip in and out of you for a while, letting you get accustomed to the new sensation. But you were never one for patience. “Sepār gūrogon nyke Kepus, gūrogon nyke. Mazverdagon nyke aōhon” Just take me uncle, take me. Make me yours. 

He shuddered at your words, and let his length fully sheath inside of you, the both of you moaning at the stretch and tightness. When he noticed you weren’t in much pain he began to move, rubbing your pearl as he thrusted up into you. You bit your lip to keep as quiet as possible, but the way you uncle was fucking you, made that quite hard.

He groaned and moaned shamelessly. The squelching of your shared juices and the creaking of your bed enveloping your chamber. Soon he sped up his movements and his balls slapped loudly against your ass. Only adding to the sensation. “Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuhon, leghagon ao, mazverdagon aōha iemny hōzigon.” I will make you mine, fill you, make your belly swell. 

You finally audibly moaned at his words and it earned you a groan from him. Your uncle was filling you up so good, who could blame you? His cock pounding into you as he rubbed your sensitive clit made you actually see stars as you squeezed your eyes shut. And for the second time tonight, you moaned his name. Your tight walls clenching around his cock making him pant louder and roll his eye back.

He didn’t stop as you came down from your peak, grinding his hips fiercely against you when he cried out your name, his warm seed filling you. He humped his high out a bit and made sure to fully empty himself. When he had calmed too, he removed his now soft cock out of you, making you wince. “Gaomagon daor zūgagon, kesā daor jikagon arlī naejot Dragon Stone.” Do not fear, you will not go back to Dragon Stone.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

Isagi - childhood best friends, friends to lovers, mutual pining, athlete x mathlete

“You're an idiot,” you mutter, wiping the grime off his knee. “Going out on a rainy day just to play soccer? You're going to get sick along with these scrapes and mud.”

He grinned at you. “I think that's way better than staying inside all day and studying, of all things. There's a reason you're so unathletic.”

“And there's also a reason why you're failing all your classes.”

“Ouch. Thanks, love you too.”

Bachira - childhood best friends, “Am I weird?” “Yeah, but so what, everyone's weird”, mutual pining

“Why are you always helping me?”

You stopped wrapping the bandage around his arm for a moment, looking up at him. Tears filled his large amber eyes. “Because everyone's weird, and yet they're bullying you just because you express it differently. I think they're mean.”

“...you're very nice. I like you a lot.” he muttered, wiping his muddy hands on his pants.

“Uh-huh.”

Chigiri - tomboy x femboy, enemies to lovers, “I hate you (I'm so in love with you)”

“God, you're so damn annoying!”

“Well, same goes to you! Who cares if my hair is long? Your hair is so cropped and short that you look like a boy!”

“Well, your hair is so long that you look like a girl! What, you want a period or something?”

“Fuck no!”

Your classmates peeked from behind. “They're arguing over hair again…”

Kunigami - next door neighbors, “You Belong With Me”, best friends to lovers

“You're the best, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. You tell me that every day.”

“And I mean it every time.”

You burst out laughing. God, he was so serious about this, it was hilarious. “What? What's so funny?”

Reo - arranged marriage, mutual pining, childhood best friends

“And you--you went out in the freezing rain because you saw a rock that you thought was pretty?”

“You're never impressed whenever I buy you jewelry or expensive food, so maybe this would make you happy…?”

“Happy? Reo, this is so sweet! Thanks, I love you so much!” You exclaimed, pinching both of his cheeks. He huffed, narrowing his eyes.

“Girls are so weird.”

Nagi - hardworking smart x lazy smart, deskmates, eventual friends, slowburn

“I feel tired just looking at you. It must be such a hassle to study.” Nagi muttered, the clicking of his console reaching your ears.

“You're so lucky. You get 90's and 100's without even trying.” You muttered. He turned his head from the soft pillow of your bed.

“What? School is so easy.”

“You're so annoying.”

“What?”

Barou - “I hate you (I'm so in love with you)”, opposite of his type, grumpy x sunshine

Barou looked close to fainting as he entered your room. “This…is your room?”

Clothes were everywhere, your bed was unmade, and your curtains were still closed. “Yeah. I'm too lazy to clean it, I hope you don't mind. Anyways, how do you want to do the proj--”

But he seemed more invested in picking up, cleaning, and folding your clothes rather than the project worth literally 50% of your grade.

“Uhhhh, Barou?”

Rin - childhood best friends, sunshine x grumpy, mutual pining (I've written wayyyyy to many Rin fics to write another one rn)

Karasu - ACADEMIC RIVALS. childhood best friends (they don't admit it), slowburn, mutual pining (Same with Rin)

Shidou - serious head of the student council (with childhood trauma) x person who brings the fun out of them (too lazy to write for him rn lmao)

Sae - childhood crush, (not so) secret admirer, next door neighbors, mutual pining (same with Rin)

Aiku - “Casual" (both are mutually in love), misunderstandings, slowburn (I don't respect him enough to write one for him right now)

Kaiser - CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS. mutual pining, slowburn (Same as rin)

Ness - childhood best friends, “am I weird?” “yeah, but so what, everyone's weird”, mutual pining (Too lazy to write)

[lovebugism]

could i request “mean” eddie and reader going swimming somewhere and maybe she’s in her swimsuit and someone says something that makes him jealous? also just want to say i love you writing sm!!! <3

hi, lovely! thanks so much for your request and your kind words!! i hope you like it xoxo (1.7k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Eddie can’t stop staring at you.

It’s not like it’s his fault, though. You’re all sprawled out beside him in a plastic lounge chair, clad only in a bathing suit that leaves little to the imagination. It’s an all-black number with little white bats all over it, clinging to you like it was made to do it.

It’s a wonder the two of you even made it to Hawkins Community Pool, honestly. Eddie's thoughts verge on obscene at the sight of you. But then again, they tend to when you're on his mind.

You lay with your hands folded above your head, totally surrendering yourself to the golden sunlight. It gives Eddie the opportunity to gaze at you fully — even though sometimes he thinks he’s already memorized you by now.

He analyzes you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you, like you’re the last thing he’ll ever see.

The pudge of the top of your breast spills over the hem of your bikini. The skin of your stomach bulges underneath your high-waisted bottoms. The fullness of your thighs begins to glow beneath the glittering daylight.

He commits all of this to memory and figures maybe that’s what the sun’s doing too, as it paints your skin more golden.

He doesn’t know how he got you. 

But he hopes your eyes are closed behind your thick glasses. Or, at the very least, that they block your view of him. Eddie knows he’s unabashedly staring at you, but he also knows he can’t stop. He doesn’t want his ogling to be met with your teasing — even if he is deserving of it.

The Lord of the Rings book in his hands goes quickly abandoned. It’s a feat he even made it to page fifty. He’s flipped through it enough times to memorize it, though. Sort of like you.

Like the novel, he could read you a million times and never get bored. The only real difference is he finds you much, much sexier than printed words on a page.

“I can feel you staring, you know?” 

Your voice jolts him from his stupor, light and golden like the slowly setting sun. Your words are nearly drowned out by the sounds of the bustling pool — screaming kids, splashing water, and people trying to converse over it all.

Eddie’s far too attuned to you not to hear you, though.

You’re not looking at him, but he can see the corner of your lip quirk in a slight half-smile.

“Can you?” he deadpans, turning back to his book like he hadn’t been looking at you at all.

The words are all mush, though. He’ll blame it on the stifling summer heat. He was the idiot out here in a black t-shirt and trunks, after all.

“Yeah,” you nod.

He sees your smile completely when you turn to look at him. The sun pierces through your amber lenses, making your eyes more visible beneath them. You’ve got one eye squinted to evade the blinding light. The beam you wear is somehow brighter.

“’S like spidey senses, you know? I can always tell when you’re looking at me, Munson.”

Eddie wants to be embarrassed at the thought. He knows that you’re joking — if only just the slightest bit — but it makes him think about all the other times he’s shamelessly gawked at you. He spent years doing it before you ever got together.

Many of his high school years were spent paying more attention to you than his homework. He thinks maybe that’s why he had such a hard time graduating.

“You’re saying my girlfriend’s a superhero?” the boy jokes, brows raised behind his curly bangs and chocolate eyes going wide. They look more golden in the sunlight, and they twinkle with mischief.

“Uh-huh,” you hum with a wider smile than before. “You didn’t know?”

He shakes his head. Some of his curls still stick to him, damp with the sweat beading on his milky skin. “No. I can confidently say that I didn’t.”

“Good. It was supposed to be a secret, anyway.”

Eddie doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does.

It’s a sharp exhale through his nose more than anything, paired with a crooked pink smile. He wishes he knew how much of a dork you were a year ago. He might’ve asked you out sooner.

“Brush up on your spidey senses before you go out patrolling the neighborhood, alright, Spiderwoman?” he jests in a monotone, turning the page of his book even though he hadn’t actually read it. “’Cause I totally wasn’t staring at you.”

You know he’s lying.

And it’s not just because you could feel it — even though you think his button-eyed gaze can be palpable in its attentiveness at times. But what you lacked in superhero senses, you made up for in awareness of all things Eddie Munson. 

You knew when he got quiet that he was in his own head. And being that you hadn’t heard a single page turn in several minutes, you figured his eyes must’ve been on something other than the book in his hands.

Your quip was hardly more than a lucky guess, really.

“Good,” you hum as you flip over onto your stomach. Your backside had been completely deprived of sunlight before now. You prop yourself up on your elbows and lift your sunglasses to the top of your head. Your teasing gaze is no longer amber-coated. “‘Cause that would mean you find me attractive.”

“And that would just be a travesty, wouldn’t it?” Eddie scoffs.

He looks over at you again and finds your changed position. Your back is pointed towards the sun now, the very bottom of your ass on full display. Your thighs are indented softly from the slatted chair beneath you.

He can’t pry his eyes off the combination of the two despite knowing you’re watching him right back.

“It’s okay if you have the hots for me, Eds,” you tell him, feigning sympathy. “I’d only make fun of you a little bit.”

Eddie stays silent for half a moment too long, then shakes his head to dismiss the thought. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. It’s just the heat.”

You scoff. “Yeah. Let’s blame the way you’re ogling at me on sunstroke.”

He still finds it a bit difficult to be your boyfriend sometimes — or just a boyfriend. And it’s not because of you. Not in the slightest. He just sort of put a wall around himself when he was younger. He’s been behind it so long he’s forgotten how to let people back in.  

And even though he hasn’t said it yet, he loves the goddamn shit outta you. But for some reason, he can’t let himself be vulnerable in that way — can’t even ask to touch you without coming up with some lame excuse that covers up all his vulnerable-ness.

“You, uh… You put sunscreen on, right?” he asks, shifting slightly in his chair. He spares a brief glance your way from the corner of his eye, halfway concealed by the fluffy brown curls framing his face.

“Yeah?” you answer with pinched brows. “Right after I forced you to put some on, remember?”

He scrunches his nose as he squints at you. It takes everything in you not to lean over and kiss the tip of it. “I don’t know,” the boy singsongs as he tilts his head to his shoulder. “I don’t remember it, actually…”

“Then maybe you’re the one that needs to get checked out, Eds.”

“I think I should just put some lotion on your back,” he summarizes with a shrug, already rising from his chair to swing his legs over the side of it. “You know, just to be safe.”

The teasing glint in his eyes makes you grin. You trap your bottom lip between your teeth to dim its brightness, lest how happy he makes you go to his head.

Your feet lift in their air and twist together with a girlish excitement. It makes your ass wiggle gently. Eddie swears you’re doing it just to tease him.

“Get my legs, too, while you’re at, yeah?” you quip.

Eddie reaches for the tote beside your chair with an effervescence that can only be described as a boy on Christmas morning — his present: the opportunity to touch you. He rises again with the blue bottle in his hand.

A low whistle sounds from behind the both of you.

“Looking good, sweetheart,” Billy compliments with a smirk as he walks by your chair. He’s in his lifeguard uniform — a pair of red swim trunks and his toned, golden torso.

He lifts his sunglasses from his face and rests them on top of his curled mullet. His crystal blue eyes gape at you, far sharper than Eddie’s chocolate syrup ones.

“Bite me, Hargrove,” you deadpan in response.

“I like the sound of that,” he laughs, chomping spearmint gum between his pearly white teeth. He spins on his flip-flops and walks backward to keep ogling at you. “Just give me the word and I’m yours, darlin’.”

He disappears in the bustling crowd after that, fading like rubbed-in sunscreen. You forget about him the second he’s gone.

He’s always been an asshole like that. It’d be a rookie mistake to give more than half a shit about him. But Eddie still feels the boy’s presence like a mean, lean, green monster full of envy. It’s like he’s still there — close enough to punch, even.

He isn’t sure if it’s the heat or if he’s actually seeing red.

“What an asshole,” you murmur under your breath.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Eddie snaps.

“Whoa,” you drawl within a laugh. “Slow your roll, tiger.”

The boy's eyes go wide as he looks over at you again. “I’m not even sure what I just said, honestly.”

“You’re a dork who plays Dungeons and Dragons, remember? You can’t start talking about fighting Billy Hargrove.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right,” he sighs, rigid body finally loosening with the heavy exhale. He squints at you after. “You don’t think I could take him?”

“I don’t thank you have to,” you lilt.

“That’s such a non-answer, babe.”

“I’m just saying,” you giggle with a shrug. “I’m asking you to feel me up, Eds. Not that creep.”

A rosy smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, smug and full of love.

You meet it with a grin of your own. 

“C’mon, I’m burning to a crisp over here,” you urge, shifting in the chair just to make your thighs jiggle in the way you know Eddie likes.

His eyes glaze over at the sight — one he’s seen a million times now — and you know it’s done the trick.

“Let’s give Hargrove a show, yeah?”

[tetzoro]

self indulgent fluff because this man makes me yearn hehe divider by @/cafekitsune ! — WC : 748

“noooo, tetsu.” you clutch onto him tighter, head still resting on his chest. you can hear the rumble of his laugh as he eases back down into his spot right next to you. “don’t go.”

“i have to, sweetheart.” kuroo rubs your back tenderly, pressing a chaste kiss on the top of your head. it was a weeknight and both of you had to be up early for work in the morning.

“you don’t want to stay?” a childish question that you can’t help but ask, a pout lining your lips. you must look absolutely pitiful judging by the look he’s giving you.

“you know i want to.” his arms tighten around you in a small apology. you can sense the dreaded ‘but’ ready to spill from the tip of his tongue so you beat him to the punch.

“so stay.” you grin up at him, chin resting on his chest. the close proximity has his eyes softening around the edges, mouth opening and closing as he tries to explain his reasoning for going. but all logic gets thrown at the window when he catches the hopeful look you cast at him.

“okay.” kuroo gives in. how could he not? saying no to you was an impossible task. “i’ll just get up earlier so i can go home and change.”

“yay! thank you tetsu.” you jolt up, planting kisses all over his face. he can’t help but laugh at your sudden burst of energy, relishing in all the love you pour onto him.

“of course.” kuroo gives you a kiss on the lips, pulling back just so he could see your smile. “im the best boyfriend ever after all.”

“yeah, yeah.” you giggle.

the two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, your mind beginning to wander a little as an idea pops in your head. it’s almost like he can see the gears turning, a little lightbulb popping up and demanding attention.

“maybe…” you start but trail off, losing whatever nerve you had.

“maybe?” kuroo gently caresses your cheek, encouraging you to continue.

“maybe you could keep some work clothes here? you know…” you trail off again. “you know so you don’t have to rush home to change in the future.”

“and show up to work together?” he grins, sitting up, back resting against the headboard as he pulls you into his lap. “my my, what a scandal. what will the people say?”

“tetsu, i’m pretty sure the whole office knows we’re dating.” you roll your eyes.

kuroo’s eyebrows dramatically shot up far behind his bangs. he was well versed in whatever drama was circulating around the office, a secret fiend for gossip so you knew damn well he’s heard the rumors too. and yet…

“oh yeah? how do you know?” the pads of kuroo’s fingertips patter down along your back as he watches you carefully — catlike instincts trained onto you.

“because people gossip and we aren’t exactly the most discreet.”

“we are discreet!” kuroo looks mildly offended and if you didn’t know him so well, you think you’d had actually struck a nerve.

“babe, they caught us kissing at the the last work party.” you poke his cheek. “not to mention what some of them have been subjected to at happy hour.”

“you make it sound like we’re going at it 24/7 in the office, jeez.” he pouts, looking off to the side.

“i’m just telling you how it is.” you shrug, a teasing smile gracing your features. “i suppose you just can’t keep your hands off me.”

“why you little…” he tickles your side, causing you to giggle and squirm in his lap. after a moment he shows mercy and relents, nuzzling his nose against your face.

“so yeah, i don’t think it would be a big deal if we started going to work together.” you conclude, your voice just above a whisper now. kuroo pretends to ponder it for a moment before something else shifts in his amber eyes.

“noted.” he smirks, half lidded eyes set on you. “you know, you kinda owe me now for staying the night.”

“how’s that?”

“i’ve got to get up extra early, forgo my run and everything. you know how important cardio is to me.” he leans forward, lips ghosting your own as you suck in a bated breath.

“i guess we’ll have to find a suitable alternative for you then.” you pivot, straddling his lap and running your hands through his messy ink hair.

“oh i have a few ideas.” kuroo smirks, closing the gap between you as his lips touch yours.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Being the leader of your platoon and fucking you at the same time isn't something Simon wants paraded around, for both of your benefit as trouble could come from such a relationship. But keeping it a secret has become a problem as you've been out on a mission for a couple months with no physical contact to be had. The moment you return Simon has to have you...even though you are both filthy as fuck.

