#and it was full of disgusting comments against her

[cinnxmxngxrl]

could you do something like joel’s love interest has strict parents and joel waits for her RELIGIOUSLY and proves to her that he’s a risk worth taking for but then the angst part is that the parents verbally and mentally abuse the reader into thinking joel will leave eventually but joel sees through her and offers her freedom by running away together. he gives her a life without fear❤️

“Run Away”

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist here

Summary: When your controlling and religious parents forbid you from being with Joel, he offers you the chance to run away with him.

WC: 5-6k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, dirty talk, fingering, virginity loss, praise kink, creampie, grinding, inexperienced reader, undisclosed age gap, emotional abuse, misogynistic comments, religious beliefs, controlling parents, no outbreak

You didn’t even know how you and Joel had become this—whatever this was.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Hadn’t even seen it coming. But now you couldn’t imagine your days without that invisible thread tying you to him, pulling you closer. It was terrifying. It was thrilling. It was the only thing that felt real.

Maybe it started months ago, when your parents hired him to fix a leak in the roof. A simple job. A stranger with a toolbox. But the way he looked at you—quiet, steady, like he already knew what you were hiding behind all that silence—set something off in your chest. The way he moved was deliberate, careful. Every swing of the hammer, every step on the roof—he did it like it mattered. Like he was trying to fix something more than just a leak.

It began with stolen glances. You’d bring him fresh, homemade lemonade after hours spent working beneath the brutal Texas sun. He’d smile, say thank you in that low Southern drawl that wrapped around your ribs like a rope. Another time, he’d cut his finger on a piece of jagged metal, and you’d rushed to help him, gently cleaning the wound with trembling hands and bandaging it while pretending not to notice the way his eyes never left your face.

At night, you’d lie in bed thinking about him. Thinking about the way sweat soaked his T-shirt, clinging to his broad chest and outlining every hard-earned muscle. The veins in his forearms. The callouses on his hands.

And God—his hands. So much bigger than yours. So rough. So capable. You imagined what those hands would feel like on you—rough against the softness of your thighs, warm against your bare skin. You pictured the way he might say your name, slow and deep, the way his eyes might darken if you touched him the way you wanted to

You didn’t quite understand what you were feeling at first. You’d never felt this way before. About anyone. Heat would pool low in your stomach. You’d press your thighs together, trying to relieve the ache, but it only made it worse. The slickness, the need—it terrified you.

Your parents would’ve gone ballistic if they ever found out the kind of thoughts you were having about him. Or any man, really. Because thoughts like that were sin. Especially for a girl.

Especially for you. The good daughter. The quiet one. The one who never talked back, never raised her voice, never strayed outside the lines they drew for you. You were meant to stay pure. Untouched. But every thought you had of Joel was a knife slicing through that expectation.

Your mother had caught you staring once—just standing by the window, watching Joel as he worked with sweat beading on his brow. There was something primal in it—watching a man work with his hands, muscles flexing beneath sun-warmed skin. It made your pulse stutter. Made your throat go dry.

“You wanna end up like your sister?” she hissed, voice full of disgust. “Pregnant and alone without a man because she couldn’t keep her legs closed?” She’d looked at you like you were something dirty. Something broken. “Go to your room. Now.”

The shame hit you like a slap. But beneath it, deeper still, was defiance. A flicker of something fierce. Because even if she saw filth in your desire, you’d never felt more alive than when Joel looked at you like you were something he wanted.

And so things stayed the same. For weeks.

You kept your head down. Pretended to be the obedient daughter they wanted. Pretended Joel wasn’t all you could think about.

Until one weekend, your parents left town. A rare thing. They were too overprotective to leave you alone often, but they trusted you. Thought you were too docile, too submissive to ever disobey.

That Saturday evening, there was a knock on your front door.

“Hey, m’sorry to bother you. I needed to pick up my toolbox before I leave,” Joel said, standing on the porch.

He was standing there, golden in the setting sun, hands shoved in his pockets like he wasn’t sure if he should be there—and all you could think was yes. Yes, please, come in. Stay. You’d let him in without hesitation. He walked through the house like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“So… I guess the job’s all done now,” you said quietly. There was a hint of sadness in your voice, something vulnerable. You’d enjoyed having him around. Just seeing him made your day better, made life feel like there might be something more beyond your parents’ rules.

Joel offered a polite smile. “All done. Roof’s fixed. Shouldn’t be givin’ y’all any more trouble.”

You hesitated, your heart thudding in your ears. Then, in a whisper, “I liked having you around.”

He paused, toolbox in hand.

“You, uh… thanks for the hospitality.”

He turned to leave.

“Joel, wait,” you blurted, stepping forward, your fingers twitching at your sides. “Please… stay. My parents are out and… I’d like some company.”

You didn’t know where the words came from. That shy, quiet girl who never spoke unless spoken to—she was gone. Replaced by someone bolder. Someone hungry. You were starving for connection. For warmth. For the one man who made you feel like you weren’t just a shadow in your own life. He looked at you like you mattered. Like you weren’t something to be scolded or hidden.

That night, Joel stayed. You watched a movie together, ordered food. Laughed. And when he finally stood to leave, he leaned down and kissed you. Soft. Gentle. But filled with tension—weeks of craving packed into one breathless moment.

His lips were dry and warm, hesitant at first—like he was waiting to see if you’d pull away. You didn’t. You leaned in. Melted. Every nerve in your body lit up like a struck match. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a claim. A confession. A promise.

It was your first real kiss. Not some silly little peck on the lips behind the church when you were eight that had you believing you were going straight to hell. This one meant something.

He kissed you like he wanted to fix every broken thing you never spoke about. And in that moment, you believed he could.

After that, Joel came whenever he could. Stolen moments while your father was at work and your mother was busy volunteering at church. Even if he could only stay for thirty minutes, he came. The drive from his place to yours took longer than the time you had together. But that never stopped him.

Every time he showed up, you felt like you could breathe again. Like you were alive. You counted the minutes together like treasure—every touch, every laugh, every brush of his hand against yours a kind of salvation.

He’d hold you close, bury his face in your hair, and inhale deeply—like your scent was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You loved how small you felt in his arms. How safe. Like nothing could touch you when he was there. He smelled like cedar and sweat, like hard work and comfort.

Sometimes he brought you sweets. The kind your parents never let you have. “Too many chemicals,” they said. Sometimes he’d take you for a ride in his truck, the windows rolled down, his hand resting on your thigh. Those touches were everything. Not sexual, just grounding. Reassuring. The weight of his hand on your leg told you: I’m here. You’re mine.

No matter what you did together, it always left you with that glow. That warmth that stayed long after he was gone. Like his touch lingered on your skin. Like his voice echoed in your chest.

But you felt guilty sometimes. You couldn’t offer him much. You couldn’t give Joel what he deserved. You couldn’t go with him on real dates, couldn’t sit across from him at a diner booth and laugh over milkshakes, couldn’t walk down the street with your fingers laced together in the open air like a normal couple.

You couldn’t even kiss him without glancing over your shoulder, checking the curtains, your breath hitching at the sound of every creak in the floorboards.

You wanted to show him off. You wanted to stand beside him proudly, chin high, heart full. You wanted to tell the world, he’s mine. You wanted everyone in that suffocating little town to know that this was the man that loved you.

But the world wouldn’t let you.

Your parents wouldn’t let you.

So you kept him a secret, tucked into the corners of your heart.

“Why don’t ya let me talk to them?” Joel had said once, tracing soft circles on your arm with his fingers.

“You don’t know them like I do,” you whispered. “There’s nothing you could say that’d change their minds. They’re too stuck in their own ways.”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” And he kissed your forehead like that made it all okay. And for a moment, it did. His lips on your skin felt like a shield. Like maybe he could protect you from everything—even your own family. Even yourself.