Authors Note: Nothing can stop me from getting at this man... Nothing.

Word Count: 5 k

Warnings:

Adjusting himself lower in his seat to get more comfortable, Simon spread his legs a little wider while stretching one out straight to hide and accommodate the growing bulge between his legs. The stiflingly humid air of the cabin inside the aircraft was not helping his predicament. Hungry eyes surveyed his team inside the plane one by one, moving from face to familiar face until he landed on the one he had been secretly looking for: yours. 

On the opposite side, towards the cockpit of the aircraft was where you sat as that starving wolf caught you in his sights. The cool and collected Lieutenant shifted again restlessly as his gaze lingered on your face with only one thing going through his mind, the same thing that had been there the entire fucking duration of this mission. Lucky for him that his mask afforded him the luxury of keeping his eyes covered in shadow so that he could watch you without looking too suspicious to those around.

Your lips upturned into a smile as you chatted with the private to your left, passing the time until you all returned to base and Simon could not help but feel a twinge of jealousy. It should be him that you were sitting next to, close enough that he could reach a sneaky hand across his lap to squeeze onto your thigh or lean in and whisper all the filthy things he wanted to do with you the second you both got the chance, but secrecy was the name of the game so that wasn’t an option.

Still, it wasn’t as if he was complaining about getting to look at you from afar. As he watched you go about business as usual, his mouth began to salivate as his amber eyes followed the curve of those full, plump lips through their movements as you spoke, that gnawing hunger growing stronger by the second as he wondered how fucking good they would taste against his own once he got them again. So lost in his own thoughts, daydreaming scenarios of how it would happen he became oblivious to the world around him.

Suddenly that cold awareness that he was being watched brought him back into the interior of the plane and as he refocused his eyes he was met with yours staring straight back at him. Taking your bottom lip into your mouth you bit it coyly before shooting him a smirk sly enough to match a foxes, causing the Lieutenant's pulse to quicken in his veins. Turning his head as he cleared his throat, he tried to focus on something else, but his heartbeat continued to pound heavy in his chest.

Were you thinking the same things? Were you burning for him just as much as he was burning for you?

It’d been a hot fucking minute since he had felt your touch and the ache in his cock was beginning to keep him at a constant level of agitation that left him with a short fucking fuse his team was beginning to notice. Sure his hand was fine, it did the trick in a pinch, but to really sate the serpent he needed your moist, tight cunt to bury himself in and the agony of having to wait to have you all to himself had been on his mind even more lately.

Ten weeks, ten goddamn weeks that he could look, but not touch; fantasize, but not indulge, crave, but never sait and fuck was it damn near impossible now to dismiss those visions of you breathless and naked, whimpering under him in his bed that ran rampant through his mind. Focusing on the task at hand was top priority of course, but Simon was a master at multitasking  and being in such close proximity to all that temptation while trying to remain professional and hide away the fact that you two were involved had caused his mind to constantly wander back to you.  

Who gave you the goddamn right to be such a delicious distraction? 

It had taken a herculean effort on his part to divert his gaze and steady his mind and though he had a modicum of success up until today, he found that he could not maintain that calm any longer. The mission had been lucrative and through the haze of adrenaline, something inside Simon had awoken in a fury so severe that enough was enough; he had to have you as soon as physically possible no matter what.

There was no more time.  

ETA ten minutes till return to base the update hit his headset and Simon took a deep breath; the agonizing torture was almost over and the gears began to turn on just how he would get you alone because waiting a minute more than necessary was no longer an option. Careful not to draw attention, he adjusted the crotch of his pants with his hand; good thing his uniform was on the baggy side or else he would definitely be giving a fucking show right about now. 

The second the craft landed everyone was itching to get out of that stifling atmosphere and make their way outside where they could catch a breeze. As the back of the plane lowered, people were already scrambling out and into the evening sun. One by one Simon watched as his squad deployed from the craft until only a few stragglers remained, one of which was the exact person he needed. 

“Specialist Y/L/N,” he called out to you as he made his approach, trying to meter his gruff tone so that he would not sound too excited while there were others still present.

“Sir?” you returned in proper fashion as you turned to face him, heart skipping a beat. 

So close, so fucking close. Just a little more and he’d have you again. “Need to have a word with ya, in private,” he stated plainly.

You gave him one short nod. “Of course, sir,” you said, giving the private you were speaking with the go ahead to leave you two alone and off they went with the last of your team to leave you both in seclusion completely unaware of what was really going on.  

…as if they couldn’t see how the Lieutenant’s gaze always seemed to linger a bit too long on you or how whenever you two were near there was a noticeable tension in the air.

Simon clocked the area, watching as the last of the privates and other personnel moved on further into the base and as soon as he was sure you two were alone, he closed the respectful distance between your bodies as his hand clasped on the buckle of your uniform to pull you in close.

“It’s been a long fuckin’ while, sweetheart,” he said, that gruff tone dripping with need.

You stared back up at him, the heat perking in your cheeks as your heartbeat thudded in your ears. “Too long,” you agreed.

“Gettin’ harder and harder to contain myself when I’ve gone that long without ya,” his fingers slid around just over the inner edge of your waistband causing tiny pinpricks of cold sweat to tingle along the back of your neck. “All ‘a this just out of my fuckin’ reach; too many eyes watchin’ us constantly that I can’t even touch ya without some bastard catchin’ us. It’s been hell.”

“I’ve been squeezing my thighs together all flight, but…” you admitted before you turned your head to the right and then the left before coming back to his face, “...seems we’re alone now.” Your breath hitched in your chest as you waited for what he was gonna do next. 

The day was warm, but as you both stood there with weeks worth of pent up sexual tension the air seemed to thicken until it was too hard to breathe. Simon paused as if weighing out something in his mind, his eyes drifting down your face slowly along four distinct points to stop and focus on your mouth before coming back up and meeting your gaze.

Without warning that 6’4” wall of muscle was on your body and shoving you by the hips until your back hit against the interior wall of the plane. Lightning fast, Simon wrenched the bottom of his mask up just over his nose, catching your chin in his grasp as he jerked it up and met your lips with a fiery intensity that instantly made your knees buckle and your mind short circuit. Sloppy embraces of his mouth against yours aggressively stole kiss after burning kiss while a thick layer of light brown stubble that covered his cheeks and along his jawline, a product of weeks without a razor at hand, pricked against your face as he pressed his firmly against your own. 

All you could taste was the sharp bite of tobacco as his thick tongue thrust past your lips and into the interior of that warm, wet cavern where it slithered over your tongue and towards your throat. Mouth open, eyes closed, he completely filled you full until you nearly choked on that determined bit of muscle, a kiss that was all encompassing and rough. His cracked lips ground over the surface of yours until they were raw and bruised to match.

With his body pressed into the curves of your own, you repositioned your right leg so that your thigh nestled up into the crotch of his pants. God he was hard, throbbing and straining into the meat of your thigh. He grunted heavy into your mouth as his grip tightened on your jaw, tilting his hips inward so that he could ground his bulge against your leg, his cock so stiff he was about to rip a hole straight through the fabric. 

“Can’t wait, need ya right fuckin’ now,” he panted desperately through the breaks in your mouth’s connection, drunk on your taste. The hand that was free slithered around the small of your back and up under your uniform jacket through the perspiration coating your skin to find its way inside your pants.   

“We’ve been baking for a couple days now, wouldn’t you rather I had a shower first?” you questioned and punctuated it with a moan as his palm found purchase on the curve of your ass and gave it a hard squeeze with as much as he could grab.

There was no hesitation, not a single fucking second passed where he even had to think about it. “Fuck gettin’ clean; no need for what I plan on doin’ to ya.”  

Christ he was filthy; honestly you both were. Not much showering out in the field this time around and it had been a good few days of sweating on the tail end that culminated in a distinct scent that radiated off his skin, mixing with the pungent aroma of gunpowder and the spicy sting of cigarettes on his breath; it was an olfactory experience that should have made your skin crawl, but you found the opposite.

You were just as needy for him even if he was absolutely disgusting. Maybe even more so.

“Where?” you groaned, needing him to make up his mind quickly. 

Ripping his mouth away from yours, he watched a string of spittle glisten as it was pulled from your lips before concealing his face again so that you could move. No words needed as he took your hand and led you out into the evening sun, his booted steps fast and heavy. The munitions depot was barely a two minute walk from where you were now and that was about all the waiting could tolerate. 

It was a goddamn miracle that the place was empty for the moment and quickly he used his clearance to enter, the sound of the door thudding open as he flung it while pulling you inside rang through the quiet space. The latch had barely clicked before he was picking you up and setting you on the nearest table, swiping away anything on the surface that would get in his way. You matched his speed as your hands were on the cloth of his mask to pull the damned thing off so you could finally see him properly for the first time in months. 

You tossed the damp facial covering to the ground and stared back into that face you’d missed all this time. Soggy dirty blonde locks clung to his head, plastered down from a combination of his mask and the sweat glistening over his face. The black rimming his eyes shimmered wet-like as it collected moisture from his forehead. Even in this state he was a goddamn gorgeous specimen. It could very well have just been you, but shit did he make filthy look good. 

“What are you waiting for?” you questioned back with a cocky raise of your eyebrow.

 

Simon smirked and dove right back in; he didn’t need to be told at all, let alone twice to get his fill. Heated kisses burned your raw mouth as he pressed your lips together hard so that your nose was buried in his face. As your lips danced, those large hands pawed harshly at your body to go up and under your uniform, ripping through the buttons to reach the t-shirt underneath, parting through the fabric to search for any bare piece of skin that he could find. Gloves already off, the pads of his calloused fingertips drug across the smooth flesh of your stomach, abrading the skin as they moved up towards your chest, tugging your t-shirt to stretch it to its limits. His blunt nails nicked you a few times, making you hiss into his mouth as they left red, raised marks behind.

A little souvenir to take with you the next few days to remember him by. Good, you’d cherish them until they’d dissipate; it had been too long since you’d worn his signature.

Feeling around up under the fabric was nice, but these clothes had to go; your body had been hidden by them for far too long and he was tired of knowing exactly what lay under there but not being able to see it. He jerked off the outer layer of your uniform before tearing your shirt up and over your head. Free of the barrier he pushed you back down onto the tabletop, your legs wrapping around his hips as he gripped into yours to pull you flush against him so that you were being pierced by his cock through his clothes. 

One more quick rough kiss before his lips were trailing down the side of your neck and across your chest, stopping so that he could fill his mouth with as much of your tits as he could fit without suffocating. The sweat made your flesh salty to the taste and as he sucked hard on the fullness of your breasts, one after the other, it filled his mouth. 

That agile tongue of his flicked around each nipple, circling around the areolas until that pleasure center in your brain lit up and had your back arching to push your tits further onto his face. Simon snarled into your chest so that you could feel the sound vibrate through you as the feeling of being enveloped by all that supple, yielding flesh made him even more feral. Goddammit, the more he sucked in the more he wanted until the pressure made the roof of his mouth sting and yet he held out longer still just to be sure he had had enough.

No sense in rushing… 

Emerging from you gulping for air, eye black smudged across his eyes and nose, he did not stop as he continued down the line of your body with his exploring lips: down your chest and over your stomach to just below your belly button. “Ya feel so fuckin’ good, baby,” he stuttered with a groan low and guttural. “So fuckin’ good.”

But it wasn’t anywhere near enough for him yet. With a grunt he wrestled the clothing off of his top half, thick chest and torso speckled with perspiration glistening through the hair covering him as he stared down over top of you, those strong hands making quick work of your belt until it hung loose from the loops. The scent of his heady musk intoxicated you now that it was no longer contained by his clothing, something in the zesty notes made your mouth water uncontrollably.

Flicking his eyes back up to your face he licked his lips before bending over your lower half. “I need more,” the primal growl made your body shiver as he took the bit of cloth around the button of your pants into his teeth and ripped at it until he had them undone.

Simon pulled them off and threw them down to the ground and out of his fucking way to then again bend over your torso, placing heated kisses to your hips as this time his mouth took hold of the waistband of your panties and keeping them secure in between his lips he lowered himself onto his knees, taking them with him until they were down around your ankles and he could slip them off. 

Immediately one of those large hands palmed your right thigh to bring it to his mouth as he leaned his face to it, teeth ready to gnaw at the tender, plump meat. Bites sunk in firmly, but not too hard and his unkempt stubble rubbed over the indentations as he went along until you felt like your skin was on fire.  

“Fuck,” you whimpered into the air as a rush of contradicting sensations flooded your body to overload your senses. Your hips writhed wildly the higher he went up that tender inner thigh until he stopped right at the top of your leg. You knew what was coming, knew what he was going to do, and though you may have been hesitant due to your lack of proper hygiene, if Lt. Simon Riley wanted something he was going to get it no matter what.

Your untamed bank beckoned him toward it, a tempting treat no matter what state it was in; once he had it locked in his sights there was no backing away. He was feral for it, starved for it, and with his hand on your thighs he held them apart in a firm grip as he moved in without hesitation. Simon was used to wearing things to cover his face and though there were certain things that he enjoyed more than others, wearing you would always be his favorite.

Once Simon got nestled against you, there wasn’t a goddamn thing that could pry him away. Hot, muggy moisture coated his face from between your thighs as he lapped and lapped at the silky inner walls of your pussy with a weighty tongue, starting with the tip and then using the pad to press firmly up against your clit so you’d buck over his face. With his hand, he pushed down on your pubic bone as he worked until he had you mewling like a kitten. 

“Mmm,” he pleasantly hummed against you, that circling tongue being coated in the sharp tang of your juices as it took its sweet time to draw you closer and closer to the edge like a man obsessed. When it came to making your squeal, there was nothing else on his mind except whatever he could do to make you come harder. 

Shifting below you, he knew what needed to be done about that. Your legs were on the move then as Simon situated his shoulders under your knees, staying locked to you as he sat up taller now that you were completely strapped to him to tilt your pelvis up. In this position, as his tongue focused solely on romancing your clit, his fingers could enter you and stroke that bundle of nerves inside as well. 

Fuck he wasn’t playing around with you this time. If a complete mess was what he wanted to make of you then this was the way to do it, overstimulating you to the point of insanity. Minutes passed without a single sign of him losing stamina or wanting to surface, so lost in the ecstasy of being encapsulated by your thighs pressing around his ears as you squirmed and jerked each time a new point of pleasure was plucked. There was no one here that knew your body better than him and each second that ticked away that warmth in your abdomen gathered.

Sticky and wet, breathless and vibrating with the euphoria of being overwhelmed with that hulking man, it wasn’t long after that you had finally made it to the ledge. Simon could feel it around his fingers, the walls of your cunt becoming engorged and contracting the longer he continued to stroke them deep inside you as your legs began to shake and hit his ears- exactly what he was looking for. It wouldn’t be long now and his face would be dripping with your cum. Steady was the name of his game from this point, making sure not to make a move out of place or rush to reach the finish line. Your body knew the way and with each flick of his tongue and stroke of his fingers it brought you to the precipice just as designed. 

And then you fell silent and he knew it was there. The warmth in your abdomen exploded and shot towards the top of your head as you fell back flush against the table with eyes shut tight and you cried out as your body wriggled and writhed over Simon’s face. Slipping his fingers out of you he gripped hard into your hips to hold you to his face as he sucked on your clit until you rode out the pleasure to its end.

Only then did he let you go.

Standing back up Simon wiped away the moist sign of your orgasm from around his mouth with the back of his hand, a proud gleam in his brown eyes. Screw anyone who said that man couldn’t eat; he could devour you for hours and never have enough. That would be revisited later when time was more available and he could have you relaxed in his bed to make you come multiple times without coming up fully for air. Now he desperately needed to be inside of you.

“Ya ready for me sweetheart?” he said as the sound of his belt buckle jingling hit your ears and you picked your head back up to look at him. 

“I need it Simon, please,” you pleaded through shaky breaths.

You watched with a hungry gaze as he pulled his pants down enough to hang loosely around his hips so that it would release that beast of a cock. A bit of precum sparkled from the tip and he used it to coat himself with a few strokes of his hand; too much and he might lose it. Then he pounced, moving back in between your legs and taking one to place on his shoulder as he aligned the head with your entrance. 

It poked near the sensitive hole as he slowly began to insert it. The tip slipped in with a groan from both of you; fucking hell he had missed how you were so tight. Even just that tiny bit pushed harshly at the walls of your core as it stretched you out to accommodate him. You’d missed how big he was and how full he’d make you soon enough. 

He took a breath to calm himself, too much sensation too quick. “Goddamn baby, forgot how fuckin’ amazin’ ya feel,” he sighed. “It’s been a minute, ya think ya can still take it all?” 

You nodded your head as you swallowed hard to prepare yourself to take him.

“Good girl, just breathe for me,” he grunted as he pulled your body down onto his cock all the way to the base. “That’s it, breathe. T-that’s… fuckin’ hell.” 

Your fingertips dug into the muscles along his back as you were filled to the brim, your walls struggling to accommodate such an impressive object after this extensive break. The sudden, overwhelming pressure even caused Simon to stagger where he stood.

“Goddammit, sweetheart, I fuckin’ missed this,” he groaned, head falling back a moment. “Why can’t I ever get enough of ya? Ya got me under your spell baby. Christ, I gotta to fuck ya raw.” 

Taking it easy and slow was not something Simon had in him anymore, not now that he had gotten that first feel of your cunt in all its warm, wet glory. He was consumed and wasted no time in beginning to thrust recklessly in and out, feverish and rough, and all you could do was hold onto his shoulders for support as you both devolved into dirty, stinking creatures seeking for that ultimate high. 