That same day, while kissing on the couch, you’d let your hands slip beneath Joel’s shirt. You didn’t plan it. Your fingers just moved on instinct—drawn to the heat of his skin, the strength beneath it.

He didn’t stop you. Not at first. His breath hitched when your fingers skimmed across his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch. He let you straddle his lap, his hands firm on your waist.

You could feel him beneath you—hard, unmistakably aroused, pressing against the soft heat between your thighs through too-thin layers.

And still, neither of you said a word. You just looked at each other—his pupils blown wide, your chest rising and falling in tandem.

Eventually, like always, he’d gently pull back.

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I should go before your folks come home.”

This time, you didn’t let the moment die. You reached for the buckle of his belt, fingers trembling but determined. He caught your wrist. Gentle. Careful. But firm, and placed your hand back on your lap.

“Did I do something wrong?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“No… no, baby. It’s not that.” He let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours.“It’s just… not now. I don’t wanna rush it.”

“But I want to,” you said softly. “It’s not like you’re forcing me.”

“I know. I know. And I want it too. But not tonight.”

Things were as good as they could be under the circumstances. Bittersweet, but yours. Until everything shattered.

A pretty little box, tied in a ribbon, with a folded note tucked neatly inside:

For the sweetest girl in town –Joel

He exploded. You’d never seen him like that. He grabbed you by the shoulders, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He shook you like he was trying to knock the sin out of you.

“Please stop! Dad, you’re hurting me!” you cried.

“What the hell’s gotten into that head of yours?” he yelled, rapping his knuckles against your skull like it was a door. “Is there anything even in there?”

“I told you,” your mother snapped. “We failed with this one too. She’s a filthy whore just like her sister. What did we do wrong?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. The shame crawled up your spine like ice water, seeping into every crevice of your body. Your cheeks were wet, your throat closed, and all you could do was stand there—frozen. Trapped. Worthless.

“What do you think he wants, huh?” your father spat. “You think he loves you?” He laughed bitterly. Cold. Cruel. The sound scraped across your skin. “What do you have to offer? You’re just a stupid little girl.”

“All a man like that wants is your body,” your mother added. “And once he has it, he’ll throw you away.”

“It’s not like that! He loves me! You don’t understand!” you sobbed.

“You’re a disgrace. As a woman. As a daughter,” your father growled.

His fists clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust himself not to hit something. “Going after a man like that. You should be ashamed, acting like a worthless slut.”

“She is a worthless slut,” your mother sneered. “That’s why she acts like it.”

“No respectable man wants a girl like that,” your father said. “An easy woman with no self-respect. You’re an embarrassment.”

Then he yanked you by the arm and threw you into your room, locking the door behind you.

Neither of them spoke to you for two whole weeks. They wouldn’t even look at you. They acted like you didn’t exist.

You cried into your pillow every night, the silence of the house louder than any scream. You couldn’t see Joel. Your mother quit her church duties so she could stay home, always keeping an eye on you. You weren’t allowed to go anywhere alone. Couldn’t even close your bedroom door.

But every evening, just as the sun dipped below the horizon, you’d press your forehead to the cool glass of your window. And there he was. Joel. Leaning against the hood of his beat-up truck. He never stayed long, just long enough for you to see him. To know he hadn’t left.

He’d smile, mouth the words “hello baby,” and even though you couldn’t hear it, you swore you felt it in your bones, in your chest. He never missed a night. He never gave up on you, always showed up religiously.

He waited. Every single day.

After a month, the frost between you and your parents began to thaw—but only barely. They still hovered, still watched you like a hawk circling prey. Your mother called every half hour when you left the house, her voice tight with suspicion masked as concern.

But little by little, they let the leash loosen. Just enough to breathe.

And all you could think about—what you ached for—was Joel. His touch. His voice. His arms around you. But all you could think about—what your body ached for—was Joel.

The way he looked at you like you were something he chose, not something he stumbled into.

You were starving for him. And this time, you weren’t going to hold back.

It was now late in the afternoon. Your mother had gone to a bake sale at church, claiming she’d be gone for hours. You’d told her you’d stop by to help later, maybe sell some cookies, smile at the neighbors. But that had been a lie the second it left your lips. You had no intention of showing up. You’d already made your mind up—heart racing, pulse hammering beneath your skin. You were going to see Joel.

It was your first time taking the bus, and the nervousness made your stomach twist the entire ride. Your legs bounced, fingers twitching in your lap, trying to ignore the looks from strangers around you. When you finally got off a few blocks from his place, your hands were trembling, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. You needed to see him.

The moment he opened the door and saw you standing there, his eyes went wide, like he didn’t trust they were showing him something real, and then he wrapped his arms around you. So tight. So desperate. It felt like he was trying to fold you into his body, like he could take you somewhere safer just by holding you close enough. You could barely breathe, and you didn’t care.

He held you like a lifeline. Like maybe if he held you close enough, he could shield you from the world. Or drag you into his chest and keep you safe there forever.

He held you like a lifeline. Like maybe if he held you close enough, he could shield you from the world. Or drag you into his chest and keep you safe there forever.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” His voice cracked with awe, like he’d been dreaming of you and didn’t believe this was real.

“I needed to see you, Joel, I—”

“I missed ya so much. You have no idea,” he said, clutching you tighter. “You’re all that’s on my mind. Day and night.”

He didn’t wait. He kissed you. Hard. Desperate. Like he’d been starving for you. His mouth found yours like a man breaking a fast, starving and half-mad with need. His kiss was messy, frantic, breathless—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, hands in your hair, on your hips, everywhere.

Heat surged through your chest, through your spine. He kissed you like he thought you might disappear again.

His arms lifted you, half-carrying you into the house as the door slammed shut behind you. You didn’t even notice where he was taking you—you just knew his mouth was on yours, and nothing else mattered. You ended up like you always did, tangled together on the couch, lips moving frantically, hands already searching.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, hungry and trembling. You dragged your palms across heated skin, over the rise of muscle and the scars that told a hundred quiet stories.

He shuddered under your touch, a sound tearing from his throat—low, rough, involuntary.

“I can’t believe I’m kissing you again,” he said against your lips. “Felt like I was gonna die without you.”

“Me too… I need you so much, Joel,” you breathed, dragging his shirt off and tossing it to the side. Your lips latched onto his neck, hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses leaving trails of fire in their wake.

“Mmm, baby, you gotta stop with that,” he rasped, breath shaking.

“I don’t wanna stop.” Your voice was already thick with want, your hips pressing down into his without you even thinking. And then you felt it—his hardness, thick and hot beneath you, pressing right against your core. You gasped and rolled your hips, needing the friction, the contact, the relief.

“Fuck—enough. That’s enough for now,” he said, voice soft but edged with warning.

“Please… it feels so good,” you whispered, your hips still grinding on the bulge in his pants. You couldn’t stop. It felt too natural, too right—like your body already knew what it needed, and it was him. Only him.

“Baby, I don’t want you doing anything you’re not ready to do. You don’t owe me anything. Not like this. We’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“It’s not that,” you said, sitting up to look him in the eyes. “I want it. So much. And I’m ready, Joel. I promise. I am.”

His gaze searched your face, so serious and gentle, like he needed to be absolutely sure. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. A hundred percent.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, as if he were memorizing every part of your face—your swollen lips, the blush in your cheeks, the vulnerability in your eyes. His jaw flexed. You could see how much it meant to him, how he was holding himself back, terrified of crossing a line.

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. Then, with careful hands, he eased you back against the cushions. The way he looked at you—like you were something sacred—made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

He hovered over you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering, “Is it okay if I take this off?” as his fingers tugged gently at your shirt.

“Joel,” you whispered, “I want you to take everything off.”

He growled, low in his throat, and your shirt joined his on the floor. His hands were everywhere—reverent and hungry—cupping your breasts, lips finding your nipple, sucking with a hot, eager mouth.

His palms were rough, calloused, and warm as they molded to the shape of your tits like he was memorizing every contour. His mouth was fire—wet, open, relentless—his beard scraping your skin as his tongue flicked and circled, teasing the delicate peak with a maddening rhythm.

The sensation sent a shockwave through your whole body. His tongue was slow at first, teasing, swirling around the sensitive bud before latching on again, sucking harder, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

You gasped, back arching, overwhelmed by the newness of it all. Your nipples pebbled under his tongue, thighs squeezing around his waist, trying to ground yourself. It was all so much—so electric. You were trembling.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And you’re giving yourself to me, such a good girl.”

His lips trailed lower, kissing down your stomach, tongue teasing over your skin. Every nerve ending in your body was alive, lit up, aching for him. His hands undid your pants, dragging them down slowly, deliberately, until you were bare beneath him. Your legs trembled. You felt exposed. Vulnerable. You’d never been this naked in front of anyone.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice soft as a prayer. “We can stop whenever you want, yeah?”

Your fingers dug into the couch. The air was cold on your skin but his eyes were molten, and you felt like you were glowing beneath him. You should’ve felt shy, but with him looking at you like that? Like you were the most perfect thing he’d ever seen? You just felt wanted.

“I won’t ask you to stop,” you said. “I want it all, Joel.”

“Just relax f’me,” he said as he settled between your legs, pushing them gently apart. “I’m gonna get you ready, babygirl. We’ve got all night. No need to rush.”

His fingers hooked under your underwear and pulled it aside. You were soaked. Embarrassingly soaked. He groaned.

“God—that’s the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

The way he said it made your belly clench—filthy and reverent all at once, like he was worshiping at an altar.

Your cheeks flushed deep red. His bluntness, the way he said those filthy words with reverence—it made your head spin.

“You’re so wet, baby. It’s all soaked,” he muttered, staring at you like he was hypnotized.

You squirmed, embarrassed, instinctively covering your face with your hand.

“No, no,” he said gently, pulling your hand away. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” you asked shyly.

“Yes. Means I’m doing my job right. Means you’re getting ready to take me.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, and you nearly jerked off the couch. Your hips bucked, chasing his touch, your body burning for more. He started rubbing slow, deliberate circles. The feeling was like nothing you’d ever known. You couldn’t quite understand such pleasure. White-hot, intoxicating, overwhelming.

“Feels good, love?” he asked, his voice low and patient.

“I—it…” you moaned, breath hitching. “It feels weird.”

He chuckled softly. “Bad weird?”

“N-no… it’s good. K-keep doing it.”

“Just relax, love. Don’t think. Just feel.”

You closed your eyes and let yourself go. Let his fingers carry you. Let the warmth spread and grow and gather. You’d never known sex could feel like this. You’d been taught it was about biology—about duty, about giving men children. Never about this. About trembling and pleasure and the way your thighs started to shake as he circled your clit again and again.

Suddenly, the pressure snapped. It tore through you like a wave crashing against the shore. Your body arched, a ragged cry escaping your lips. You didn’t fully knew what was happening in your body, but you felt the world stopping for a second.

He slowed his fingers and leaned over you, smiling. “Jesus, you look like an angel when you’re cummin’.”

“I-I don’t know what that was,” you gasped, eyes still wide.

“You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You shook your head.

“Did you like it?”

“It felt so intense… like nothing before. God, it was amazing.”

He beamed, proud and hungry. Then his tongue flicked out, dragging a long, wet stripe up your slit. You shivered violently. It felt filthy and perfect and everything in between.

His mouth was merciless—tongue exploring every inch of you with patient, devastating precision.

The wet, firm drag of his tongue against your hypersensitive skin sent you reeling again, your back bowing with a gasp. He didn’t rush—just tasted you, slow and deep, letting his tongue slip inside you before licking up to your clit again.

“Mmm, you taste amazin’,” he growled. “Delicious little cunt.”

“Joel… I want your—”

“I know. We’ll get there. But I need to work you a little more. Gonna be a good girl and let me use my fingers?”

“Y-yes.”

His middle finger circled your entrance before sliding in. You gasped, the stretch making your body tense.

“You’re so tight, baby. You gotta relax if you wanna take my cock.” His voice was low, guiding. “Just breathe—yeah… slow breaths. Just like that.”

You forced yourself to breathe, your chest rising and falling in shaky rhythm. He eased his finger in deep, letting it rest for a moment before starting to move, slow and steady. The rhythm was hypnotic. Each stroke of his finger brushed something deep inside you that made your toes curl. You could hear how wet you were, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

Then he added a second.

You whimpered. The stretch burned—but it also made you moan. He pumped his fingers in and out, watching your face, gauging every sound, every twitch of your body. It was almost too much—so full, so thick inside you—but the burn was addictive. Your hips started to rock on instinct, needing more, desperate for what was coming.

“You think you can take another one, love?”

“Yes—yes, please, Joel.”

His third finger pressed in. Your walls clenched, thighs shaking. He curled them just right, searching until he found the spot that made you gasp. Then he kept hitting it, slow and focused, coaxing more slick out of you, letting you fall apart all over again.

“I think you’re ready, baby… you’re all pretty and opened up f’me.”

He sat back, unbuckled his belt, and dropped his pants and underwear. And then you saw it—his cock, thick, hard, flushed red at the tip, leaking clear fluid. Your breath caught.

The sight of it made your pulse thunder in your ears—huge and heavy and veined, the head glistening, twitching as he stroked himself.

“We can stop if you want.”

“I want to. Please. Keep going.”

“I know it looks scary, baby. But I promise I’ll be real gentle. I won’t hurt you.”

He stroked himself slowly, one—two—three slow strokes, then guided the leaking tip through your folds, slick gathering on his cock as he dragged it through your soaked heat, teasing your clit with the swollen head. You were dripping for him, open and trembling, your body aching for the stretch of him. He positioned himself on your sweet hole.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ve got you,” he said, his voice low and tender, a deep rumble that vibrated through your bones, steadying your nerves. And then he started to push in.

It was too much. Too big. Too overwhelming. The blunt pressure at your entrance forced your body to open inch by inch, your inner muscles fluttering in protest and desire. Your hands clawed at the couch cushions, closed eyes squeezing. Feeling the pain of being split open. It felt like pressure, heat, stretch—every inch of him pushing you wider, deeper, fuller. You couldn’t stop the little sob that slipped out.

“Oh god—shit,” he groaned. “You have no idea how fuckin’ good you feel. So warm and tight… Jesus—Tightest little cunt I’ve ever felt.”

You whimpered. your thighs shaking, chest rising and falling with short, gasping breaths.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked, voice thick with concern.

“I’m alright… don’t stop.”

He kept his thrusts slow, gentle, controlled. Each push was deliberate, patient, giving your body time to bloom around him. He didn’t rush. He wanted you to feel every second, every inch, to take him fully, sweetly.

Only the tip first, only a little at a time, inch by inch. Letting your body get used to him. He wanted you to have the best experience possible, wanted you to enjoy it.

“My love… so good f’me. Doing so good. Takin’ me so good… Letting me fill you up all full and nice.”He breathed, voice trembling with restraint.

He kept carefully slamming into you, scared to hurt you. But you adjusted to him slowly. Your body learned him, molded around him, grew greedy for the stretch.