Goddamn the snap of his hips shoved that fat fucking cock so far into you that he bottomed out at the back of your cervix, making you whine pathetically the harder he pounded until you gagged with each rough thrust. You were so fucking full of him there was no way you weren’t going to feel those bruises tomorrow. Tears stung the rims of your eyes as they rolled back into your head, the discomfort slowly giving way to overwhelming euphoria. 

“Fuck, ya take me so well,” he praised.

Your tits bounced up and down with the force of his thrusts, the table beneath you squeaking as it shook in time with the rhythm and threatening to break the harder he pushed. Christ he had missed this: the fucking ecstasy of your tight cunt gripping onto his cock for dear life as he pounded hard and desperate into it, the way all thoughts outside of the pleasure of your body seemed to vanish into thin air, the build of that release he knew would satisfy him completely… Well, for the moment anyway.

It was heaven in a sinful package.

The longer he went the more his sanity waned until there was not a single thought left except for the animalistic need to rut into you until he came. You could see the change wash over his face and through his eyes, making you grip onto him tighter; you’d never get tired of making him lose himself like that. 

You were completely at his mercy, his hulking size overwhelming so that he could do with you as he pleased and he used that to his advantage. Fingers reached between your bodies to again stroke at your clit; he was getting close and he needed to get you there just as fast. Those digits hit the spot just right and through the pounding of his cock that warmth again found itself growing in your stomach. 

“Right there, right there,” you repeated as your hips joined in on the movement, rolling with his strokes and thrusts to enhance the stimulation as you panted open mouthed into his face. 

His grip on your leg tightened harder as his release drew even closer, his swollen balls ready to spill his seed with just a bit more friction. God, he could feel it, that tingling pressure jolting from zero to one hundred as the muscles in his stomach contracted; his legs were shaking just trying to keep it together until he could have you finish.

“Fuck,” you winced as your breath hitched in your chest. Just a little more…  

He pumped with everything in him and that was it; with a shudder your orgasm rocketed through you fiery hot, making your body writhe in his grasp as you fell back against the table. God, it wouldn’t stop, second after second it just kept coming with relentless intensity. Simon did not let up either and soon you were crying from the over-stimulation.

Successfully reaching his goal, it was now his turn to let go and get his; nothing would ever be easier. In and out, in and out, he thrust and thrust until finally he could feel that ledge creep up and with a deep breath in he released control. That was it.

At the last possible second he ripped his cock out of you and nestled it between your clenched thighs as he milked out all that warm cum along your stomach, coating you with all that pent up tension he had been holding on to the entire time you were away. His abdominal muscle contracted hard, heart pounding out of his chest, body writhing as a shiver ran up the length of his spin while he squirted out every last drop that he could give. 

The room reeked of sex and sweat and cum but fuck did neither of you care. You lay there on your back with his warm, pungent semen coating your stomach and dripping into your belly button, panting to catch your breath as he stood hunched over top of you, lightheaded. All he could do was breathe until feeling returned to his limbs and he could talk again.

“Christ you do look good like this luv,” he said with a smirk on his lips as his panting slowed. “Now that we’re back, ya better get used to bein’ on ya back covered in my cum cause I’ve only just started makin’ up for lost time.”

“Lucky for you that’s my favorite place to be,” you chuckled as he went off to find something to clean you up with.

Coming back holding a random piece of cloth, he wiped away his mess and you sat up to give him a thankful kiss. As he handed you back the pieces of your clothing so you could redress, you finally checked your watch and realized that you were in fact late for debrief… for the third time. “Think they’ll buy that we got held up just talking again?” you questioned as you slipped everything back on as best could.

“With how flushed your cheeks are luv, ya better fuckin’ take a minute to collect yourself,” he picked. 

You rolled your eyes. “And who was the one to put me in such a state?” you returned. “Proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Very,” he whispered as he stole one last kiss from you while pulling his pants back up and redoing them. As his lips parted he stayed in close a moment. 

“Though I wouldn’t worry too much about how ya look cause if someone gets a little too close they’re gonna fuckin’ smell me all over ya,” he whispered as he slipped the mask back over his face and you both made your way stealthily back outside. 

Well, guess nothing to fret over now.

[realms-and-creatures]

I'm gonna turn these guys into Plushies!!

[teliphone]

Blackmail

Summary: You have been receiving text messages from an unknown caller. They know secrets that you didn't know yet. They use that as an advantage to string you closer to them. You need someone to treat you right.

Warning(s): Smut, Obsessive Behavior, Blackmail, Threats, Manipulations, Cheating, Praise Kink

Word Count: 6.2k

-

A buzz from your phone vibrates the table, cutting you off mid-sentence. Your eyes stare at your phone which is facing down towards the cafeteria table. It vibrates several more times, suggesting you received more than just one text. You decide to ignore it because you had a feeling it may be from the unknown caller. The sender has been messaging you since last week. At first, the texts were weird but easier to handle. You believed it was a prank, but soon the texts started sounding more personal. Filled with uncomfortable threats and blackmail. As if the person knows you or about you. Someone in this school. 

You uncomfortable shift your weight to the opposite side, away from the phone. Noticing you have been staring at your phone for too long, you look back up at your best friend, Amber. You give her a sweet fake smile. She follows your eyes and nibbles the bottom of her lips. 

“Aren’t you going to check?” She questions. She leans forward to grab your phone. 

It’s normal for her to check considering you two have been best friends since middle school. She’d sometimes toss her phone aside and scroll through yours instead. Which is acceptable to you because you had nothing to hide from her. Especially since you believe she’s just scrolling through your media apps. She claims that your feed is far more entertaining than hers. You trust her with almost everything. On the other hand, she trusts you with everything she has. You weren’t the type to snoop much but with Amber's absolute trust in you… you could look through every single app on her phone. It was a joke at first when she gave you permission. To tease her and make her panic. There’s no way she’s that nonchalant. You’d bite your lips and narrow your eyes at her, finger lingering over the search history or deleted photo albums like a trigger. She gives no response. Just a shrug and a classic Amber response of:

“I have nothing to hide from you.” 

You roll your eyes and a groan escaped your lips. Letting the mobile device slip off your fingers and onto her bed.  

“No fun,” You sigh. 

This time you do have a secret to hide. Those texts were something you did not want Amber to read or see. They consist of things even Amber does not know. The last thing you want is for her to be worried for you. As she reaches for your phone, you quickly snatch it away. Shoving it into your pockets. Her face is in shock. You have never been so defensive towards her. 

“It’s nothing really. It’s just Ethan,” You lie. You couldn’t look at her expression and focus on the forgotten meal in front of you. She returns her hands back to her side slowly. Her eyes never leave yours. She decides to not interrogate you in front of all the other classmates. She’s going to find out sooner or later. 

“Oh okay... What does he want?” She asks with a hint of annoyance. She hates your so-called “boyfriend”. She does not believe you two are meant to be together. 

“He wanted to hang out tonight. His parents are gone on a trip,” You half lie. 

“You didn’t read the text,” She informs, narrowing her eyes at you. You shoot her a look of annoyance. What is this all of a sudden? An investigation?

“He’s been asking me since this morning okay?” You protest, “I know it’s him because he’s been desperate and a bit horny…. I-“ You pause. Secretly glancing around you in case someone hears. Every other student seems to be invested in their own conversations to pay attention to yours. Amber leans forward because she’s intrigued.

“I haven’t been doing it with him,” You breathe out. At least this time you weren’t lying to Amber. She groans in response. Pushing her food away from herself as an expression she lost her appetite. 

“I’m going to start heading to class. Have fun with him tonight,” She cringes. She stands up and walks to your side. She leans down to give you a kiss on the head before walking away. Once she was out of sight, you pull out your phone.

Your boyfriend is cheating on you. 

You’re just a sweet slut for him to use. 

I see how you look at her.

He doesn’t love you. 

Break up with him. You don’t deserve him anyway. 

You feel a heaviness in your heart. There’s no way he’s cheating on you… right? You brush your head in frustration. You shouldn’t trust a random text message. You are not going to let this ruin your life. 

-

“I guess I’m not hanging out with him tonight,” You inform Amber as you place your phone down on your bed. She rolls herself over til she is laying on her stomach on the left side of the bed. She’s still wearing her clothes from earlier at school. You sit on the right side wearing a graphic t-shirt and sleeping shorts. Her face lightens up and smiles. 

“What happened?” Her question is a little too exciting. You bring your thighs up to your chest and rest your chin on top of your knee. 

“He suddenly-“

“You know what? I don’t care,” She quickly cuts you off. You give her a soft smile. 

“You don’t even love him. It’s a waste of time,” She bickers, shuffling around uncomfortably. Her shoulders bumped against your feet a couple of times.  

“I don’t love him… yet,” You correct her. She stops moving and you watch her chest move up and down fast. She quickly sits up which makes you widen your eyes. She scoots closer and places her hands on your knees. You lean back till your head hits the board of the bed.

“Do you like having sex with him?” She challenges. Her eyes glisten from the lamp beside the bed. The only light source in the room. Your eyes glance down to her plump lips and flicker shut. Turning your head to the side.

“Sometimes,” You admit, staring at the wall. You suddenly feel the heat rise to your cheeks. Amber tilts her head as she slowly analyzes the side of your features. 

“That’s not enough,” She breathes, staring at your lips. Her short fingernails graze against the skin of your knees. You shallow the knot in your throat. You look back up to meet her dilated dark eyes. She looks a little insane. She smiles, tilting her head slightly. Your heart quickens embarrassingly. Your legs drop from your chin into a cross position in an attempt to cool off. She bites her lips playfully. 

“What do you like?”

“What do you mean?” You whisper. 

“During bed,” She deadpan. You furrow your eyebrows and brush her fingers off your knees. The small circles she had been drawing were driving you crazy. 

“Why would I tell you?” You giggle. She leans forward and rests her head on your shoulders. You swear she could hear your heart hammering against your chest. 

“Come on. We’re best friends. We share everything,” Her breath fans against your neck. She snuggles closer and you squeeze your eyes shut. Her scent clouds your thoughts and it took every muscle in your body to gently push her away.

“Amber stop,” You hesitate. In another second you would fall into temptation. She groans in defeat and falls back onto your bed. Her hair spread across your pillow. She’s visibly upset, but you didn’t really understand why. You had a boyfriend and you hate cheating. She should know that. But you also didn’t blame her for feeling frustrated. You can’t hide your attraction toward her. It’s so obvious. It’s like a game between you two. Truthfully, it’s toxic… and you hate that you enjoy it. A game where you will end up breaking your morals and submitting to your thoughts. She lets out a loud sigh and pushes herself off the bed.

“Where are you going?” You puzzle. You want her to stay next to you. She fluffs her hair and adjusts her clothes.

“I have to go home. My parents told me to be back for a dinner party with some neighbors,” She explains.

“I see,” You try to not sound disappointed. Usually, she would stay til late. To the point where you will have to beg her to leave so that her parents wouldn’t get angry at her. She hides her smile and walks towards the bedroom door. Stopping at the door frame she turns around. 

“Don't miss me too much. I’ll come to pick you up for school tomorrow,” She promises before leaving you alone in your room. You pout and fall onto your bed, inhaling the lingering scent of Ambers perfume. You close your eyes and feel your body start to relax.

Buzz. Your phone vibrates and you ignore it. 

Buzz. 

Buzz. You shuffle.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

You groan in frustration. With eyes still closed you brush your hands around the bedsheets to locate the phone. You bring the phone to your face and start reading the text. 

Y/n I have news for you.

Do you really think Ethan is studying for his econ exam right now? 

Are you that naive?

He’s too easy to please. 

Btw you look good today baby. 

Especially now in those shorts. 

You feel panic zap throughout your body. The room suddenly feels cold and too dark. You run to your windows and shut the curtains as fast as you can. Clutching the phone close to your chest. You take a seat back on the bed. With shaky hands, you text back. 

Who are you?

A second later you get a reply. 

Yay I finally got your attention! 

Do you want a surprise? 

How do you know what I’m wearing?

You’re asking so many questions. I can tell you’re nervous lol.

Answer me. Two minutes pass.

Not yet, baby. The nickname makes you sick in the stomach. 

I’m sorry I made you feel anxious. I don’t mean to. Here’s the surprise as an apology. 

File attached 

You nervously hover over the link. Clicking it causes a photo to appear on the screen. At first, you couldn’t figure out what it was showing. You narrow your eyes and look closer. The photo is blurry and a bit dark. The only light source coming in is from the gaps between wherever the photo is taken. You zoom in on the bright area. A portion of Ethan’s body is evident. He’s in the motion of putting on a shirt. Your eyes widen in realization. The unknown caller is hidden in your boyfriend's closet. You jump out of bed and open your phone to call the cops. A text notification appears above the phone dial before you could finish pressing the last number. 

Don’t call the cops or I’ll kill him. 

You gasp and drop your phone. 

“Oh my god!” You cry out. You rush to your closet and pull down your shorts to put on jeans. Fumbling and breathing heavily. You feel yourself sweating from anxiety and fear. You have to get to his house and save him. 

-

You knock vigorously against his front door. The thick wood is starting to hurt your hand from how hard you’re pounding on the door. 

“Ethan! Ethan, are you okay?! Open the door!” You pant. You continue knocking for who knows how long. A dark figure appears behind the blurry glass and you’re breathing hicks. The door opens revealing Ethan wearing his boxers and a blue t-shirt. His hair is disheveled as if he had just woken up from a nap. You stare at him in shock and confusion. You start touching him to check for any bruises or cuts. Turning him around and checking up and down his body. 

“Woah babe! What’s wrong?” He gasps at your action. 

“Is there anyone in your room?” You worry. He widens his eyes slightly for a split second before averting his gaze to the left of you and back. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand. 

“What? Why would I? I have no one over,” He answers. His answer didn’t satisfy you. 

“Let me check your room,” You demand. You try to walk past him, but he holds you back. You look up and let out a frustrated sigh. He is desperately trying to reach the same level of concern as you, but he didn’t understand a single thing happening. 

“Is something wrong? Are you okay?” He inquires. You attempt to push his hand away, but his grip is firm. Your eyes start to water from intense anxiety. His hold softens and he reaches up to hold your face. 

“I- I received a picture of you. Someone is hidden in your room. I was so worried I came here as fast as possible. I was afraid someone was going to hurt you,” You fret. He finally understands your actions. 

“Hey, I am okay. I’m here with you right now. It’s alright,” He comforts. You sniff and reach up to hold his triceps. He pulls you into a deep hug. You stay in that position until your breathing starts to calm down. His warmth comforts you. His fingers tip gently grazing on top of your scalp. 

He never let you check his room that night. But that was okay because you trust him. As long as he is okay like he claimed to be, there shouldn’t be any need for you to check. 

-

The next morning you sat extremely quiet in Amber’s car which is now parked in front of school. Who is the person texting you? Will they actually harm the people you love? How did they get a picture of Ethan? Did they set up a camera? Is there a camera hidden in your room? So many thoughts flood your mind that you didn’t realize Amber was talking to you. She waves a hand in front of your face. You blink and look up at her. Her eyebrows furrow with a concerned look. She places her hand on your cheek.

“There you are. Did something happen last night?” She worries. You tilt your head away from her palm and look down. Her eyes flash with hurt as she returns her hand back to her side. You don’t know if you should tell her about the text messages you have been receiving. You didn’t want her to worry. You also didn’t want the unknown messenger to start threatening Amber if she were to find out. On the other hand, you knew you needed someone to be there with you. You can’t handle this alone. The only person who you fully love and trust is her. Amber. 

“Amber,” You finally whimper. A tear rolls down your cheek as you look at her. Waves of emotion come crashing down. All you need is for her to…to… no. All you need is her. Everything about her will help. She quickly engulfs you in a hug. She doesn’t ask you any questions but waits til you start to catch your breath. You slowly pull away from the hug first. She waits patiently. You lick your lips and pull out your phone. Quietly pressing onto the unknown contact to reveal the messages that have been haunting you. You hand it over to her. You watch as she scrolls and reads the texts. Her face starts to turn into pure anger. She grips your phone. Her eyes enlarge and glisten. 

“How long has this person been texting you,” She demands.

“Almost two weeks,” You confess. She angrily rubs her hair away from her face. 

“Why haven’t you called the cops?!” 

“B-because I am scared! They threatened me! If I called the cops, what would they do to Ethan?! What would they do to you?! I cannot let anything happen to you two, especially you!” You explode. Thinking about any harm being inflicted on her makes your blood boil. Your hands start to shake without noticing. She looks down at your shaking body and pauses. 

“Do.. do you think this person is trying to help you?” She wonders out loud. 

“What?” You look at her in disbelief. 

“Think about it. This person has been warning you about Ethan. How you shouldn’t trust him. Maybe he’s been lying to you and-” She rambles. 

“Are you serious right now?” You glare. She quickly shuts her mouth. She knew she messed up. You are starting to feel like you regret telling her. You unlock the passenger door and walk out. Slamming the car door behind you. 

“Y/n!” Amber cries out. You ignore her and continue walking at a fast pace. A few students hanging out at the front glance at you two. She stumbles over her own footsteps to catch up to you. 

“Baby I am sorry! Y/n, please! I am just trying to make sense of this situation!” She calls out again. You stop walking and took a deep breath in. She finally catches up, leaning over to collect herself. You swallow your pride. 

“I am sorry too. I didn’t mean to get mad… it’s just. I just wish you are wrong. I couldn’t imagine if you were right. I trust him. You of all people should know that,” You admit. Before she could reply, the school bell rings. Signaling that it is time for all students to get to class. You two glance at each other and quietly walk to class. 

-

Two classes have already passed and you are currently sitting at your third. A few students whisper among each other talking about whatever topic is floating around. You drum your fingertips against the wood of your desk. Your eyes stare around at your classmates. Could one of them be the unknown caller? Tara sits next to you on the right. She is currently wearing a blue sweater. Her hair was slightly curled and a few front strands tied to the back. She is bored as she scrolls on her phone, waiting for class to start. She stops scrolling and side-eyes you. She catches you staring at her. 

“What?” She asks. 

“Nothing,” You answer. She returns her attention back to her phone. It can’t be her. Amber and she are closer than you are with Tara. There’s no reason for her to distress her friends’ best friend.  You look ahead and see Wes. He is wearing a gray t-shirt. He is currently organizing his desk. A perfectly sharp pencil to the left of him and a clean page in the front. You’ve talked to him a few times. He’s an absolute sweetheart, yet Amber always liked to pick on him. You couldn’t tell if she was just joking or if she actually hated him. 

Buzz. Your heart quickens again. You pull out the phone from your pocket. 

Hi baby!

What do you want?

Wow, what a fast response! I am starting to feel like we are becoming good friends! 

Stop texting me. Please.

Awh you’re begging. Sorry I can’t, but no worries. I have another surprise! 

Break up with Ethan today during lunch hours. You blink. 

Publicly announce it. If you don’t before lunch ends… I’ll give everyone a taste of what your boyfriends’ been up to. Don’t test me, baby. 

Your ears muffle the surrounding noises. What just happened? What did they mean by “a taste of what your boyfriends been up to”? There’s no way they would-

“Y/n,” Tara’s voice brings you back to life. 

“W-what?” You stutter. She points to the front of the room and your eyes follow her direction. The teacher stood with her arms crossed as she stares. 

“Put away the phone. Class started,” She barks. 

The teacher goes on and on with her lesson, but of course, you did not listen to a single full sentence. You mostly stared at your desk in deep thought. Afraid of what is going to happen. Class ended rather fast… or slowly. You couldn’t tell anymore. You rush out down the halls and see a familiar figure. It's Amber. She is currently talking to a few classmates. One hand holding a textbook while the other she uses to brush her hair. A classmate giggles and playfully slaps Amber's shoulder. You roll your eyes and walk up beside Amber. Her full attention immediately falls on you and you smile. She waves her hands as a signal for the nameless classmates to walk away. They glare at you as they walk by. Funny how fast their face changes once she’s not looking. 

“They hate me,” You mumble, leaning against Amber's locker. She giggles and touches her heart chain necklace. You watch as she rubs against the heart. 

“No one could hate you. You’re perfect,” She corrects as she softly pushes you off her locker. You obey and rest on the locker next to hers. She opens it and places her textbook inside. You watch her closely, tilting your head against the metal doors. Looking at her calms you. She catches you staring and smiles, tilting her head to match yours. You two stare at each other until a name calls for you. Amber rolls her eyes and slams her locker shut. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. 

“Hey there babe,” Ethan greets. He grabs your waist and pulls you close to his. Peppering kisses around your face. You giggle awkwardly before pushing him off. Amber's face remains expressionless. 

“Ready for lunch? There’s no econ group project to work on today, so what better use of time than to eat with my girl,” He beams. Amber makes a gagging sound. You pinch her arm. Ethan looks at Amber and awkwardly rubs his neck. 

“Y-you can join us too, you know,” He offers. Amber gives him a knowing look. Something you didn’t understand, but he did. When did he talk to her enough to understand this? From what you remember: Amber hates him and Ethan is scared of Amber. What are you missing? There’s an awkward pause in the air. As if the two of them were speaking through their eyes. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Sure,” Amber finally speaks up. Ethan smiles and nods his head in satisfaction. As if he wanted you to congratulate him for his effort in trying to get closer to your best friend. You take a step forward towards the cafeteria. He reaches his arm over your shoulders while Amber links her arm around yours. You stop in shock as the two stare at each other. Amber is the one that removes her arm from you. She swears under her breath. The three of you reach a table. Ethan goes off to grab some food while Amber sits in front of you, snacking on some chips. She is disinterested in the chips. Her attention is more on you and… Ethan? She has not spoken a word. Your leg bops up and down in nervousness. You think back to the texts. You have to break up with Ethan soon or… You look up at Amber. Her eyes dilate and glisen. She tilts her head to the side and smiles widely. Plopping a chip in her mouth. You shift uncomfortably against her gaze. Ethan returns with two trays.

“Here babe. I got your favorite,” He chirps. You feel sick in the stomach from the anxiety. Food never looked so unappetizing til now. He starts chewing on his food and secretly glances up at Amber. She could not care less about him right now. She continues looking at you. As if she’s waiting for you to do something… say something…? 

Time ticks by. How long has it been? How long have you been pondering and begging for time to stop? Your heart pounds harder. Sweat starts to appear slightly on top of your forehead. Ethan seems awkward in the silence, not knowing what to do or say. Amber starts to look bored. 

“Ethan…” You hesitate. This gets both of their attention. 

“I- I have something to say” 

Ding Ding Ding. 

“Shit,” You cuss.

It’s the sound of the school bell.

Lunch is over.

The students start getting up from their seats and cleaning their area. Amber crumbles her bag of chips and tosses it on Ethan's tray. You want the earth to swallow you so you could disappear. 

Suddenly many buzzes start echoing throughout the cafeteria. The students halt their movement to retrieve their phones. Gasps can be heard from all around you. You look around and everyone is staring at you. Some looked disgusted, some in shock, some cheering and some were whistling at you. It is such a mixed reaction, you didn’t understand. Ethan opens his phone and freezes. His face immediately turns red with fear and shame. Amber opens her phone as well and widens her eyes. She hands her phone screen to you. 

“Oh my goodness… Y/n… You have to look-”

“No! Don’t look!” Ethan begs. He grips her wrist with a frantic look. He’s begging her to stop. She glares at him and tries to jerk her hand away. You decide to listen to her and grab the phone. The picture on the screen was Ethan. Nude. Doggy styling some girl, but the girl was cropped. Unidentified. But you could not care less who the girl was. It wasn’t you. 

“You’ve been cheating on me?!” You scream. The whole cafeteria quiets down. Ethan licks his dry lips and brings his hands up in an attempt to hold you. You take a step back away from him. He disgusts you now. Tears start to build up and fall over your cheeks. You bring the back of your hand to wipe the tears. You can’t let him or any of these students see you cry, 

“I- I-”

“How fucken dare you!” You cut him off, “ I trusted you! All you do in return is sleep with some bitch?! You’re fucken pathetic,” 

“Y/n… That girl… She’s-”

“Shut up!” Amber orders, “You’ve messed up enough. Don’t talk to Y/n again. She hates you.”  She gets up from her seat and walks towards you. She wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you away from the crowd. Away from all this betrayal and embarrassment. Ethan pushes against the crowd. 

“Let me explain!” He begs. You quickly turn around and shoot him the deadliest glare. 

“We are over,” You swore. His shoulders drop in defeat. The crowd shallows him with many comments and questions:

“Bro what the fuck man. Why would you do that to her?”

“I didn’t think you’d be that bad.”

“Of course. I knew he was too good to actually be good.”

“I feel so bad for Y/n.”

“Yo, that was insane!”

Amber successfully dragged you to the front of the school. A place where there are no students currently. You sob uncontrollably. You feel so frustrated, betrayed, and embarrassed. You attempt to push away from Amber. To hide your face and run away from everyone. 

“Hey, hey stop it,” Amber begins. She holds you to catch a glimpse of your face. You fight against her. Nearly knocking her over.

“Y/n,” She begs. You surrender and let her do whatever she wants. You are too emotionally unstable to do anything. She brushes her thumb across your cheek. You whimper in an attempt to stop crying. Your lips quiver and her eyes soften. You sniff as tears continue to roll down. 

“I am so sorry this happened to you,” All you could do is nod. 

“Take me home,” Your voice coarse. 

The whole car ride was quiet. Amber would glance over worriedly once in a while. You stare out the window. She nibbles the bottom of her lip. Her grip on the steering wheel was hard. After a while, she finally makes a turn into your house. You sit in silence in her car. She shifts in her seat to face you. You can hear her breathing.

“D-do you want me to stay with you tonight? You can come over to mine tonight if you want. My parents went on a business trip,” She whispers. 

“No. Thank you, Amber. I will see you tomorrow,” You answer, unbuckling your seatbelt. As you reach for the door, she holds your arm. 

“Text me tonight okay?” She requests. You didn’t answer, but she knew you would do it. 

-

You walk into your room and collapse onto your bed. You could no longer cry. You were so tired you had to close your eyes and sleep. About a few hours later you hear many knocks on your door. You stir awake feeling sick and uncomfortable. The pounding continues, forcing yourself to get up and towards the door. You open the door and see Ethan. His hair is messy and he sweats through his shirt. Seems like he has been running. You swing to slam the door shut, but he blocks it.

“Please let me explain,” He begs. You’re so sick and tired of hearing him. Sick of hearing his voice. You release your grip on the door. He walks into the room and takes a deep breath. He wastes no time seeing that this is the only chance you would let him speak.

“It’s Amber,” He confesses. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“W-what?” You breathe. 

“The girl in the picture. It’s Amber,” He could no longer look you in the eye. Your eyes begin to water again. A painful ache rises in your heart.

“Why? Why would she-”

“I don’t know. She wanted to have sex all of a sudden. We did it once. I swear,” 

“She wouldn’t do that to me,” You deny. He ruffles his hair and shakes his head. 

“She did. But she… This is so fucked… She kept moaning your name,” He rasps. His cheeks turn red. 

“What the fuck are you saying?” You cuss. This makes no sense to you. In fact, it is starting to creep you out. How many secrets did your close friends keep? How many more lies are there to break your heart? 

“Talk to Amber. She’s insane in the head. She’s obsessed with you, Y/n!” 

“Get out,”

“I will. I am so sorry for everything. Part of it is my fault. I am weak and I fell for her seduction. Please confront Amber. She has to tell you the whole truth,” He emphasizes. He leaves the room in a hurry, leaving you in disbelief. You collect your thoughts and take deep breaths. You are no longer sad. You are furious. Your body shakes in anger. 

-

You pound against her front door. Not caring how much it hurts your fist. The door swings open revealing a smiling Amber. God, you are so angry. 

“Jeez Y/n, you’re gonna wake up the whole neighborhood! I said text me, not show up in front of my house like this. Not that I am complaining,” She jokes. You push her into the house, slamming the door behind you. She widens her eyes and furrows her eyebrows. 

“Tell me the truth,” You demand. She crosses her arms and shakes her head. She smiles revealing her teeth. 

“What truth?” 

“I am so sick of the lies. Ethan told me,” You fum. Her smile drops and she looks emotionless. She swallows a lump in her throat. 

“It was you, wasn’t it? The unknown caller. It has always been you,” You accuse. She blinks her eyes which threaten to glisten. Her lack of answers speaks volumes. 

“Do you hate me that much?” You whimper. Her facade breaks and she looks absolutely hurt. 

“Hate you? I love you!” She cries out. She paces back in forth in front of you, clenching her fist. You stare at her in shock.

“No, no this was not supposed to happen! Did it seem that way to you?! That I hate you? I tried so hard to reveal how much I care and love you,”

“You fucked my boyfriend-”

“Do you know why?” She giggles, getting close to your face. Her pupils were blown wide and dark. You stumble backward, but she continues to follow until you hit your back against the door. 

“I wanted to feel you. That lip of his has kissed you all over. He told me how you like to get kissed on the neck and down to your collar. That hand of his would grip your hips and pull you close to his body. His bulge would stick uncomfortably in his jeans. Your hands would unzip his pants and play with his staff. His dick burying deep inside you,” She lets out a soft moan. You clench your teeth. 

“Feeling your wet cunt rub against his dick… I can’t help but crave it. I don’t care about Ethan. Never. I cared about how I got to feel what's been in you. It turns me on so much. If I could not have you, I will take the nearest thing that got the privilege to touch you. You drive me insane. I want you,”

Her head dips towards your neck and she licks a long line up your throat. You grunt, squeezing your legs together. She leans back and hovers her lips over yours. There is no longer any personal space. Her body presses against yours. 

“The only way I can get rid of him is to expose his lack of self-control to you. I didn’t do anything wrong. He failed to deny me. I knew he was not perfect for you. I am. I was the only person you trust to read the ‘unknown’ caller texts. I was the only person you ran to for help and comfort. You picked me, Y/n. I did this for you. For us,” She purrs. She lingers a little longer over your lips before leaning to your ear. 

“Kiss me please,” She blushes, “Please Y/n. Kiss me and I will do anything for you.” You tilt your head up to clear your head from her scent. She’s drowning your sense of morality. She took that opportunity to kiss your neck. You moan. You can feel your walls starting to break down. 

“That’s it, baby. Kiss me back,” She moans. Her mouth leaves your neck and returns back to hovering over your lips. She smiles brightly after making eye contact with you. Your eyes look just like hers. Dilated and glistening. You’re turned on and she knows it. Your heart hammers against your rib cage. You push yourself off the door and crash your lips against hers. She chuckles in bliss and grinds your body on top of hers. Her hands glide up the back of you, making you arch into her. 

“Fuck Amber,” You gasp. She pulls away from your swollen lips. 

“Keep saying my name. I want to be the only name you moan from now on. Stay with me and I will make you the most loved person on earth,” She promises. You nod your head rapidly. Lust clouding your mind. 

“Yes,” You blush. 

She pulls you by the hand towards the stairs and up to her room. She locks the door as you glance around her room. You’ve been here many times. The picture frame of you and her smiling sits on her desk. You hide your smile behind your hair. You suddenly feel her arms snake around your waist. She nuzzles her nose into your neck. She inhales your scent and sighs.

“Are you ready?” She whispers. You turn around and wrap your arms around her neck. You refuse to admit that her stalking and obsessive behavior are attractive out loud. It will be the new secret you will keep inside. 

“Amber… I want you to show me how much you wanted me,” You express. 

“I will,” She smiles. She plays with the rim of your shirt. You eye her lovingly, waiting for her. She pulls up your shirt, leaving you in just a bra. The coldness of her room makes you shiver. Your skin raises goosebumps. She analyzes your body down from the waist and up.

“You’re so beautiful,” She confesses. You reach under to pull her shirt off. The chain heart necklace hits her collarbone. She quickly unclasps your bra and your nipple hardens. She brings her hands to cup your chest. She giggles in excitement. You walk backward til your heel hits the bed frame. You flick your fingers for her to follow. She comes close and kisses your collarbone as you start to lie on her bed. She kisses down from your collarbone to your chest. She sticks out her tongue and draws light circles around your right nipple. You suck in a sharp breath. She continues kissing down to your hip. Her fingers hook around your pants to pull them down. You help her by lifting your ass up. 

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” She breathes. She slightly nips the skin on the inner of your thighs. Leaving her mark. Her nose brushes against the material of your underwear. 

“Fuck me, Amber,” You gasp. She pushes the material to reveal your lovely folds. She slightly slides her fingers along them. A silky clear substance coats her middle finger. The scent of your arousal makes her drunk. 

“You’re already so wet,” She giggles. 

“So embarrassing,” You spill, covering your face with the back of your hand. She reaches up with her other hand and grabs the hand covering your face. Your fingers interlock.

“Don’t hide your face baby. I want to see you,” She smiles.

[screaminglygay]

hey! can we pretty pls have a pt2 to the stalker!amber?

Amber Freeman headcanons

warnings: dark!amber, swearing, toxic situationship, possibly bad grammar, stalking, obsessive behavior

word count: 1.7k

an: thank you for your patience! i still have some sort of writing block, so this is just something little, but I want to write a full fic on amber, so stay tuned! hehe

Amber and you have many study sessions, she wants you to pass all the exams, it is not her fault that it always leads her to take you in any way she wants

"Amber, we talked about this..." you sigh as you look at the book infront of you, while Amber´s hands were wandering on your body.

"I'm just helping. If you can solve this under a distraction, can you imagine how good you'll be during the exam?" She looks at you, admiring you as she always does.

"So when someone would touch me during the exam I´m gonna be prepared?" You finally look at her, making a joke.

Her whole body shifts, she´s being slightly frustrated about you being such a brat. "Fine, let´s go back to stuying."

"What? I´m just playing your game, Ambs," you smile softly at her.

"No, you´re just being a fucking brat." And now, she´s mad mad.

You scan her face for a little bit, "oh come on, I was just joking," you poke her face slightly.

And there goes her tiny manipulation tactic, that you always fall hard for.

"I feel like you could do something little for me, since I´m spending so much time with you, making sure you pass..." Amber sits up.

You immedietly sit up too, "I- sorry, you are right," you take her hand in yours.

"Lay down, pretty girl..." she leans over you and you lay on your back, here it goes again.

No matter what subject, day in a week or time... Amber always knows how to make you do whatever she wants. And every single time and you... you obey.

Amber always knowing where you are, when the two of you are not together. She put few of a dog trackers in your wallet, some clothes, backpack, even into Chad´s car, just to be sure you´re always okay.

After a long weekend of not seeing eachother, Amber stops by your locker in the morning and waits for you. You immedietly smile, when you see her. It was a long time with your family on some stupid gathering outside the city, your cousin had birthday party - the most disgusting, pervy, rasist idiot. You´re very happy that you are back in school... it is kinda the same hell hole, but at least you still have your friends and Amber here.