“Takin’ your virginity like this—fuck, baby, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.” He murmured, brushing your hair from your face.

The pain began to blur into pleasure, enjoying the way he felt. The stretch faded into fullness. Every slow drag of his cock against your walls made you clench tighter, made your toes curl and mouth fall open. Each time he pulled out even slightly, your cunt ached to pull him back in, to feel that deep pressure again. You couldn’t believe something so big could fit inside you. Could feel so good.

“Harder, Joel,” you whispered. “Please… harder.”

And he gave it to you. Hips slamming forward, the sound of his skin smacking yours echoing in the room, wet and rhythmic.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. So damn brave, lettin’ me have this first. So proud of you.” He muttered, pride and hunger thick in his voice.

It was deeper now, his cock bottoming out inside you. Your body welcomed him with every thrust, greedy, slick, shaking. Your head lolled back against the couch cushion, lips parted in ecstasy.

“You take this cock like it was made to be inside you,” he grunted. “Your cunt was made to take me.”

The filthy praise made your walls flutter, your nails dragging down his back in helpless, desperate pleasure. His name spilled from your lips over and over as he rutted into you—hard, needy, like he was trying to pour himself into your soul.

“I’m close, baby… I’m really close,” he panted. “Gonna pull out—”

“Inside,” you said quickly, clutching at him. “Inside, Joel.”

His hips snapped forward one last time, and he groaned loud into your neck as he came, deep and hot, emptying himself inside you with everything he had, painting your walls in white. You felt every spasm of his cock, every pulse of heat flooding your core. It made you gasp, your body clenching tight around him, milking him dry.

He didn’t pull out. Not right away. He stayed deep inside you, cradling your body against his, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart even for a moment. His skin was damp with sweat, his breath warm against your temple. He just held you, breathing hard, brushing his fingers through your hair. Slow, soothing strokes, like he was trying to memorize the texture of you, anchor himself in the reality of what had just happened.

“You okay?” he asked softly. “I didn’t hurt you too bad, did I?”

“I’m good—I…” You suddenly felt overwhelmed, a flood of insecurity creeping in. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm?” he murmured, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t very good. I’ll get better and then—”

“No,” he said, cutting you off. “Don’t even think that. Not for a second.”

He cupped your face, stared into your eyes. There was nothing but honesty in them, nothing but fierce, protective love. As if he could see every ugly thing you believed about yourself and wanted to tear it all down.

“Doin’ this with you was the most amazin’ thing in the world.”

Then he kissed you. Your cheeks. Your nose. Your chin. Your forehead. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, meant to heal. To tell you wordlessly that you were enough. That you were everything.

“I promise you,” he whispered, “I’ve never felt this good. Not ever.”

You stayed there, without any rush, any care in the world. Just being in his arms, safe. The weight of him on you was grounding. Protective. As if nothing could touch you so long as he was near.

His heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath your cheek, the warmth of his chest wrapping around you like a blanket, anchoring you to the moment. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside, the weight of your past, the fear of the future—it all slipped away in the comfort of his hold.

“I don’t want you goin’ back there…with your parents,” his voice was soft, you could feel the tremble in it “Come live here with me.”

“As if they’d ever allow it,” you said quietly. You knew all the risks. Their control. Their wrath. The strings they’d pull. The shame they’d sling like daggers.

“Then let’s run away. Together. Just you and me, startin’ over somewhere else.”

“Joel—”

“No. Don’t Joel me. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t do it. You’ll be free, we’ll be happy together.”

“Because you’ll get bored of me. And you’ll leave me. And then I’ll be all alone.”

The confession fell from your lips before you could stop it, your voice cracking under the weight of your deepest fear. It was the kind of truth you never meant to say out loud, the kind that lived in the corners of your mind and poisoned everything good. The words felt like blood drawn from a wound you thought you’d hidden well. Your throat tightened. Eyes burned. You couldn’t look at him.

“Did they tell you that? Did they make you believe that bullshit?” He said it with anger—not at you, never at you—but at them. His voice was shaking, laced with fury that anyone had made you feel so small, so disposable. He hated the ones who planted that fear in your head like poison. His jaw clenched, and you felt it where your cheek rested on his chest. His hands were gentle even as his voice shook.

“Baby, I love you more than I love myself. What do I have to do to convince you?”

His hands braided your hair softly. Each motion was careful, reverent, like he was weaving pieces of you back together. Undoing all the harm they’d done, knot by knot. Each stroke of his fingers through your strands was a vow. The kind of tenderness you’d never been given. Not once. You closed your eyes and let the slow rhythm calm you, ground you.

“You’re the most important thing in my life, my top priority. All I want is to keep you safe and happy. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“When?” you asked him, barely above a whisper. The question trembled in the air like a fragile thing.

“You pack your things and let me worry about the rest. I’ve got you.” His voice was low, full of certainty. Not a single hesitation. Just a promise, and you knew, right then, he’d burn the world to keep you safe with him.

And part of you wanted him to. Wanted to watch him light the match, watch it all go up in flames, just so you could finally be free—with him.

A/N: Soo, to the person who requested this, I really hope i didn’t let you down and it was everything you wanted and more. Thank you so much for your request!!🫶🫶

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[xazse]

Female!Reader × HybridPuppy!Yuji

The reader produces breast milk , which she expresses and donates to a shelter for small hybrids. HybridPuppy!Yuji often hugs her and presses himself against her chest to inhale the smell of milk, which makes his mouth water and his cock hard. In the end, he can't resist and begs his mistress to let him suck her milk. Or he sneaks into her bedroom at night and drinks her milk while she sleeps.

Instead of Yuji, you can have Satoru if you want to change the character

Notes: I love this so fucking much, I made a few changes I hope you don’t mind and I’m using Satoru btw because I don’t write for minors.

Pairings: PuppyHybrid!Satoru x LactatingFem!Reader

Warnings: I’m sorry but I’m warning ya now this is some nasty shit but a good nasty if ur into this! + Smut + Lactation + hybrids + reader has big boobs + possessive!Satoru + perv!Satoru + porn with plot + notproofread + bathroom sex + I think I spent too much time on plot and not enough porn sorry!

You love visiting the shelter near your house, it’s just a ten minute walk of you enjoying the scenery and speaking to the townspeople, they always greet you with the warmest smiles because they know you, they’ve known you for years.

In fact everyone here knows you: a widowed mother and wife, a mother whose children have been moved on to pursue their own hopes and dreams so in your little warm house it’s just you. You’ve noticed for a while a void in your heart, the loneliness does get to you some days but not today.

Recently a facility had been built, a hybrid facility, at first you hadn’t ever thought those existed because under new law hybrids are allowed to coexist around regular humans, they are to be treated as such it was a long time coming, it hurt your heart to see them being treated as outcasts.

You learned that this facility was for the young, abandoned and on occasion they’d take in adults who still couldn’t find their place.

And in that place you finally found your calling. for some odd reason you and your doctor couldn’t place you were still weirdly lactating, it was exhausting having sore breasts and an endless supply of milk you’d have to pour down the drain: too embarrassed to donate it in fear of being found out in the small town of people.

You awake up with full boobs that needed to be emptied or you’d spend the entire day in pain, pumping the milk was the only way, you’d only have to do it once a day but the sheer amount could keep a baby feed for the entire day.

You’d been talking to one of the workers of the facility and they’d been explaining how the young ones weren’t exactly taking well to the supplied formula milk, “they’d cry constantly” he exclaimed and it broke your heart into pieces the thought of them not eating hurts you, for the very first time you confided in the worker and he didn’t look disgusted not one bit in fact he seemed overjoyed.

“Disgusted? Why would I feel that way? This means the little ones will eat and not throw fits.” When he finishes that sentence a long drawn out sigh leaves his lips. You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips.