"Hi," you say softly as you open your locker, taking out some books.

"Hi," she watches you, "how did you enjoy the family gathering?"

"It was hell-" you respond, but then you look at her with raise eyebrow, "wait, how do you know about the gathering?"

Amber without missing a beat asnwers with a smile, "Chad mentioned."

You nod, "oh, he can´t keep a secret, got it." You shake your head as you close the locker.

The girl smiles, another lie that you believe so easily. "Why a secret?"

"It´s a long story, but uh... I´m not really a fan talking about family, especially if most of them are shitty rasist who can´t name a single country outside of the US," you shrug.

"Got it, no more mentioning these people." She nods, like she doesn´t already know your whole family tree.

She has a tons of your pictures and videos, special folders on her phone, laptop, flashdisks, everything is sorted out.

Because you two are bonding more and more, she was really happy to make a new special folder of you. If the previous photos were only for her, these kinds of pictures are under increased security.

"You look so pretty, so so so pretty," she smiles at you kneeling on the bed, your hands covering your face, from all the emberassement. "Don´t be shy, puppy, look at me... come on." She takes her phone and opens camera.

"Amber..." you basically whine.

"What? Can´t I take a picture of a pretty girl on my bed?" She makes a photo. "Put those hands away for me."

You do, blushing like crazy, this is not something you´re used to. But you want to make her happy, seeing her smile at you makes something inside of you tingle.

"Pretty girl, look at you!" She smirks.

What you didn´t know, was that she has another camera in her room and every single time you´re there, you are increasing the number of files in her folder.

Even though the two of you are not official yet, everyone can see that Amber holds this sort of protection over you.

Another collage party, which is not a place you would chose to spend your time, but everyone decided to go and you didn´t want to be the only one saying no.

You are sitting on the couch next to Tara and Mindy, talking about your plans for the weekend, when all of the sudden a tall most would say handsome guy sit infront of you.

"That seat is occupied," Mindy says.

He looks around, "I don´t see anyone here. So..." He winks at you.

"That seat is occupied, they just went to grab someting to drink," you yell, because of the loud music.

"I wouldn´t leave such a pretty little thing on her own..." He smiles and you´re ready to throw up.

And before you or any of the girls could say anything, Amber steps in. "She is not alone, you dipshit."

He chuckles and stands up, "and who are you?"

"I don´t want to have a conversation with you," she splashes one of the drinks into his face, which indeed makes him leave with screaming something about a bitch.

"Oh wow, I respect that." Mindy says and Tara just stares at Amber.

"Um- thanks?" You look at Amber.

"Sorry about the drink, here take mine." She smiles as she gives you the only drink that survived.

Amber is very observing, she knows everything about you, even stuff you didn´t figure out on your own, but there are times when you totally shock her.

"Are you crazy, what are you doing here?" Amber yells at you. Walking in the rain was not the smartest decision you made. You were frozen to the bone

"I wanted to suprise you..." you smile softly.

"Wha- come in, jesus!" She steps aside so you can come inside her apartment, rushing to the bathroom for a towel.

"You uh said you had some hard time at work, so I just assumed... that maybe I could cheer you up a little bit." You say while your whole body is trembling.

Amber walks out with a towel and some of her clothes, looking at you like a deer in the headlights.

"I brought your favorite donuts and some nice relaxing candles. And we can order some sushi later. And if you´d like I can help with something, or just... keep you company, since I have zero idea what you´re doing at work." You let out a chuckle, "I mean most of the things I brought are completly wet, but I think they suvived it."

"You´re such a dumbass, do you know that?" Amber shakes her head, helping you put the things down and covering you up in a towel. "Why didn´t you call me, I could pick you up?"

"That woudln´t be a suprise, duh."

"God, we will be lucky if you won´t die from hypothermia, right now."

"I´m not helping with the stress, huh?" you sigh.

"(Y/N), I appraciate the effort, I really do, but next time, don´t try to walk in the worst thunderstorm, alright?"

"I think I could do that, yeah." The both of you laughed.

She loves PDA, her hands are on you all the time. Amber, an ardent lover of public displays of affection, is perpetually tactile, her hands finding peace on the lower back, intertwining fingers, and linked arms, embracing herself around her world.

“I’ll take this, thank you, pretty girl,” she says as she holds your hand for the billionth time today.

Amber is being your personal driver, driving you everywhere you need. Even if it means she has to wake up sooner, when you have classes, she will drive you no matter what.

The both of you made Saturdays as your movie nights.

"What are we chosing tonight?" Amber asks from the batrhoom.

You scroll through the Netflix, "how about the new season of YOU?"

Amber stops at her tracks, "um... what´s that?"

"You don´t know YOU?! What?! It´s really good show! We have to watch it."

"But you´ve already seen it, I don´t want to bother you by watching something twice..." She tries to skate out of it.

"No, no, it´s fine. I really enjoyed it and you will too!" You smile, clicking on the first season.

This was the biggest paradox in Amber´s life.

"Wow, that´s some stalker shit, just like you are!" Amber says with a light nudge.

"Oh shut up! I said if bilions of times, I didn´t stalk you. I don´t do that."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, (Y/N)," Amber teases you, "but following me like a lost puppy, liking my old photo, going through my social media, are you sure you´re not a Joe to my Beck?" Oh she´s pushing it, but for you, it´s just a silly missunderstanding that happened few motnths ago.

Despite her focus on academics and socializing, Amber harbors a secret talent for photography. She has a knack for capturing candid moments and hidden emotions, using her camera lens to express herself in ways that words cannot. And when it is combined with you?

Perfection.

Amber loves when you 'steal' her clothes, there is no better view than you in her bed with only her oversized shirt on you.

"Is that my shirt?" Amber looks at you, as youre already in bed, waiting for the usual movie night.

"Definetly not," you shake your head, taking the blanket to cover you.

"Oh- then what is your favorite song?" She smirks.

"Huh?"

"You have my favorite band on your shirt, what is your favorite song from them?" Amber asks again.

"Oh... um- all of them." Good save?

She laughs "All of them? It is not a band shirt, it´s a car logo, pretty girl."

You blush, "oh." Not a good save.

"It´s fine, keep the shirt, you look pretty in it." She lays next to you, putting an arm around you, keeping you close as possible.

In her free time, Amber enjoys exploring antique shops and flea markets, searching for unique treasures and hidden gems to add to her collection. She has a keen eye for things like this.

Thank you for reading!

[amethystarachnid]

Hi, I wanted to ask you for some angst with Tony (but with a very happy ending). Tony is very worried and paranoid about the reader's safety, so he decides to break up with her so she can be safe away from him, and he's a little "mean" to her, saying things like "I don't love you anymore, I don't want you in my life" just so she doesn't want to go after him, but he still loves her more than anything, they both become very miserable and sad without each other... the reader decides to move to another city, but before leaving she discovers that she's pregnant and decides not to tell him... after four months of a lot of suffering, the Avengers talk to Tony and convince him to get back with her because in fact she is safer with him and they love each other... so he decides to look for her and when they meet he is very happy to discover that he's going to be a father and asks her to marry him and of course she accepts ❤️

SAFETY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff and angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.8k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said <3

ᯓ★ TW(s): none I think (?)

ᯓ★ angst my beloved

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The city hums with life below the skyscrapers, a symphony of horns, chatter, and footsteps. High above it all, in the shimmering confines of the Stark Tower penthouse, you sit cross-legged on a sleek couch, flicking through channels on the obscenely large flat-screen. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself alone here while Tony tinkers in his workshop, but tonight feels different. He hasn’t said much, which, for Tony Stark, is like a flashing neon sign of distress.

You sense him before you see him. The faint whir of his elevator, the telltale shuffle of bare feet across the polished floor. Then, the deep sigh—tired, weighted. You glance over your shoulder as he steps into the room, disheveled but still somehow annoyingly attractive. His dark T-shirt clings to his chest, faint streaks of grease smeared across the fabric, and his hair is a chaotic mess that screams of hours spent running his fingers through it.

"Hey," you call softly, setting the remote aside. "You okay?"

Tony doesn’t answer immediately. He crosses the room with purpose, heading straight for the bar. You watch as he pours himself a drink—a double, by the look of it—before leaning against the counter, staring at the amber liquid as if it holds the secrets to the universe.

"I’m fine," he finally mutters, though the tension in his jaw tells a different story.

You stand and approach him, bare feet silent on the cold floor. He doesn’t flinch when you slide a hand over his, gently nudging the glass away from his lips before he takes a sip. "Liar," you whisper, your voice laced with concern.

Tony smirks faintly, though it’s devoid of his usual arrogance. "You’ve got me figured out, don’t you?"

"Something’s wrong," you press, studying him intently. "What is it?"

He exhales sharply, the sound almost a growl. His free hand rakes through his hair again as he straightens up, pacing a short, tight circle. "It’s nothing," he insists, though the way his shoulders twitch says otherwise. "Just… work stuff."

"Work stuff," you echo, crossing your arms. "You’re not a very convincing liar tonight, Stark."

He stops mid-step, turning to face you. The flicker of something raw and unguarded flashes across his face before he schools his expression. "I’m just trying to keep my head above water," he admits, voice low. "It’s been… a lot lately."

You step closer, resting a hand on his chest, right over the arc reactor that hums faintly beneath his shirt. The light pulses gently against your palm, a comforting rhythm. "You don’t have to do it alone, you know."

His hand covers yours, warm and calloused, though his grip is light, almost hesitant. "That’s the problem," he murmurs, eyes locking onto yours. "You’re not part of the equation. You’re the damn variable. The wild card I can’t control."

"Tony…" You try to pull back, but he holds your hand firmly now, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

"I can’t lose you," he says, the words spilling out like a confession he’s been holding back for far too long. "I can’t—God, do you even understand what you mean to me?"

Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in his voice. You’ve seen Tony Stark in many forms: the cocky genius, the billionaire philanthropist, the reckless hero. But this—this is uncharted territory. This is the man behind the mask, stripped bare and painfully human.

"I’m not going anywhere," you promise, though the words feel fragile in the face of his fear.

"You can’t guarantee that," he snaps, pulling away abruptly. He stalks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the city below. His reflection in the glass is fractured, distorted by the faint glow of the arc reactor. "You have no idea how dangerous this life is. How dangerous I am."

You follow him, stopping a few feet away. "You think I don’t know the risks? Tony, I’ve seen you come back battered and bloody, half-dead. I know what’s out there."

"Then you should know why I’m scared," he retorts, turning to face you. His voice rises, trembling with anger—or maybe desperation. "Every time I suit up, every time I step into a fight, I’m thinking about you. About what happens if someone comes after you because of me."

"That’s not your call to make," you argue, stepping closer. "I’m not some fragile thing you need to lock away in a tower."

"Yes, you are!" he yells, and the sheer force of his words makes you freeze. His chest heaves, his fists clenched at his sides. "You are, and that terrifies me. You don’t understand—"

"Then make me understand," you interrupt, your voice firm. "Talk to me, Tony. Don’t shut me out."

He stares at you, his gaze flicking between your eyes, searching for… something. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, almost broken. "They’ll come for you. Sooner or later, someone will figure out that you’re my weakness, and they’ll use you against me. And when that happens, I won’t be able to stop it. I’ll lose you."

The raw honesty in his words slices through you like a knife. You take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "You won’t lose me," you say fiercely. "I’m not some damsel in distress, Tony. I can handle myself."

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You don’t get it. This isn’t a fair fight. The people I deal with—they don’t play by the rules. They’ll hurt you just to hurt me. And I can’t—" His voice breaks, and he looks away, swallowing hard.

You step closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your forehead against his chest. The arc reactor hums steadily between you, a faint beacon in the darkness. "You’re not alone in this," you whisper. "We’ll figure it out together."

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, his arms come around you, holding you as if you might vanish if he lets go. His chin rests on the top of your head, and you feel the tension in his body begin to ease, though it doesn’t disappear entirely.

"I don’t know how to protect you," he admits, his voice muffled against your hair.

"You don’t have to," you reply softly. "Just let me be here. Let me stay."

He doesn’t answer, but the way his grip tightens around you says enough. The weight of his fear lingers in the air, heavy and suffocating, but in this moment, neither of you pulls away. It’s a fragile truce, a tentative step forward in a battle neither of you fully understands.

Tony Stark is good at a lot of things. He’s good at building impossible machines, at calculating risks, at charming a room full of strangers. But he’s terrible at this—at pushing you away. And yet, for weeks now, he’s been trying his hardest.

It starts with small things. Coming home later than usual, burying himself in his work even more than normal. He stops joining you for lazy mornings on the couch, starts making excuses when you suggest dinner or a night out. At first, you tell yourself it’s just Tony being Tony—his mind has always been in overdrive, and sometimes, he simply gets caught up in the chaos of it all.

But then, the distance grows. The way he looks at you shifts. There’s a coldness in his gaze that wasn’t there before, an edge to his words when he bothers to speak at all. He brushes off your touches, sidesteps your attempts to reach him, until finally, the man who once held you as if you were his lifeline feels like a stranger.

You try to ignore it. You tell yourself he’s just stressed, that it’ll pass, but deep down, a sinking feeling gnaws at you. Something is wrong. And tonight, you’re about to find out what.

He’s waiting for you in the living room when you come home, standing by the windows with a glass of scotch in his hand. The city lights cast sharp shadows across his face, making him look older, more worn. The sight sends a pang through your chest, but you push it down, determined to break through whatever wall he’s built between you.

"Tony," you say softly, setting your bag down on the counter. "We need to talk."

"Yeah, we do." His voice is clipped, almost flat, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns to face you, and for a moment, you swear there’s something in his eyes—something raw and painful—but it’s gone before you can be sure.

You take a step closer, your heart pounding. "What’s going on with you? You’ve been so distant, and I—"

"Stop." The word cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and final. He sets the glass down on the counter with a deliberate slowness, then looks at you with an expression so cold it makes your blood run cold. "Don’t do this, Y/N. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be."

"Harder than what needs to be?" you ask, your voice trembling. "Tony, what are you talking about?"

He exhales heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. When he finally speaks, his tone is laced with a cruel detachment that feels so foreign coming from him. "This. Us. It’s over."

The words hit you like a freight train, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. You stare at him, waiting for the punchline, for the smirk that says he’s just being an asshole because that’s what Tony Stark does when he’s uncomfortable. But it doesn’t come.

"You’re joking," you say weakly.

"I’m not."

The room feels like it’s closing in on you, the air thick and suffocating. "Tony, what the hell are you talking about? You can’t just—"

"I can, and I am," he interrupts, his voice hard. He steps closer, towering over you, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders. "I don’t love you anymore, Y/N. I don’t want you in my life."

The words are like daggers, each one cutting deeper than the last. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes as you try to process what he’s saying. "You don’t mean that," you whisper. "You can’t mean that."

"I do." His tone is icy, emotionless. "I’ve been trying to make it work, but I can’t do this anymore. I need you to leave."

Leave. The word echoes in your mind, hollow and final. Your legs feel like jelly beneath you, and you reach out to steady yourself against the counter. "Why are you doing this?" you ask, your voice breaking. "What changed?"

"Nothing changed," he snaps. "That’s the problem. This… whatever this is, it’s not working. It’s not what I want."

The tears spill over now, and you don’t bother wiping them away. "You’re lying," you say, your voice trembling. "I know you, Tony. I know when you’re lying."

He flinches, just barely, but it’s enough to make your chest ache. He looks away, his jaw clenching as he steps back. "You don’t know anything," he mutters. "You don’t know what’s best for you, for either of us."

"You don’t get to decide what’s best for me!" you shout, the anger bubbling up now, cutting through the haze of pain. "If you’re scared, if you’re pushing me away because of your own issues, then—"

"I’m not scared," he growls, his eyes snapping back to yours. "I’m done. That’s it. I’m done, Y/N."

The finality in his tone sends a fresh wave of pain crashing over you, and you stumble back, clutching your chest as if you can physically hold yourself together. "You don’t mean that," you whisper again, your voice breaking. "You love me. I know you do."

"Not anymore," he says, the words landing like a death knell.

For a moment, the silence is deafening. You stare at him, searching for any sign of the man you love, the man who once looked at you like you hung the moon. But all you see is a mask—a cold, unfeeling facade that makes you want to scream.

"Fine," you say finally, your voice shaking but resolute. "You want me to leave? I’ll leave."

You grab your bag and head for the door, your vision blurred by tears. He doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t say a word.

You don’t look back.

Two days later, you send someone else to collect your things.

The apartment feels strange without you. It’s quiet, too quiet, and the absence of your laughter, your scent, your presence is like a black hole, sucking the life out of the space. Tony tries to ignore it. He buries himself in his work, drowns himself in scotch, anything to keep from thinking about you.

But when your friend arrives to pick up your things, it hits him like a punch to the gut. The sight of your clothes, your books, your little trinkets being packed into boxes is unbearable, and he has to leave the room, retreating to the workshop like a coward.

He doesn’t deserve to feel this way, he tells himself. He’s the one who ended it. He’s the one who pushed you away. But the truth is, he’s been lying to himself just as much as he lied to you.

He loves you. He’ll always love you.

But you’re safer without him.

The days without Tony bleed into weeks, and the pain doesn’t lessen; it only festers. The apartment you moved back to—the one you never sold—is suffocatingly quiet, devoid of life. It’s far too small compared to the penthouse at Stark Tower, where everything was expansive, open, and filled with his presence. Here, it’s just you and the echoes of what you had.

You’ve tried to move on. Really, you have. But it’s impossible. Every little thing reminds you of him. The way the morning sun filters through your blinds reminds you of how he used to grumble about the light waking him up. The sound of a passing car with a bad muffler on the street outside makes you think of his ridiculous cars, the way he used to rev the engine just to tease you. Even your favorite takeout spot feels like a betrayal; you can still hear his voice arguing with you over who got the last bite.

But you’re stubborn. You refuse to let yourself break, not completely. You threw yourself into work, taking every shift and every project you could get your hands on, hoping exhaustion would drown out the heartbreak. It doesn’t work. Nothing does.

And then there’s him.

Tony is just as miserable, though he hides it better—or at least he tries to. The penthouse is eerily empty without you. The space that once felt like home now feels like a mausoleum. He doesn’t sleep in the bed anymore; it’s too cold, too hollow without you beside him. Instead, he crashes in the workshop or on the couch, surrounded by empty scotch glasses and the flickering blue glow of the arc reactor.

He hasn’t told anyone the truth. Not Rhodey, not Pepper, not anyone. They ask, of course. They know something’s wrong. He deflects with sarcasm, brushes off their concern, but deep down, he’s barely holding on. He threw away the best thing that ever happened to him, and he knows it. But he can’t take it back. He won’t risk your life, no matter how much it destroys him.

The nights are the worst. That’s when the memories come, unbidden and relentless. He sees your smile, hears your laugh, feels the phantom weight of your hand in his. It’s torture, but he doesn’t stop it. It’s the only way he can feel close to you now.

Weeks turn into months, and the pain doesn’t fade—it deepens, sharpens, becomes a constant ache in both of your chests. You wonder if it will ever go away.

Then, one morning, everything changes.

You’ve been feeling off for days. At first, you chalk it up to stress and exhaustion. You’ve been working too much, not eating properly, and the emotional strain of the breakup has taken a toll on your body. But when the nausea hits hard enough to send you running to the bathroom for the third time that week, you know something’s wrong.

You take the test, your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold it. The seconds feel like hours as you wait, pacing the tiny bathroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

Two lines.

The world tilts beneath you.

You sink to the floor, the test clutched in your trembling hands. You’re pregnant. With Tony’s child.

The realization crashes over you in waves. A mix of fear, shock, and something else—something softer, more fragile—swirls in your chest. You press a hand to your stomach, the weight of it sinking in. There’s a life inside you. A piece of him.

Your first instinct is to call him, to tell him, to share this life-changing news with the man you once loved. But the thought dies as quickly as it comes. Tony doesn’t want you in his life. He made that painfully clear. And you can’t stomach the idea of facing him again, of reopening that wound.

You make your decision then and there. You won’t tell him.

It’s not an easy choice. In fact, it feels impossible. But you tell yourself it’s for the best. He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t love you. You can’t drag him back into your life just because of this. You’ll do it on your own. You have to.

The next few weeks are a blur of emotions. You throw yourself into preparing for the baby, researching everything you can, but the reality of it all is overwhelming. You’re going to be a single mom. You’re going to have to juggle work, bills, and raising a child. The weight of it all feels crushing, but you refuse to give up.

You tell yourself you’re strong. That you can do this. That you don’t need him.

But late at night, when the world is quiet and the ache in your chest is too much to bear, you lie in bed and cry. You cry for the life you thought you’d have, for the love you lost, and for the child who will grow up without their father.

Tony doesn’t know why, but he can’t stop thinking about you. He’s tried to bury himself in work, in distractions, but nothing works. You haunt him. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face. Every time he takes a breath, it feels like his chest is being crushed.

He’s barely functioning, and everyone around him knows it. Rhodey corners him one day, demanding answers, but Tony brushes him off with a half-hearted excuse about being busy. Pepper isn’t fooled either. She keeps pushing, trying to get him to talk, but he shuts her out.

Because what can he say? That he’s dying inside? That he regrets every word he said to you but doesn’t have the guts to fix it? That he’s terrified of what would happen if he did?

So he suffers in silence, throwing himself deeper into his work, even as the emptiness inside him grows.

But no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, one thought keeps clawing its way to the surface: he misses you. Desperately.

You decide to leave the city. Staying here is too painful, too suffocating. Everywhere you go, there’s a reminder of him—of the life you had together. You can’t keep living like this. You need a fresh start, for yourself and for the baby.

It’s not an easy decision. Moving means uprooting your entire life, starting over from scratch. But you know it’s the right thing to do.

You find a small apartment in another city, far enough away that the ghosts of your past can’t follow you. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s yours. You spend your days packing up your things, making plans, and trying not to think about how much you’ll miss the city you once called home.

But no matter how hard you try, there’s one thing you can’t stop thinking about: Tony.

You wonder if he’s moved on. If he’s happy. If he even thinks about you anymore.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s better this way. But deep down, you know it’s a lie.

Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how far you go, a part of you will always love him.

Four months pass, and you’ve built a new routine in your new city. It’s not easy, but you’ve always been resilient. Your days are full, juggling long hours at work, studying courses online to make a better future for your child, and preparing for the baby’s arrival. Your belly is round now, unmistakably carrying a life within it. You catch people staring sometimes—coworkers, strangers on the street—but you don’t care. Every time you feel the baby kick, it reminds you why you’re doing all of this.

You haven’t told anyone much about the father. Your coworkers and neighbors assume you’re single, and you’ve never bothered to correct them. It’s easier this way. The pain of thinking about Tony, of what could have been, is still too fresh.

The apartment is small but cozy, and you’ve started turning one corner of the bedroom into a nursery. There’s a secondhand crib you found online, freshly painted in soft cream. Baby clothes are folded neatly in a small set of drawers, and a mobile hangs from the ceiling, its delicate stars swaying gently whenever you walk past.

But it’s hard. So hard.

There are nights when exhaustion grips you so tightly you can barely breathe. Nights when you wonder how you’ll manage everything on your own. And nights when your heart aches for Tony so fiercely you have to press a hand to your chest to calm the storm within you.

Still, you don’t let yourself dwell. You keep going, for your baby.

Meanwhile, Tony is unraveling.

The cracks have become impossible to hide, even from himself. He’s snapping at everyone—at Pepper, at Rhodey, at anyone who tries to get close. He spends most nights in the workshop, working on projects he doesn’t care about, just to keep his hands busy. But no matter how much he distracts himself, the void inside him only grows.

The team notices, of course. They’ve been noticing for months. And finally, they confront him.

It starts with Pepper.

“Tony, this has gone on long enough,” she says one evening, her arms crossed as she stands in the doorway of the workshop.

“I’m fine, Pep,” he mutters without looking up from the piece of tech he’s tinkering with.

“No, you’re not. And we both know why.”

He freezes, his hands stilling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, tough,” she snaps. “Because this isn’t just about you anymore. You think we don’t see what’s happening? You’re falling apart, Tony. And the only person who can fix this is you.”

He doesn’t respond, but the words hit him harder than he wants to admit.

The next day, Rhodey corners him during a training session.

“Stark, we need to talk.”

“Unless it’s about the mission, I’m not interested,” Tony replies, dodging Rhodey’s gaze.

“Bullshit,” Rhodey says bluntly. “You’re miserable. And we both know why. So, what’s the plan? You gonna keep running from her forever?”

Tony clenches his jaw, his hands tightening into fists. “She’s safer without me,” he mutters.

“Safer? Or are you just too scared to fix what you broke?”

The words sting, but Tony doesn’t argue. He can’t.

The final push comes from Steve, of all people.

“You know she loves you,” Steve says one evening as they sit in the common room, the quiet weight of his voice cutting through Tony’s defenses.

“She’s better off without me,” Tony mutters, but his voice lacks conviction.

“She’s not better off if she’s as miserable as you are,” Steve replies. “You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but you’re not. You’re just hurting her—and yourself.”

The words linger long after Steve leaves, echoing in Tony’s mind until he can’t ignore them anymore.

By the end of the week, he’s made up his mind. He’s going to find you.

It takes him some time to track you down. You were smart, cutting ties and keeping your location a secret. But Tony Stark is nothing if not resourceful. When he finally gets a lead, he wastes no time.

He flies to your city on a private jet, his heart pounding the entire way. He’s rehearsed a hundred different things to say, but none of them feel right. All he knows is that he needs to see you, to fix what he broke, even if you slam the door in his face.

When he finds your address, he barely recognizes the street. It’s a far cry from the luxury of Stark Tower, and the thought of you living here makes his chest tighten. He doesn’t knock right away. Instead, he stands there for a moment, gathering his courage.

Finally, he raises a hand and knocks.

When you open the door, the world seems to tilt beneath him.

He’s prepared for a lot of things—anger, hurt, indifference—but he’s not prepared for this.

You’re standing there in a simple dress, your belly round and unmistakable. His heart stops, and for a moment, he can’t breathe.

“Tony,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stares at you, his mind racing. Your belly… it can’t be.

But then, his mind jumps to the worst conclusion. You’ve moved on. Of course, you have. It’s been months. You’ve found someone else, someone who could give you what he couldn’t.

His stomach twists painfully.

“I… I didn’t know,” he says finally, his voice hollow.

You blink, confused. “Didn’t know what?”

“That you were… that you… had someone else,” he says, his gaze dropping to your belly.

Realization dawns on you, and your heart sinks. He thinks the baby isn’t his.

“I don’t—” you start, but the words catch in your throat.

Tony runs a hand through his hair, his emotions swirling in a chaotic storm. “Look, I didn’t come here to make things harder for you,” he says, his voice strained. “I just… I needed to see you. To tell you I was an idiot. That I was wrong. But it’s clear you’ve moved on, so I’ll go.”

He turns to leave, but your voice stops him.

“Tony, wait.”

He freezes, his shoulders tense, but he doesn’t turn around.

“The baby…” You swallow hard, your voice trembling. “The baby is yours.”

He turns slowly, his eyes wide, his face pale. “What?”

You press a hand to your belly, tears welling in your eyes. “I found out a few weeks after… after you ended things. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to see you again. But this baby is yours, Tony.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, he takes a step closer, his gaze flicking between your face and your belly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice breaking.

“Because you made it clear you didn’t want me,” you whisper, the tears spilling over now. “You told me you didn’t love me anymore. I didn’t want to go through that again.”

His face crumples, and he sinks to his knees in front of you, his hands trembling. “I lied,” he says, his voice raw. “I lied to protect you. Because I love you so much it scares the hell out of me. And I was stupid enough to think you’d be safer without me.”

You stare at him, your heart breaking all over again.

“I was wrong,” he continues, his voice thick with emotion. “I was so wrong, Y/N. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me. Please.”

You don’t know what to say. The pain, the anger, the love—it’s all too much.

But when he reaches out, his hand trembling as he rests it gently on your belly, you feel something shift.

The walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crack, just a little.

Tony's hand trembles as it rests gently on your belly, his touch hesitant, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. You should—you’ve been carrying months of pain and anger, all because of him. But standing here now, with his eyes full of something raw and broken, you can’t bring yourself to move.

“Say something,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Please, Y/N.”

You press your lips together, trying to gather your thoughts. There’s so much you want to say—so much hurt, confusion, and love tangled up in your chest that you don’t know where to begin.

“You broke me, Tony,” you say finally, your voice trembling. “You told me you didn’t love me. That you didn’t want me in your life. And I believed you. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been? How much it hurt to hear those words from the person I thought would never hurt me?”

His face crumples, and he looks away, guilt written in every line of his body. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmurs. “You don’t understand, Y/N. I—God, I was so scared. Scared that being with me would put you in danger. That one day, I’d lose you because of what I do—because of who I am. I thought pushing you away would keep you safe.”

“You didn’t protect me,” you say, your voice growing stronger. “You destroyed me. And you didn’t even give me the chance to decide for myself if I wanted to stay or not. You took that choice away from me.”

He winces, his head hanging low. “I know. I know I screwed up, Y/N. And I hate myself for it. Every single day without you has been hell. I thought I was keeping you safe, but all I did was push away the only person I’ve ever loved.”

The weight of his words hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. He looks so different from the man who broke your heart months ago. His eyes are tired, his shoulders slumped, as if he’s been carrying the world on his back.

“I never stopped loving you,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not for a second. And if I could take it all back, I would. But I can’t. All I can do now is tell you the truth and hope it’s not too late.”

You close your eyes, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You’ve missed him so much, even when you didn’t want to admit it. And deep down, you know you never stopped loving him either.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you say finally, your voice breaking.

He nods, his jaw tightening. “I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust. Whatever you need, Y/N. Just… don’t shut me out. Not now. Not when we have a chance to fix this.”

You look down at his hand on your belly, at the way his fingers tremble slightly against your skin. There’s so much at stake now—not just for you, but for the baby too. And despite everything, a part of you wants to believe him.

“You hurt me, Tony,” you say quietly, your voice laced with both anger and vulnerability. “But I can’t keep doing this alone. I can’t raise this baby by myself. And I don’t want to.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours, a flicker of hope igniting in their depths. “You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “I’ll be there for you—every step of the way. I promise.”

You take a shaky breath, your emotions swirling inside you. “If I come back, it’s not going to be easy. We can’t just go back to the way things were.”

“I know,” he says, his voice steady. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Whatever you need, Y/N, I’ll do it. Just… come home. Let me take care of you. Let me take care of both of you.”

The word “home” catches in your chest, and for the first time in months, the idea doesn’t feel so far away.

When you finally agree to go back with him, Tony looks like he might cry. He helps you pack up the few belongings you’ve gathered in your time away, his movements careful, as if he’s afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. You can see how hard he’s trying, and while it doesn’t erase the pain of the past, it’s a start.

The drive back to Stark Tower is quiet, but not uncomfortable. He keeps glancing over at you, his expression a mix of relief and nervousness, as if he still can’t believe you’re here.

When you arrive, the elevator ride up to the penthouse feels surreal. You step into the space that used to feel like home, and for a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the memories.

“I know it’s a lot,” Tony says, his voice soft as he watches you. “But I want you to feel comfortable here again. We can make changes—whatever you want.”

You nod, unsure of what to say.

Over the next few days, Tony throws himself into making the penthouse feel more like a home for the three of you. He clears out one of the spare bedrooms and starts turning it into a nursery, asking for your input on everything.

“What color do you want for the walls?” he asks one evening, holding up paint swatches.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re seriously going to paint it yourself?”

He grins, a spark of his old charm returning. “I may be a genius billionaire, but I’m not above rolling up my sleeves for my kid.”

Despite yourself, you smile.

He keeps surprising you, showing up to doctor’s appointments, researching baby gear, and even cooking dinner when you’re too tired to move. It’s clear he’s trying, and while it doesn’t erase the hurt, it does start to rebuild something fragile and new between you.

One night, as you’re sitting on the couch together, your hand resting on your belly, you feel the baby kick.

Tony’s eyes widen. “Was that…?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Here,” you say, grabbing his hand and placing it on your belly.

His eyes soften as he feels the movement beneath his palm. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder. “It’s your dad. I can’t wait to meet you.”

The sight of him, so vulnerable and full of love, makes your heart ache in the best way.

For the first time in a long time, you start to believe that maybe you can build a future together.

The moment you step into the new doctor’s office, you can tell the change was worth it—though you’d never admit that to Tony. The place is immaculate, modern, and soothing, with soft music playing in the background and staff who seem genuinely happy to help. You still feel a little guilty about leaving your old doctor behind, but when you see Tony’s proud smile as he hands over your file, you know he just wants the best for you and the baby.

“This is where you’re supposed to be,” Tony says as you sit in the plush waiting room. He’s bouncing one knee nervously, glancing over at you every few seconds as if to gauge your reaction.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” you tease, rubbing your belly. “But it’s… nice.”

“Nice? Please. It’s state-of-the-art.” He leans closer, lowering his voice. “The OB here is one of the best in the country. I made a few calls. Okay, a lot of calls.”

You smirk, resting a hand on his knee to calm his fidgeting. “Thank you, Tony.”

His expression softens, his hand covering yours. “Anything for you. For both of you.”

The new doctor, a calm and professional woman named Dr. Latham, immediately puts you at ease. She reviews your chart thoroughly and listens to all your concerns without rushing you, which feels like a luxury after your previous appointments. She even arranges for an in-depth ultrasound during your visit, mentioning that you’re far enough along to determine the baby’s gender if you’d like.

Tony practically lights up at the suggestion. “Oh, we’d like,” he says enthusiastically, glancing at you for confirmation.

You roll your eyes but nod, secretly just as curious as he is.

The ultrasound room is dimly lit, with a large screen positioned to give you a clear view. As the technician applies the cool gel to your belly and begins the scan, Tony grips your hand tightly.

“There’s the baby,” the technician says with a smile, pointing to the image on the screen.

You and Tony both lean forward, mesmerized by the sight of your little one moving around.

“Everything looks great,” the technician continues. “And… if you’re ready, I can tell you the gender.”

Tony’s fingers tighten around yours, and you can feel the tension in the air. “We’re ready,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

The technician smiles and turns to look at you both. “It’s a boy.”

Your breath catches, and you glance at Tony, whose face is a mixture of awe and joy.

“A boy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “We’re having a boy.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you watch the screen. “Liam,” you whisper, the name you’d been toying with finally feeling real.

Tony leans over and kisses your temple, his lips lingering for a moment. “He’s going to be perfect,” he says softly.

The news of Liam’s gender spreads quickly, thanks to Tony’s inability to keep anything a secret. Within hours, the Avengers are calling and texting, all of them eager to congratulate you and ask about baby names.