Suguru you learn comes by your house to pick up the supplements and does he have some comments, he had waited a week to see how much you would produce.

“All this?!” You stand in your doorway shyly nodding in his presence, he’s actually appalled you weren’t lying when you said you have a good bit, he shakes the box in his hands and listens carefully, it’s hard for you to watch him do that right in front of you and not get a little flustered.

He thanks you graciously and makes his way back to the facility, you really hope they like it, it was one hell of a week for you. Though the feeling you did something good swarms you with warmth.

After that it was found that they absolutely loved your milk, and you had plenty to give, it was so cute the way Suguru described their reactions and how priceless it was. One little one had whined for more: Yuji was a special character he required a bit more milk since he was malnourished, Suguru couldn’t stop describing how he would not let go of the bottle, his grip was not going to let up easily, he looked so genuinely happy describing his work and how much he enjoys this field.

You break out of your thoughts and make your way to the facility, it’s downright gorgeous garden greeting you before the glass doors, smelling so good greets you just as warmly, you open the door and offer your greetings to the staff, Suguru had told you on the phone that the little ones had been particularly needy and needed some attention, attention they couldn’t provide right at the moment so they called you: they always do.

They’re way more comfortable with you, always asking when you’re coming back and on occasion they’ll beg you to stay a little longer with them, cute little faces decorated in tears to trick you.

Right now you’re relaxing on the mat in the playroom whilst they all run around chasing after one another, Nobara: a little lion hybrid is trying her hardest to doze off on your lap, she can’t with all the loud children playing like it’s their last day ever. You slowly and softly rub her short locs to lull her, it’s working until Yuji: a tiger hybrid ever the energetic thing is crawling to come bother her.

With Megumi: a wolf hybrid, and basically his other half following right behind him quietly.

Nobara seems unphased by the tiger trying to bother her, simply shooing him away so she can get her beauty sleep, that sentence makes you giggle, you continue to watch the threes antics without saying a word, a show with no production is how they act together.

Yuji sees your hands rubbing Nobaras ears and he’s immediately making his way towards your soft fingers, basically forcing you to rub his orange striped ears, this doesn’t make Nobara happy and she tries to shove him away; whining for your attention again.

You know how they get if you aren’t showing them equal parts attention so now both of your hands are preoccupied, Megumi doesn’t seem to mind, simply sitting and watching on.

You hear his voice before you even see him, he’s definitely running through the halls disrupting the staff, he’s yelling your name so loud that you know its Satoru and how eager he is, you know how eager puppy hybrids can be.

When he pops his head into the playroom the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen, he quickly makes his way over to you ignoring the little growls the babies give him, he’s pushing them aside against your protest and laying in your lap. The grip he has around your waist allows for him to fully envelope himself in your breasts.

“Missed you’s much” he playfully whines.

“You seen me yesterday Toru.”

Satoru lets out a satisfied sigh in the warmth of your boobs, he’s become obsessed with you, and it’s bad he’s had to he reprimanded by Suguru and the other staff multiple times for his possessiveness it’s not his fault though! He can’t control how he feels about you not after that day.

It was when he was feeding Megumi, sometimes as a way to bond Suguru will have Satoru bottle feed them, though he absolutely dreads it, he has to put up with it, all the other adult hybrids are far too hard headed.

He was curious one day, about how the milk had tasted, he found out through Suguru that the formula had been changed to breast milk, it was a slip of the tongue but he himself had also noticed how they whined for more.

He unscrewed the top to the bottle, the little calm Megumi was already drifting off so he wasn’t a problem.

He took a sip, and quickly pulled away: fully expecting it to be the worst thing he’s ever tried: it’s baby food not food meant for him but that feeling on his tongue never came in fact it was actually quite good.

Another sip and another after that; he scarfed the remains of the bottle down with a flushed face, it tassted like- well he couldn’t describe it but he knew he fucking loved it. He found himself sneaking into where it was kept and taking some for himself, it was almost an everyday thing, he knew when Suguru was questioning and bothering him he had to stop but he couldn’t, until he met the source of where the milk was coming from.

He snuggles his face deeper, ignoring and zoning out the loud noises around him, he can smell the milk on your breasts, you recently pumped? Probably this morning to be exact as and all he can think about is how you sat there for hours getting rid of the awful feeling in your sore breasts.

You feel something hard against your leg, you know how Satoru feels about you but this is too much. You’ve already had to tell him in the past that he’s much too young for you and would be better off finding someone who can fit his needs, he insists that he only wants you and doesn’t care about the age difference.

You have yet to bring up these feelings to Suguru though, you can’t bring yourself to say because what if Satoru won’t trust you anymore, it was hard building trust with the man due to his past experiences.

He’s only getting more excited by the minute, his tail moving in slow languid motions.

The way he’s looking up at you is filled with nothing but love and lust, you know that look too well.

You aren’t sure why you’re in a bathroom stall with Toru whilst he feels you up, caressing your boobs, every attempt to tell him to stop dies on your tongue when he rubs a sore area, your breath hitching in your throat when he grinds his hard cock on you.

Such a needy puppy he is, whining under his breath words that you can’t quite decipher especially with how heated you’re getting, your mind getting foggier by the minute as you let Satoru get his fill of you.

He rips apart your blouse and carelessly throws it on the floor, along with your bra next. Your nipples are exposed to the cold air of the facility and Satoru is reveling in it. He paws at your heavy boobs with rough calloused hands that are uncoordinated, squeezing the fat in his hand until he sees what he wants.

The droplets of your milk finally coming to fruition, he licks one nipple and you think you can see him visibly shake with excitement, he filts that nipple in his mouth and suckles, after a good minute he ceases his constant unconscious movements and readily focuses on the sweet milk cascading down his throat.

A moan breaks free from your trembling lips, this feels nothing like the machine you have at home, this feels so fucking good it alone has your cunt throbbing in your panties, the swirling of his tongue and just how content he looks is driving you mad.

You slip into that space that you know is bad for you, your voice is for some reason egging Satoru on, calling him all sorts of names that entice him to suck harder. Your hands don’t listen to you either because you’re rubbing the front of his pants in soft motions.

His whimpers don’t go unnoticed, nor does his swishing tail, such a good boy you tell him, losing all sense of rational he drags you with him to sit on the toilet, you don’t expect the amount of strength he has for being so lanky but he manages it.

He goes right back to sucking on your fat breasts that still replenish his appetite.

You let Satoru strip you of your bottoms and your panties, you let him slip his cock inside of you when you know you shouldn’t, he isn’t big but he fucks constant, always hitting that good spot inside of you based off your reactions.

He looks disheveled and messy, his face red and his mouth dripping with drool and remnants of your milk.

You let him bend you any which way he sees fit in that stall, an overexcited hybrid means it’s going to take a while to exhaust them, though you feel tired after having an orgasm you’ve never experienced he isn’t done, he’s cum multiple times, filled your cunt with his leaky cum he still isn’t done yet.

When he’s got you in his lap leaning on him for support he’s nonstop talking about what you and him will do from here, he talks about how he wants a family of his own and how you’ll be such a perfect mommy to his little ones.

[wonryllis]

HER VANILLA GREED (M) park sunghoon.