“Are you sure you don’t want a gender reveal party?” Tony asks a few days later, holding up a brochure for some extravagant event planner he’s clearly already been in touch with.

You give him a look. “Tony, I don’t need fireworks and a light show to announce we’re having a boy.”

“But think of the drone possibilities,” he says with a grin.

You shake your head, laughing. “How about we just tell people? Like normal humans?”

“Boring,” he mutters, but he lets it go, content to simply bask in the excitement of preparing for Liam’s arrival.

As the weeks pass and your belly grows, you start noticing the changes in your body more acutely. You’ve always been confident, but pregnancy has brought a whole new set of challenges. Your back aches constantly, your feet swell, and your once-favorite outfits no longer fit.

One evening, you’re standing in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, studying your reflection. Your belly is round and prominent now, and you can’t help but feel self-conscious.

“I look like a balloon,” you mutter under your breath, running a hand over your bump.

“What did you just say?” Tony’s voice startles you, and you turn to see him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, but he’s already walking toward you.

“Y/N,” he says, his tone serious. “You don’t look like a balloon. You look… incredible. You’re growing our son. Do you have any idea how amazing that is?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I just don’t feel like myself anymore.”

He steps closer, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you to face him. “You’re still you. You’re strong, beautiful, and the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. And if you don’t believe me…”

He trails off, reaching into his pocket.

“Tony, what are you—”

But before you can finish your sentence, he’s kneeling in front of you, holding a small velvet box.

Your heart skips a beat.

“Y/N,” he begins, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the one thing I know I got right is loving you. You’ve given me so much—your trust, your love, and now, our son. I don’t want to waste another second without making this official.”

He opens the box to reveal a stunning engagement ring, the diamonds catching the light.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, his eyes searching yours.

Tears fill your eyes, and for a moment, you can’t speak. But then you nod, a smile breaking through your tears. “Yes,” you whisper.

Tony grins, sliding the ring onto your finger before standing and pulling you into a gentle hug, careful of your belly.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice full of emotion.

“I love you too,” you reply, resting your head against his chest.

As he holds you close, you can’t help but think about how far you’ve come—from heartbreak and doubt to this moment of pure joy. And as Liam kicks gently in your belly, it feels like a promise of all the good things yet to come.

I'm so sorry if the ending sucks :(

[novaursa]

The Flames We Hide

- Summary: You were returning from Dragonpit with your sister, Rhaenyra, when you saw Harwin. And you both have a silent agreement: to size another moment together, no matter how brief or fleeting.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Harwin Strong

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger twin sister of Rhaenyra, is bonded to a dragon and has strong resemblance to her grandmother Alyssa. These events happen right after The Secret Flame. Visit my blog for more works like this. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 4 622

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sky burns in shades of amber and rose as the sun dips toward the horizon, casting a warm, golden light over the world beneath you. The winds tug at your silver-gold hair, whipping it back in wild tangles as you soar high above the lands on the broad wings of Silixia. The she-dragon’s powerful muscles ripple beneath you, every beat of her wings a steady rhythm that reverberates through your entire body. You lean forward, your hands gripping the familiar curve of Silixia’s neck, feeling the warmth of her scales beneath your gloves.

Beside you, your sister Rhaenyra rides atop Syrax, her golden dragon a flash of lightning against the fading daylight. The two of you are a matched pair, always in tandem, even in flight. The court speaks of your bond with wonder and envy—twins in blood, daughters of the king, yet so very different. Rhaenyra’s laughter echoes through the air, mingling with the shriek of Syrax, a sound full of reckless joy and the heady thrill of freedom. Your own smile curves across your lips, a rare expression these days, as you push Silixia to fly faster, challenging Rhaenyra in your unspoken competition.

For a moment, you’re not Y/N Targaryen, princess of the realm, but simply a girl with her sister, free of the burdens and expectations that weigh on you daily. Up here, in the skies, you are boundless.

But it’s a fleeting escape, as you both know.

The winds whistle in your ears as you descend toward the Dragonpit, the ancient stone structure looming in the distance. Even from here, you see the specks of the Dragonkeepers, rushing to prepare for your arrival. The world below draws closer with each passing second, and with it, the return to the pressures of the court—pressures neither you nor Rhaenyra wish to face. You steal a glance at your sister, noticing the tightness around her eyes, the way her jaw clenches as she too begins the descent.

Marriage proposals. The word alone feels like a chain around your neck, heavy and unyielding. They’ve plagued you both since you were of age—foolish lords and ambitious knights seeking to claim your hand, thinking they might wield the power of the Iron Throne through you. Your father, King Viserys, listens to the lords’ suggestions with increasing frequency, entertaining every potential match, though none ever seem to stick.

Rhaenyra once joked that the king might have betrothed you to half the realm by now if he could make up his mind. The most recent farce was a suggestion of a Blackwood heir, a boy barely out of his swaddling clothes. It had made you laugh, a rare and bitter sound, but the truth was, these discussions grated on you both.

As your dragons land in unison with an earth-shaking thud before the Dragonpit, the ground trembles beneath their weight. Silixia growls low in her throat, molten-gold eyes flashing as she looks toward the Dragonkeepers with wary interest. You run a gloved hand down her brass scales, murmuring soft words of reassurance as she snorts, sending a gust of warm breath that rustles your skirts.

“Sometimes I wish we could stay up there forever,” Rhaenyra says, her voice edged with the same melancholy that grips your heart. She dismounts Syrax with fluid grace, her gaze drifting skyward as if she could will the sun to stand still and delay the inevitable return to the Red Keep. You understand her sentiment all too well; in the skies, the concerns of land-bound mortals feel distant, insignificant.

You slide down from Silixia’s side, boots crunching against the gravel. “At least up there, no one’s shoving marriage contracts in our faces,” you reply, your tone carrying more bite than you intend. Silixia’s tail flicks, brushing against your side in a gesture of comfort, and you smile at her affectionately. “Father may claim he’s thinking of what’s best for us, but it feels more like he’s trying to sell us off.”

Rhaenyra’s expression darkens, her violet eyes narrowing. “He doesn’t see it that way,” she mutters, her voice laced with frustration. “To him, it’s our duty—marrying to secure alliances, continuing the Targaryen line. But it’s never about us, is it?”

The Dragonkeepers approach cautiously, guiding Silixia and Syrax toward their lairs. The great doors creak open, and the smell of straw, smoke, and dragon flesh fills the air. Silixia reluctantly allows herself to be led, casting one last, longing glance at you before disappearing into the darkness. You feel a pang in your chest as she’s taken away, though you know she’ll be safe.

“No, it isn’t,” you agree softly, turning to face Rhaenyra as the last rays of the sun cast your shadows long against the stone. “But Father isn’t the only one who decides our fate, Rhaenyra. If we let them all dictate our lives, we’ll never have a say in our own stories.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see the same fire in them that burns within you—a desire to break free, to carve your own path. “We’ll have to make our own way then, won’t we?” she says, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You and I, together.”

“Together,” you echo, determination strengthening your voice. Whatever the realm or the lords conspire, you and Rhaenyra would not be mere pawns. The blood of the dragon flows through your veins, and dragons do not bend to the whims of others.

As the sun passes fully beneath the horizon, the golden light fading into twilight, you know that this brief escape is over. The court awaits, and with it, the endless schemes and proposals, but you’ll face them with your sister by your side. And perhaps, if the gods are kind, there might be a way to chart your own destiny, one that doesn’t leave you chained by the expectations of others.

With one last glance at the sky, you turn toward the path leading back to the Red Keep, your sister falling into step beside you. The night is full of uncertainties, but as long as you have each other, you’ll find a way to burn bright and free.

The council chamber is filled with the low murmur of voices and the sound of parchment being unrolled as the small council convenes. The sun filters through the high windows, casting shadows across the dark wood of the table where the lords of Westeros sit, advising the king. At the head of the table, King Viserys I sits with an air of distracted authority, his mind clearly elsewhere, but nonetheless prepared to endure another round of discussions on the matters of the realm.

Lord Lyonel Strong, seated at his place on the council, finds it difficult to focus. His thoughts are a tangled web, caught between duty to his house and the growing concern for his eldest son, Harwin. For weeks now, Harwin’s unexpected confession has haunted Lyonel. Harwin’s words replay in his mind over and over: “Father, I am in love with her.” 

Lyonel had always known Harwin to be a man of quiet strength, with a loyalty that ran as deep as any river, but he had not expected this. It was not the confession of love itself that troubled Lyonel—though it was a complicated and dangerous emotion where a Targaryen princess was concerned—but the implications. If word reached the king that Harwin had grown too close to Y/N, it could spell disaster for House Strong, and worse, for the princess herself. The realm would not take kindly to whispers of such intimacy, especially in the shadow of Rhaenyra’s own contentious situation.

He suppresses a sigh as the discussion turns, the lords now speaking of the princess Y/N and her betrothal. Viserys’ brow furrows slightly as Lord Otto Hightower speaks up, his voice as oily and insidious as ever.

“The matter of Princess Y/N’s marriage cannot be delayed much longer, Your Grace. The Blackwood heir remains a favorable option—an ancient and noble house, strong ties in the Riverlands…” Otto’s voice trails off as he glances around the table, his eyes sharp and calculating.

Viserys looks tired, the mention of yet another marriage proposal clearly grating on him. “The Blackwood boy is still a child,” the king mutters, almost to himself. “Barely a year old. I do not see how a match like that benefits Y/N.”

Lyonel’s grip tightens on the arms of his chair. Harwin had been crushed when the proposal first came to light, unable to mask his anger at the idea of Y/N being married off to someone so unsuitable. Lyonel had known better than to comment on it then, but now, as the subject resurfaces, a plan begins to form in his mind. It is a risky maneuver, one that could backfire spectacularly, but it is the only chance he sees to protect both his son and the princess.

The discussion drags on, but Lyonel barely hears it, his thoughts focused on what he will say to the king when the others leave. When the meeting finally concludes, and the lords begin to gather their things, Lyonel remains seated, waiting for the others to clear out. Viserys notices and raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Lord Lyonel,” Viserys says, his voice expectant. “It seems you have something on your mind.”

“Your Grace, if I might have a word in private,” Lyonel replies carefully, rising from his chair with a slight bow. Viserys gestures for the guards to leave the chamber, and soon the room is quiet, save for the crackling of the hearth.

“What troubles you?” Viserys asks, leaning back in his seat with a weary expression. “It is rare for you to seek private counsel with me.”

Lyonel’s heart pounds in his chest, but he keeps his face composed, as he has always done. “It is a matter regarding Princess Y/N, Your Grace. And her marriage.”

Viserys sits up a little straighter, his weariness giving way to curiosity. “Go on.”

“I understand that there has been much discussion of potential matches, including the recent talk of a Blackwood heir. I would not presume to question the wisdom of your council, but I believe there is another path that has not yet been fully considered—one that could ensure both the stability of the realm and the happiness of your daughter.”

Viserys frowns slightly, his eyes narrowing. “And what match might that be, Lord Lyonel?”

Lyonel chooses his words with the utmost care. “My son, Ser Harwin, has always been loyal to the crown, a man of proven strength and honor. I believe he could be a fitting match for Princess Y/N.”

Viserys’ surprise is evident in the way his eyebrows shoot up. “Harwin Strong?” The king’s tone is one of genuine shock. “I had not considered such a proposal from you, Lyonel. You’ve never once sought advancement for your house in this manner. Why now?”

Lyonel forces himself to hold the king’s gaze. “Because I believe this match would benefit not only my house but your daughter as well. Harwin’s affection for her is sincere, Your Grace. He would be devoted to her in both heart and duty. And the crown would gain a staunch ally in the Riverlands through House Strong.”

Viserys leans back in his chair, his eyes distant as he considers the proposal. “It is unexpected,” he admits. “But sincere affection, as you say, is not often found in such matters. Still, I must consider the optics. The princess… she is a Targaryen, and such a match would raise eyebrows. Harwin is a good man, but he does not hold the power or prestige of some of the other houses being proposed.”

Lyonel nods, expecting this reaction. “True, Your Grace. But there is strength in loyalty and love. Harwin would never see the princess used or diminished by court politics. He would protect her fiercely, as he has always protected those he cares for. Surely, a match built on genuine regard would lead to a more harmonious union than one based solely on titles.”

Viserys remains silent for a long moment, his fingers drumming on the table as he contemplates the idea. “You make a compelling case, Lyonel,” he says at last, his tone softer now, as if genuinely pondering the possibility. “But this is not a decision I will take lightly. I will consider it, but there are other matters to weigh as well.”

Lyonel bows his head in acknowledgment, sensing that he has planted the seed he needed to. “Of course, Your Grace. I only ask that you weigh it with care. The princess’s happiness—and the stability of the realm—must be our highest priority.”

Viserys nods, though his expression remains conflicted. “You are dismissed, Lyonel. I will think on what you’ve said.”

As Lyonel takes his leave, he feels the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him. He knows he has taken a bold risk, one that could either secure a brighter future for his son and the princess—or doom them both if it fails. But for now, all he can do is wait and hope that Viserys’s heart leans toward the idea of love and loyalty over ambition and politics.

The door closes softly behind him, and the chamber is left in silence, with only the faint crackle of the fire echoing in the room.

The streets of King’s Landing are alive with the usual noise and bustle of the city as dusk settles over the capital. The gold cloaks of the City Watch patrol every corner, their eyes sharp for trouble. Ser Harwin Strong rides at the head of a small detachment, his gaze roving over the streets with practiced vigilance. His armor gleams in the fading light, and his presence alone is enough to command respect from the men under his command. 

Yet, beneath the exterior of duty, Harwin’s thoughts are elsewhere. He cannot shake the weight of his father’s concerns, the quiet warnings Lyonel had shared after Harwin’s confession. There are dangers in being so close to the princess, but the heart is a stubborn thing, and his heart belongs wholly to Y/N. Her laughter, her fierce spirit, the fire in her violet eyes—they haunt him in moments when he should be focused. 

As his patrol rounds the corner near the Dragonpit, his attention sharpens when he sees a group approaching. The distinctive white cloaks of the Kingsguard stand out against the shadowy backdrop of the city. Harwin immediately recognizes the figures being escorted—Princess Rhaenyra and her twin sister, Y/N, mounted on fine steeds and surrounded by the armored knights sworn to protect them. The sight of Y/N sends a jolt through him, a mix of yearning and concern. 

Their eyes meet, and in that brief moment, a silent understanding passes between them. There’s no need for words; they know each other too well. Y/N gives the faintest nod, and Harwin feels his pulse quicken. Whatever it is she’s planning, he’s already committed to playing his part. 

Suddenly, Y/N sways in her saddle, her hand fluttering to her forehead as if struck by a sudden dizziness. The Kingsguard immediately take notice, and Ser Harrold Westerling, ever vigilant, urges his horse closer. “Princess, are you unwell?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. 

Y/N’s voice is faint, but convincing. “I feel… light-headed. Perhaps the strain of the flight has caught up with me.” She sways again for emphasis, and Harwin spurs his horse forward, concern etched into his features. 

“Ser Harrold, allow me to assist the princess,” Harwin says, his tone urgent yet respectful. He moves his horse beside Y/N’s, ready to catch her should she falter further. “I’ll take her to the Red Keep myself, where she can be seen to immediately.”

Ser Harrold’s eyes narrow, suspicion flickering in their depths. “That will not be necessary, Ser Harwin. The princess will be escorted by me and my men directly to the Keep. We are under strict orders from the king.”

Harwin’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his expression neutral. “I understand, Ser Harrold, but I’ve known the princess since she was a child. Let me ensure her safety, as I would see to my own kin. I can bring her swiftly and with care.”

Before Ser Harrold can respond, Rhaenyra rides forward, her eyes gleaming with barely concealed mischief as she catches on to her sister’s ploy. “Ser Harrold, it is clear that Y/N is in distress, and she would be more comfortable with someone familiar. Ser Harwin has always been a trusted protector of our family.” She tilts her head slightly, letting a hint of command slip into her tone. “Surely, you would not deny my sister the comfort she needs when it is readily available?”

Ser Harrold glances between the two princesses, clearly torn. On one hand, his duty is unwavering; on the other, Rhaenyra’s argument is persuasive, and there’s little cause to suspect foul play. He knows better than to openly contradict a royal daughter, especially one as willful as Rhaenyra. After a long, tense moment, he relents, though his reluctance is obvious.

“Very well, Ser Harwin,” Ser Harrold says, his voice tinged with resignation. “But know that I’ll hold you to your word that the princess reaches the Keep unharmed and without delay. The king will hear of this if she does not.”

“On my honor,” Harwin replies, dipping his head with a solemn expression, though a flicker of relief and triumph gleams in his eyes. 

With that, Rhaenyra flashes a sly grin at her sister and spurs her horse onward, leaving Y/N and Harwin behind. “I’ll see you at the Keep, sister,” she says, her voice lilting with amusement. “Do take care on your way.” She gives Ser Harrold and the other Kingsguard a pointed look, leading them on toward the Keep as they follow her.

Once they’re out of earshot, Y/N lets out a small breath of relief, her feigned dizziness evaporating as she steadies herself in the saddle. Harwin watches her closely, a hint of admiration in his gaze.

“Quite the performance,” he murmurs, guiding his horse closer to hers as they begin to ride slowly, side by side, through the quieter streets. “I almost believed you were truly unwell.”

Y/N’s lips curve into a playful smile. “I thought it convincing enough. It’s not every day a princess needs rescuing, after all.” But the teasing lilt in her voice is softened by the warmth in her eyes as she meets his gaze. “Thank you for playing along, Harwin.”

“For you? Always,” Harwin replies, his voice low and sincere. He reaches out, his fingers briefly brushing against hers in a gesture that is both subtle and intimate, hidden from prying eyes in the fading light. “But tell me, what is it you needed from me that required such theatrics?”

Y/N’s expression turns more serious as she considers her words. “I needed a moment away from all the expectations, away from the endless talks of marriage and duty. And more importantly… I needed a moment with you.” The weight of her admission hangs between them, unspoken but understood.

Harwin’s breath hitches slightly, his heart tightening at her words. He has always known this dance between them is a dangerous one, but it is one he cannot resist. “Every time I see you surrounded by those guards, by the chains of duty that bind you, it makes me wish things were different,” he says softly, his voice full of yearning. “I wish I could be more than just a protector.”

Y/N turns in her saddle, her gaze locking onto his. “You are more, Harwin. You know you are.”

For a moment, the world shrinks to just the two of them—the city, the court, all of it fades away. But reality cannot be ignored forever, and the path to the Red Keep looms ahead. They both know this brief interlude is all they can afford, but the unspoken promises between them are enough for now.

As they approach the gates, Harwin reluctantly pulls his hand away and straightens in his saddle, resuming the role of dutiful knight. “I’ll see you safely back to your chambers, Princess,” he says formally, though the glint in his eyes tells her everything he cannot say aloud.

“Until the next escape, Ser Harwin,” she replies with a soft smile, a hidden message beneath the words. 

With that, they continue toward the Keep, knowing that while their paths may be dictated by duty and expectation, there are still moments they can carve out for themselves—stolen glances, hidden touches, and unspoken vows that bind them closer than any formal oath could.

The vast halls of the Red Keep are quieter than usual as the day gives way to the cool embrace of evening. The golden light from the torches flickers on the stone walls, casting long shadows that dance and twist in the dim corridors. As Harwin escorts you back to your chambers, you can feel the weight of the day slowly lifting, replaced by the familiar tension that simmers between you and him. It’s a tension that has grown with each stolen glance, each brief touch hidden from prying eyes.

As you approach the throne room, Ser Harrold Westerling stands at the entrance, his white cloak billowing slightly as he catches sight of you. His eyes shift briefly to Harwin, a silent acknowledgment in his expression. Though his face remains stern, there’s a flicker of understanding—a silent nod that tells Harwin he has done his duty and that the princess has been safely returned. 

“Ser Harwin,” Harrold says in a gruff voice as the two pass by him. He doesn’t need to say more. The message is clear: this is where their paths diverge, but he’ll trust Harwin to see the princess the rest of the way. Harwin dips his head respectfully in return, but his focus remains on you as you make your way deeper into the Keep.

The royal quarters are just ahead, but Harwin notices something in your expression—a spark in your eyes and the faintest curve of a smile on your lips. He knows that look all too well, the one that signals you’re about to do something reckless, something entirely unplanned. Before he can even ask what you’re plotting, you move with a sudden swiftness, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward a shadowed alcove. Your fingers grip his with a sense of urgency and mischief.

“Y/N, what—” he starts, but you silence him with a playful look, your eyes gleaming with a secretive promise. 

You drag him behind a heavy tapestry, revealing a hidden doorway that he hadn’t noticed before. The stone creaks as you push it open, leading into a small, dimly lit chamber tucked away from the prying eyes of the court. The air inside is thick with dust, as if it hasn’t been disturbed in years. Harwin’s breath catches in his throat as he realizes where you’ve brought him—a place so private that it feels as if it belongs only to the two of you.

The moment the door closes behind you, the pretense falls away, leaving only the truth of your feelings. The tension that has been building throughout the day snaps, and you close the distance between you in an instant. Your lips crash against his, the kiss fierce and full of the passion that you both have been forced to suppress. Harwin responds without hesitation, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer until there is nothing between you but the heat of your bodies. 

It’s a dance you both know well by now—his lips mapping the familiar curve of your neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as his kisses trail down to your collarbone. There’s a hunger in his touch, tempered by a tenderness that only you bring out in him. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin as he kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every second. You press closer, your hands slipping beneath the leather of his armor, finding the hard planes of his chest beneath. The feel of his heartbeat, strong and steady, thrums beneath your palm, grounding you in this moment.

“Every time I think of you marrying another,” Harwin murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, desperate whisper, “it drives me mad. The thought of losing you… I don’t know how I’d bear it.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes searching his as you trace a line down the side of his face. “You won’t lose me,” you breathe, your words laced with quiet determination. “Not now. Not ever. I belong to no one but myself—and to you, if the gods are kind.”

Harwin’s grip tightens on your waist, a flash of fierce emotion in his eyes. “I want more than stolen moments, more than secret chambers and whispers in the dark,” he confesses, his voice thick with longing. “I want to be with you openly, without fear or restraint.”

“I want that too,” you reply, your voice trembling with sincerity. “But until then, until we find a way… we have this.” Your hand trails down to his chest, your fingers pressing against the rhythm of his heartbeat, as if to mark it as your own.

His lips find yours again, softer this time, a kiss that speaks of unspoken vows and promises that only the two of you understand. His hand slides down your back, memorizing every curve, every dip, as if committing it to memory for the nights when you can’t be together. Your own touch mirrors his, tracing the line of his jaw, the strength in his shoulders, and the warmth that radiates from his skin. Every touch, every kiss is laced with the knowledge that this cannot last—at least not now. 

As much as it pains you both, there’s no time to linger. The world beyond this hidden chamber is waiting, and you both know that others will soon seek you out. Harwin pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath, hearts racing as you savor the closeness one last time.

“I wish we could stay here forever,” you whisper, your fingers brushing against his lips.

“So do I,” Harwin murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your brow. “But we’ll find more moments like this. I promise you.”

You smile softly, the sadness in your eyes giving way to a glimmer of hope. “Until then… we’ll make the most of what we have.”

Reluctantly, you both disentangle, fixing your clothes and smoothing out your appearances to mask any signs of your secret rendezvous. Harwin’s hand lingers on yours as you step back into the corridor, the hidden door sliding closed behind you. The tapestry falls back into place, and it’s as if nothing ever happened—just another cold stone wall in the labyrinth of the Red Keep.

But as you make your way back to your chambers, Harwin’s gaze remains fixed on you, his eyes holding yours for a heartbeat longer. There’s a silent agreement between you, one that needs no words—this isn’t the end, just another chapter in a story that’s far from over.

With one last glance over your shoulder, you offer him a small, secret smile—the same one you gave him earlier, full of the promise of more unpredictable escapes, more stolen kisses, and the hope that one day, these moments won’t have to be stolen at all. Harwin watches you disappear into the shadows of the royal quarters, the ache in his chest both a comfort and a torment as he turns away, returning to his duties, but with the warmth of your touch still lingering on his skin.

[all-alone-he-turns-to-stone]

Call Me biles

Stiles Stilinski Masterlist Summary: Being Coach’s daughter isn’t that bad. Of course, you're in the lacrosse team, which makes him proud and happy. But falling for the worst player (after Greenberg), going out with him in secret, and lying to your dad… That's bad. But the worst is… Ever since you started dating him, you've been calling him Biles and no one told you you were wrong. Word Count: 2080 Pairing: Stiles x F!Reader A/n: I was feeling the absolute worse today so decided to write the absolute cutest story I could to cheer me up. Teen Wolf, it's been a while! Hope y'all enjoy! Sorry for any mistake! (I wrote this with 3 hours of sleep)

“Faster! My grandma could beat you with her eyes closed, and she’s dead! You suck Greenberg! That’s good sweetie, keep going!”

Obviously, Coach was after everyone. It was understandable, Beacon Hills hadn't won a game in forever, it was almost depressing to be on this team. Other schools made fun of you when they crushed you during games. 

And Coach wasn’t only screaming at the student in his team, but at everyone in the class currently running on the field.

But obviously, when Coach spoke to you, he didn't treat you the same way as the others. His tone changed, a proud smile appeared on his face, and he began to encourage you instead of denigrating you.

Obviously. Since Coach was your dad.

You finished your lap, out of breath, and leaned over to put your hands on your knees. In the distance, you could hear your dad's voice return to its usual tone as other insults replaced the encouragement he only offered to you. 

“Is that everyone?” You looked up to see the last person finally finishing their lap and collapsing in front of your dad, face red and covered in sweat. A small laugh escaped your vigilance with a smile that you quickly hid when you saw you had Coach's attention on you. “Pathetic,” he finished as he headed towards the school, announcing that class was over.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye, and, once certain that he was out of range, headed towards the poor wretch collapsed on the ground.

“Biles!” you laughed, helping him up. “You really need to improve your cardio, or we’ll get crushed at the next game!”

Once on his feet, you met his gaze and it was your turn to lose your breath as you inevitably lost yourself in the beauty of his amber eyes.

“You’re dad will crush me before,” he grimaced as he started walking towards the school alongside you. It was the first class of the day, and you knew the rest of the day would be long, especially with Lacrosse practice scheduled for the evening. “You’re lucky he’s not always on your back, you know?”

You shook your head, understanding what he meant. “He wants what’s best for me. I asked to join the team, he didn’t force me nor did he agreed I join because I was his daughter. He made me go through the tryouts like everyone else and I got no special treatments or favoritism. He just… Made a promise to my mom before she passed away, to never be the cause of my tears. He’s a great dad. Well, except when it comes to dating boys…”

Biles shook his head and sighed as he opened the door to let you enter the school first. “What about the other guys? Aren’t they mad about Coach’s daughter being on the team?”

At his question, a grimace of suffering stretched your face and you stopped walking. Biles mimicked your movement and turned to you, one eyebrow raised.

“Let’s say he made it veeeeerryyyy clear to the ones that complained. And the few ones that started rumors…” You shivered at the thought. “You don’t wanna know.”

“I don’t wanna know,” an expression of terror was now on his face. “Alright, I’ll hit the shower, see you at lunch,” Biles quickly scanned his surroundings to make sure the coast was clear and leaned down to place his lips on yours. They were soft and warm and even though it wasn't the first kiss you had shared, the butterflies still woke up in your stomach.

“See you later,” you watched him leave, a stupid smile plastered on your face.

Gosh, you loved that boy.

-

Later the same day, it was Lacrosse practice.

Even though you had spent time with Biles during the day, you were very excited to see him again to play the sport that bonded you two together at the beginning. And then, hiding from your father all day, always looking behind your shoulder to make sure no one was following you, spending dinner breaks in Biles' jeep to make sure no other teacher saw you together at the cafeteria…

It was grueling.

Sometimes, you wish you had the courage to just tell your dad. After all, even though he appeared rather withdrawn, he always supported you in your decisions and encouraged you to pursue your dreams. But a boy in your life?

You feared his reaction.

“Hey, Stiles!” 

The unfamiliar name, albeit with a familiar connotation, caught your attention and you turned your head towards the source. Practice had already started, but as usual, your boyfriend was on the bench while you were on the field. The person who had just spoken was also on the team, number 11 and friend of Biles, who, true to form, arrived late.

Biles jumped to his feet as if he had springs in his shoes and rushed towards Scott to whisper something frantically. You raised an eyebrow, not really understanding the reason for the secrets exchanged between the two boys, and continued playing without worrying anymore about what was happening.

-

Stiles Pov

“Hey, Stiles!”

Nervousness coursed through his veins as if he had just received a violent electric shock. The current reached his feet, and immediately he was standing up and rushing towards Scott, his stress-fueled speed almost on par with the werewolves.

“Biles. My name is Biles. Call me Biles!” Stiles quickly whispered, his hands going all over the place as if he was trying to fly away. 

Scott froze, his mouth half open, and his gaze left his friend and rested on the source of all this stress. The girl in question had stopped playing to look at them, but quickly returned to the game, shrugging one shoulder. “You know, you should tell her.”

“Are you crazy?!” Stiles' voice rose an octave, which caught Coach's attention. A quick wave of his hand to apologize, and Stiles continued the conversation in a low voice. “She’s Coach’s kid, and I love her so much, man, if she thinks my name is Biles, my name is Biles. Hell, I’m ready to change it on my birth certificate.”

Scott looked at his friend with wide eyes. “You love her that much?”

Stiles sighed, his head turning to look behind him where the girl of his dreams had just caught the ball and scored a point. Pleased with herself, her gaze immediately went to her dad who applauded her, then to him, Stiles - well, Biles, who looked at her with eyes full of affection. “You have no idea.”

--

“Stilinski! On the field! Greenberg, out of my sight!”

Hearing his name, Stiles was already standing, helmet on his head and lacrosse stick in his hands. Since he arrived, he was ready to play and radiated energy. Finally on the field, he ran towards the person he wanted to see the most and stopped next to her, smiling under his helmet. 

“Hey there.”

“Hey,” she replied, her smile just as big.

A loud whistle startled them both, but it was the calling of their names that made them break out in a cold sweat. Sweats of horror. Sweats…

Of terror.

“Stilinski! Finstock! Stop flirting and go go go!!” Coach yelled in their direction. 

Stiles shared a frightened look with his girlfriend, the fear of being found out strong in their veins. “Do you think he knows?”

“We were careful,” Y/n whispered as she ran to the other side of the field to start the practice match again. “But I can ask him after practice,” she offered, but seeing the fear in Stiles’ eyes, she felt compelled to specify “subtly, obviously.”

“Your dad scares me,” he added, getting into position.

“I know,” Y/n replied with a sigh. “I know.”

-

Your pov

The practice match was over. Although usually, playing Lacrosse managed to cure all of your daily life stresses and struggles, this time, even the sport that you knew and loved couldn’t stop the tornado of thoughts that invaded your mind.

Did your father find out about your relationship with Biles or not???

If so, you had to do everything to protect him, otherwise you were afraid for his life.

But first of all, you had to ask your father, subtly, if he had any doubts about the nature of your relationship with the number 24.

“Good job tonight Y/n! Dad’s proud of you!” 

You had just returned to the stands when Coach walked to you, a friendly pat of encouragement on the back. Usually, you would have been really delighted -your father's compliments were as precious as a treasure lost for hundreds of years- but stress prevented all good feelings from existing. For the last hour, you've been reciting what you were going to say, how to ask him, how to bring up the subject without seeming suspicious, how-

“I was thinking, hotdogs for dinner. You down?” Your father asked, cutting off all your concentration and courage to ask him. 

“Sure, uhm, dad, I uh… I wanted to-” 

“Why don’t you invite your boyfriend too?” 

You froze. Literally, your whole body turned to marble and you were stuck in the last position you had been in, mouth open, one hand outstretched towards him. Coach was putting away your equipment in your bag, completely unaware of what he just did by asking that simple question.

“Uh?”

“I think it’s time Stilinski acts like a man and steps up for his girl,” your father continued, glancing at you. Then, straightening up, he raised his voice and added: “STILINSKI! COME OVER HERE.”

Like a good soldier, Biles rushed towards Coach and you, leaving everything he was doing behind.

He was missing a shoe.

“Yes, Coach, I’m here, Stilinski, that’s me, reporting, present, right here.” With both hands on his hips, Biles looked at you, then at your father, then back at you, asking a thousand and one silent questions with his facial expressions.

“Hot dogs. You like em?” 

“Yes, sir, love them, enjoy them, delicious, delicate food, truly amazing,” Biles nodded, sweat rolling down his forehead, definitely not from the practice match that had ended 15 minutes ago already.

“Alright. You are eating dinner with us tonight. I think it’s time you stop hiding, you two, gosh,” the coach rolled his eyes and threw his arms in the air, exasperated. For your part, you were still frozen. Your father started to walk away with your sport bag under his arm but suddenly he stopped to turn towards you. “And Stiles?”

“Yes, sir, yes, that’s me, yes?” Your boyfriend responded automatically, his body straightening to form a perfectly vertical straight line.

“You should stop parking in front of my car. I have eyes. Be there for 7!”

With these words, your father disappeared into the school parking lot, where he would wait for you to go back home. But for now...

“Holy shit I’m dead, right?” 

“Wait, your name is STILES? Not Biles???” You exclaimed, turning towards him.

“Is that really what you remember from the conversation?!” 

“You’re not denying it!!”

“I’m gonna die tonight!” 

“You’re gonna be fine, Stiles!” You couldn't believe it. Not only your dad knew about your relationship, but you had completely shamed yourself by not even knowing your boyfriend's real name. “I’ve been calling you the wrong name all this time…” 

You hid your face in your hands. 

“Hey hey…” Warmth settles on your hands, and slowly, Stiles freed your face and gently lift your chin to look into your eyes. “I’m sorry for not telling you. But I kind of… liked it, you calling me Biles. It was our thing…” Stiles smiled, and damn, that smile was magical. You just couldn’t feel bad having someone so perfect near you. 

“I feel stupid,” you furrowed your brows, your expression pouty.

“If it can make you feel better,” Stiles continued, putting an arm around your shoulders to start walking towards the parking lot with you. “I’ll be dead after tonight, probably,” he added with a laugh. “And also, my real name is not Stiles.”

You stopped walking to look at him. “Really.”

“Yeah. But I’ll only tell you if I survive tonight’s dinner.”

“Alright,” you laughed as you continued walking with him, obvious relief being felt in your heart. It was so nice not to have to hide. “I think I can help with that, Biles. But…” You glanced down.

“Hm?”

“You’re missing a shoe.”

“Oh, I know.”

-

Forever taglist: @nitnat6245 @eevvvaa​​ @wickedinspirations​@fictional-affairs @awkward-and-indecisive​​ @peachyaliien @katbratsupernaturalwhore