❛ 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗐𝖾'𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌.

featuring. enemy!park sunghoon who gets a taste of you and now he can't get enough, consumed with greed that can never be satiated─ albeit barely just quenched for a while. directory?

warnings. smut!! kinda dom!sunghoon feeling crazy. enemies pouncing on e/o, prn with bits of plot, rough sex, unprotected (wrap your willy pls), swearing, mentions of multiple acts.

part of, hold your breath event. prompts include “that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.” & fucking someone so good that they struggle to kiss you back. ( wordcount, 944. )

JZLYN notes ╱ hope y'all enjoy it! & if you do please leave comments & feedbacks it keeps me going! & lastly please reblog!!

you loved vanilla and sunghoon loved your vanilla.

it's uncharacteristic of him to feel this way for his enemy, definitely; but after that one time he ate you out for a heated game of dare or drink, he has just gotten addicted. so so addicted that every time he catches a glimpse of you around the house he cannot help imagining the taste of you on his tongue, the waft of your scent dancing edges on him.

it was an accident─ a one time mistake if he may say. and how it turned into a regular thing? he has no recollection of it. the only thing he remembers are the spontaneous blowjobs in the kitchen to imprudently eating you out on the couch at any given chance you both got. which is whenever considering you live together.

oral had been the go to, for the past two months. no matter how turned on you both got, you just never threaded that line of linking more closely. making out and grinding against each other, sliding his cock against your panty clad pussy, jerking him off while he fingerfucked you; moaning into each other's mouth as you finished. but never hitting it in.

but tonight something changed─ something triggered.

a night together at one of the newly opened bars downtown. shots of alcohol in your systems and raging jealousy at others pawing for your attention away from each other. it was mutual, the way you both grew desperate and covetous. like you owned the other, your prized─ no, unwarranted possession.

“that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.” sunghoon rasps as he slides in, inch by inch, breath by breath. calloused hands gripping the tender skin of your waist, holding you up and pulling you closer by your hips. your legs wrapped around him like a cage of lust.

the veins in his cock throb with your warm cunt engulfing him. tight, slick─ and fuck it's full of your vanilla smearing all over his throbbing and twitching length.

mind a big mush, sweating dripping along sunghhon’s silver chain dangling between your thighs as he bottoms out. hissing out a line of curses at the feeling, his grip on you tightening.

“god your pussy’s insane─ can't believe ‘was gonna miss out on this,” sunghoon mutters out in a hushed whisper, words tumbling out in a single breath as he tries to compose himself. but it's so hard. his cock is so hard and keeping himself from completely ravaging you for his pleasure is making it even harder.

the sight of you is criminally arousing. your hands clutching at sheets above your head, dress tugged down and barely hanging low above your hips. skin flushed with sweat and your breaths coming out in soft anticipating gasps while you wait for him to start moving. it's atrocious how he does not feel disgusted at the even the glimpse of his enemy laying bare and inviting and with his cock inside her.

“park, move─” you let out a demanding whine. wiggling your hips against his balls in a futile attempt with his hands holding you still.

“you don't gotta tell me,” it does not take him a second to start thrusting. pulling all the way out till the tip and pushing back in a rough, brutal and almost hurtfully bruising smack. it's always been annoying to hear you call him ‘park’ instead of his name, triggering irritation above all. but something about the way it slips and rolls off your pretty little pink tongue right now just turns him on so bad, it's sickeningly annoying. it's sickeningly lewd.

sunghoon's pace gradually increases along with his sheer desperation to somehow want you more and more even when he's balls deep in you and painfully holding in the bursts of cum threatening to gush out amid each thrust.

his hands move to cup your cheeks, squeezing your lips into a pucker before he leans down to devour them in a messy and sloppy kiss. one that you can barely keep up with. mouth falling open in wild moans and your back arching so prettily into him, he can feel the hair on your skin standing, the slight trembles passing over you and heat emanating off in quick shivers.

it drives him crazy. your drooling reflection in his eyes as he pulls away to get off at the view of you struggling to remain lucid. his thumb skimming onto your wet glossed lips and smearing it over to your cheek.

you stick your tongue out at his touch, eyes closed in a sensual lick against his fingers and sunghoon loses it. grabbing your hair to tug your head back as he starts pounding into you, crazed and frantic.

“fuck─ why do you have to be so goddamn hot, fuck fuck fuck─ this is─ fuck─ ridiculous.” he grunts out in shuddering and shaky breaths. his head thrown back and mouth fallen open alike. he still cannot believe he's fucking you, and absolutely not how fucking sinfully good it feels. his enemy and roommate, two no-zones: crossed at once. and if that was not enough already, he did not have the patience to slip on a condom. and fuck does it feel like you'll milk him out dry.

“shit i can't stand looking at you─ you're gonna make me cum so fast,” each drag, each glide so torturously pleasurable.

“then cum. fill me up,” you mumble out, managing to graze your fingers along his chest and down to his lower abs. sunghoon groans at those words, his stomach churning and clenching up at the sensations.

he's gonna turn your vanilla into vanilla whipped cream he swears.

reg taglist. @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp @laylasbunbunny @riribelle @ancnymcnzjy

event taglist. @sickntrd @matchacake2 @heebear @lostwonderwall @sunshine-skz @engenesengenes333 @soobheehoon @isagistar @heesky @jaeyungxrl

[f1amour]

✧˚ · . make me juno

pairing | max verstappen x popstar!reader

word count | 2.3k

content warnings | some social media au, established relationship, smitten max, light dom!max, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, multiple orgasms, fingering, brief choking kink, praise kink, squirting, HEAVY BREEDING KINK, cock warming, teasing, unprotected sex — 18+ only, minors do not interact

authors note | happy belated birthday to max #1 certified cat lover <3

navigation. | requests — open | main masterlist.

yourusername juno out now available to download and stream! happy birthday baby 💋🤍

tagged — maxverstappen

comments below…

user1 MAX MUSIC VIDEO DEBUT

user2 begged for a cameo from max and we got a whole ass film 🧎‍♀️

yourusername my man is too hot for only a small cameo. made sure to showcase his actor side>>>

landonorris i did NOT have to watch an 8 minute film of you and max being horny. disgusting.

yourusername the first minute of the video was horny you could have exited but you watched the whole thing. our biggest fan 🥹🫶🏼

landonorris fuck off

maxverstappen1 wanna say that again?

landonorris 🏃‍♂️💨

user3 max trying to be serious through the video but breaks into a smile anytime y/n would sing to him 😭

user4 they just broke the internet with this video

user5 never thought i would see max and y/n horny on main in 2024

user6 did you guys not listen to her latest album? girl gave us a whole ass ovulation album. GIVE HER A BABY MAX!

maxverstappen1 i’m trying

─────────────────────────

being with max for five years now you’d grown used to knowing his likes and dislikes; both in & out of bed.

especially in bed.

“have you always been this keen on having kids? even before me?” you manage to spit out while sitting on max’s lap, his lips prepping kisses all over your neck and chest.

you had just spent the day celebrating his birthday on a yacht with all of yours and max’s close friends and family so he had been extra needy arriving home since he couldn’t have his way with you all day with everyone surrounding both of you.

his lips detach from your neck looking you in the eyes full of love, “i’ll remind you any chance i get when it comes to that, you are the reason i want a family. the reason i see myself being your husband and father of our children before you i never saw that with anyone else.” max would take any chance to remind you how ready he was to be your husband and have kids with you.

“i don’t want to wait anymore. not for the wedding or the babies…i want it now.” you whisper desperately clinging onto max. his eyes widen at your statement, “now?”

“we’ll have the wedding after the baby is born. we can go to to the courthouse this week and make it official just us two. don’t you want that, maxie?” sitting on his lap grinding against his hardened cock make it even more difficult for him to say the words.

“yes…fuck yes of course, baby. i don’t want to wait any longer to have you as my wife. gonna fuck you so full of my cum tonight and make you a mommy. god i can’t wait any longer.” his hands cupping your face and pulling you into a hungry and messy kiss. both of you quickly removing your clothes off each other desperately needing to feel as close as possible.

you start getting on your knees but max pulls you back up, “as much as i want you on your knees stuffed with my cock in your mouth, i need to taste you.” his words immediately taking affect on your core.

“b-but it’s your birthday…w-w-wanna gi—.” your words stutter out, after placing you on the bed hovering over you his lips meet your neck down to your stomach before he situates himself between your thighs.

“getting to taste you is the best gift i could ever get.” your legs squeeze his head, thighs keeping him close to your pussy as he licks, laps, and sucks until you're close to the edge.

"’m so close, max, so close," you feel like you're in a trance as his fingers hook inside of you brushing your g-spot. he presses his palm into your lower tummy, applying gentle pressure as you nearly thrash under him from how intense the buildup is.

"cum for me, baby. make a mess all over my face," he growls before you feel yourself snapping as your orgasm flows through you. max rides you through the orgasm, tongue lapping at your core as your legs are left shaking.

“max…” you gasp out of breath as cleans you with his tongue, your fingers slowly caressing his hair. he

"you are so perfect, baby." he cooes, thumb resting on your lip as you part your mouth and bite down on it. you feel him stiffen under you, "ik hou van je. (i fucking love you)" he groans under his breath as you wrap your lips around his thumb.

"my fingers look so good shoved in your mouth," he purrs, hearing you whimper as he massages your pelvis. you can feel yourself growing wetter, the heaviness in your mouth feels comfortable before his lips are on yours.

"shit," he hisses, "i’m done waiting…i’ll take my time with you later.”

he doesn't give you a chance to speak before he's fisting his cock, lining up with your entrance, and pushing in "fuck, fuck," his voice is low and raspy, the feeling of him sinking into you, whispering out a various dutch words as he sinks deeper and deeper into you.

"this," he thrusts, slamming the headboard against the wall,"is what l've been fuckin' cravin. can’t wait to see you round and full." his thrusts are deep and slow before he can't hold back and he's fucking you into the mattress, loud moans and skin slapping are the only sounds filling the room.

your walls flutter around his cock and you're coming for the second time that night, "gonna have you cum a few more times, baby. keeping us up all night and make sure i get you pregnant." he snaps, bed in shambles as it creaks and squeaks before his own thrusts are growing sloppy.

"gonna fill you up," he moans, "fuck, you're gonna be so fuckin' stuffed. looking so perfect carrying our babies." his breathing is laboured, chasing his release before it hits him and he’s spilling inside you.

you stay close together for a brief moment before you both are desperate for another round, trying to rock your hips because he's still hard inside of you, "max…," you plead. "need more. please, please, please.”

he chuckles deeply at your desperation, "yeah?" he switches your positions, flipping over, lying on his back as you're straddling him and you fall into his chest because he’s impossibly deep, you were sure you’d come right there once again just from that position

you rock your hips, steadying yourself over his chest as he groans, "that's my good girl, you feel so fucking good like this. my soon to be wife. mother of our babies. i love you.” he’s lost himself in you, unable to form a coherent sentence as you lose yourself in the feeling of riding him like never before.

his sweet words and whines coming from his mouth have you quicken your movements, "you feel so good, max," you mumble, "all yours, baby. i’m all yours," he groans, digging his fingers into your skin as he meets your thrusts.

“how you doing, baby? you okay?” despite being deep inside you he slows down checking on you. he was starting to feel the exhaustion catch up to him but he was still hard as a fucking rock with your cunt clenching around him.

you nod giving him a smile, “m’ okay…getting sleepy,” you mumble out before pulling him closer to you (if that was even possible), “fill me up one more time, maxie. then we take a nap…and go again.”

despite being completely exhausted from the hours of fucking you wanted max to ensure you were pregnant by the end of the break. you were ready to become his wife and now have his babies as soon as possible.

his thrusts are deep and slow while you two conversed until your last sentence he can't hold back and he is fucking you senselessly now giving deep and rough thrusts, your moans filling the room chanting his name.

"come on, baby. cum 'round my cock, yeah…fuck," he hisses when you wrap your legs around his waist, locking him inside of you as he comes inside you once again.

catching your breaths you lay on top of him now, his cock buried inside you, “can’t believe we’ve been awake all night.” you chuckle against his chest while his hand plays with your hair.

“i have a month of uninterrupted free time with you and i’m gonna take advantage of that.” max kisses your head and you close your eyes getting comfortable in his arms.

“remember when we first met?” you ask him, knowing he’d go on a yap session about it. he would talk about it to anyone who asked and you loved him so much for knowing the small things just from the first moment you met.

“do i remember? how could i forget when you assumed i was a mechanic instead of the driver? oh and your perfect smile—.”

2018

meeting at the united states gp in austin the year of 2018 you were just 19 years old on your first world tour of your singing career. you had a concert on the first day of the race weekend so you met a few of the drivers and you tried your best to remember their names but there was so many.

max had been watching your performance with a huge smile on his face, he was in a meeting causing him to miss the introductions most of the drivers had with you. but here he was waiting for you at the side of the stage to introduce himself. he had grown to be a fan the last few months and when he found out you’d be performing at the austin gp he was counting down the days.

“hi i’m max…i’m with redbull—.”

you had gotten off stage ecstatic with the crowd cheering you on to be meet with a slightly taller guy dressed in some jeans and a white jacket paired with a redbull hat. the redbull hat made you assume he was a mechanic for the team so you cut him off, “oh nice to meet you! i’m y/n, how is it like working on the cars for redbull? you’re a mechanic right?”

max was confused at the question many things did not make sense when you asked but he assumed you didn’t know much of the sport (which was very true). he decided to go alone with it appreciating the chance to speak with you just for a few minutes before you were pulled away again for some interviews.

few weeks later he got your number from lewis who had been a mentor in your life for awhile now being in the limelight at a young age he took you under his wing. after checking with you first he gave max your number sending you a text and getting his full name you search him up on instagram realizing he wasn’t a mechanic but a goddamn driver for redbull racing.

lewis couldn’t help but laugh at your cluelessness when it came to the sport only sending him messages if he won not caring for any other drivers; until now.

after many apologies through the phone and max waving it off as something to laugh about. you grew a close friendship with him for the next year waiting patiently for him to ask you out.

PRESENT

“i had to wait a year before i got the balls to ask you out and then—oh.” he chuckles stopping mid sentence looking down at you realizing you had fallen asleep. he gives your head a kiss and falls into some much needed sleep alongside you.

you had woken up a few minutes ago with your back against max’s chest settling between his thighs. he had been playing with you hair until his hands started wandering down your body, “max…” you sigh contently feeling his finger play with your clit.

when two fingers slip through your folds, an obscene moan runs through you before they're filling you up. "that's my good girl, look at how well you're taking my fingers," he cooes, fingers curled deep inside you.

"that feels good, doesn't it, baby?" he taunts, you nodded your head, eager to feel his fingers moving some more as you rocked your hips in sync.

the pressure building up made you squirm, max was edging you and now you were nearly in tears, “oh…oh god,” whispering as you beg him to let you cum.

"that's it, my pretty girl," he hummed, “love hearing your moans, love feeling you cum, baby. squeezing my fingers with your tight pussy. gonna have your pussy squeezing my cock after this.”

"fuck," max groans, your orgasm gushes out of you; soaking his hand and bed sheets. you pant trying to catch your breath, "think we need to get ready for the day...we can't stay in bed forever. i wanna take you to a cat cafe--."

"just one more for me, schatje, one more and then we go to all the cat cafes we want," he smiles sweetly, kissing your neck finding your sweet spot and getting a moan out of you. how could you deny him?

pulling you in for a passionate kiss he flips you around and looks you in the eyes filled with lust, "wanna try another position?" he mumbles against your lips and you nod, not having to tell him the one you wanna try because he knows it's your favorite.

with your face pressed into the bedsheets and ass up in the air he gives you a soft slap before sliding his cock deep inside your aching cunt, "fucking christ...shit," he groans with each deep thrust your walls squeeze him.

"not gonna last, max..." you whine, your hands grip the sheets as he gives you a rough slap on your ass, "me neither, baby. you gonna cum with me? come on, schat. gonna fill your tight pussy with my cum and make you mine forever." his thrusts growing faster and sloppier, but his words have you pushing back against him meeting his hips.

"yes, yes, yes...wanna have your baby please fill me up, maxie," he pushes you up against his chest his hand wrapping around your throat squeezing it lightly. it was more than enough for you to ride out yet another orgasm, "that's it, baby. make a mess all over my cock." he groans feeling your walls flutter around him, with a few more thrusts his cum fills you up.

your heavy pants fill the room, feeling him pull out of you after a few minutes making sure each drop of his cum filled you up he flips you over laying you down and grabbing a warm towel to clean you up, "doing okay, my darling?" he smiles down at your loopy grin.

"so good. i love you." you tell him once he finishes cleaning you up and settling in bed for a few minutes before you go and shower. "i love you more. best birthday ever." max tells you, and he meant it being the best birthday especially if you do end up pregnant.

you run your fingers along his jaw, "think you made me juno yet?" you smile sheepishly at him and you both break out into a fit of laughter, "well if that didn't, we'll just have to keep on going until you are."

[chroniclesofskz]

Needy baby

Chan sat in his dimly lit room, the neon glow of his gaming setup casting a soft blue hue across his face. The sounds of explosions and gunfire from the Call of Duty battlefield filled the air, punctuated by the occasional victory shout from his friends, the other members of Stray Kids. They were deep into their usual nightly session, the digital warfare a welcome escape from the mundane.

Leaning back in his chair, eyes glued to the screen, he heard a faint sound from the hallway. Y/N, his girlfriend, padded in on silent feet. She'd been feeling lonely, craving his attention for hours. He'd promised her earlier that he'd only be a minute, but the match had gone on longer than he'd thought.

Ignoring the intermission, he hummed in response to her unheard question. It was a lie, a reflex, because he was in the middle of a heated firefight. He didn't turn to look at her, his thumbs dancing over the controller, guiding his avatar through the virtual chaos.

But Y/N had had enough of being second to a video game. She took a deep breath and strutted back out, returning with a determination that made her heart race. This time, she wouldn't be so easily dismissed.

Her sultry movements caught his eye, and he couldn't help but watch as she approached, her naked body on full display. She leaned down, her soft hair brushing his cheek, and whispered, "I've missed you." Her breath was sweet, a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

The warmth of her skin against his sent a shiver down his spine, and he swallowed hard. Her fingers traced his jaw, sending a jolt of desire through him, and he felt himself losing focus on the game. The boys noticed his distraction, their shouts growing more frustrated as he stumbled in his responses.

With a smirk, Y/N dropped to her knees and began to caress his thighs, her touch feather-light yet firm. His breath hitched as she slid her hand up his leg and into his joggers, gripping his thick, hard cock. He bit his lip to keep his moan contained, but it was no use. His eyes rolled back, and his body tensed as she began to toy with him, the sensation of her hand around him almost too much to bear.

The boys' yells grew louder, their complaints turning to shocked disgust as they realized the source of his distraction. "What the fuck, Chan!" Hyunjin shouted over the mic, his voice echoing through the headset. But Chan was lost in the moment, his girlfriend's touch overpowering the digital warfare.

Her mouth closed around the tip of his cock, and he couldn't hold back the sound that escaped his lips. The room around him spun, the game forgotten. Her eyes met his, a mischievous glint in them as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head.

The boys' voices grew clearer through the headset, their teasing comments about his "special tactics" and "new game strategy" cutting through the background noise. He knew they could hear her wet, eager sucks, the sloppy sounds of her mouth working him over. It was embarrassing, but also thrilling in a way he couldn't ignore.

Y/N took him in deeper, her cheeks hollowing out as she bobbed her head rhythmically. He gripped the chair, trying to keep still as she hit all the right spots, her hand working in tandem with her mouth. His hips bucked involuntarily, and he felt his orgasm building.

"You're going to make us lose again, man," Minho said, his voice thick with amusement. The others joined in, their laughter a strange soundtrack to the intimate moment. Chan's face burned, but the pleasure was too intense to ignore. He looked down at her, her eyes locked on his, and he could see the smug satisfaction in them. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, and she reveled in his reaction.

Her hand tightened around his base, and she began to stroke him in time with her sucks. The tension grew unbearable, and with a strangled groan, he came in her mouth, his body jerking as she swallowed every drop. The room was silent except for their heavy breathing and the distant sound of the game still playing on the TV.

The boys' voices on the other end of the headset grew louder again, their disbelief and mockery clear. "Dude, what the actual fuck?" Jeongin exclaimed, while others could be heard muttering in shock and disgust.

Y/N stood up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a wicked smile playing on her lips. She grabbed his jaw, whispering loud enough for them all to hear, "Don't ever ignore me like that again." Her eyes gleamed with triumph as she turned and sashayed out of the room, leaving him flustered and exposed.

Chan's heart raced as he realized his microphone had been on the entire time. He'd been so lost in the moment that he'd forgotten about his friends, about the game, about anything other than the feeling of her mouth on him. He fumbled for the mute button, his cheeks burning as he tried to explain, but the damage was done.

Their laughter and jeers filled the room, each one a sting to his pride. "You're such a dog, Chan," Changbin teased, his voice tinged with envy. "Couldn't even wait to finish the round?" The others chimed in, their words a blur of mockery and shock.

For a moment, Chan considered storming out, ending the game, and hiding in his room in humiliation. But as he sat there, his cock still pulsing, he felt a strange sense of power. He'd been caught in the act, but Y/N had claimed him so publicly, so boldly. It was as if she'd marked her territory, and the thought sent a thrill through him.

He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face despite the embarrassment. "You guys are just jealous," he quipped, trying to recover some of his lost dignity.

The teasing continued, but he took it in stride, knowing that his relationship with Y/N was strong enough to handle a little public display of affection. Plus, the thought of her waiting for him, naked and eager, was all the motivation he needed to ignore the taunts and focus on the game.

The night went on, the trash talk and laughter never fully dying down, but the tension in the room shifted. The other members of Stray Kids had been reminded that, despite their fame and friendship, they all had personal lives that didn't always revolve around the group. And as the final match of the night wound down, Chan found himself looking forward to the moment when he could excuse himself and go to her, ready for round two.

[cutehoons02]

Between love and revenge

*pairing: alpha leader Heeseung x omega Girl

*trope: : Forbidden love/Enemies to lovers/Dark romance

*synopsis: Y/n, an omega, has avoided an unhappy marriage with Jiwon thanks to the intervention of Heeseung, an alpha who, driven by revenge against his father, has bonded her to him. Despite the bond, Y/n struggles with anger and resentment towards Heeseung, feeling trapped between hatred and a growing passion. Their relationship develops amidst Y/n's inner conflict and Heeseung's determination to show her that, beyond revenge, there is a deeper connection. But between secrets, lies, and the weight of the past, both are forced to confront the truth of their emotions and the meaning of the bond that unites them.

Between lust and revenge <- I recommend that you read Part 1.

(6.8k❤️‍🔥)

*tags: A lot of tension, Heeseung slowly becomes downbad for her, Y/n discovers a secret that will upset his life, lies, obsession, kisses, bites, unprotected sex (in the woods) traformation of Heeseung in alpha, double annotation, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) (normal sex-doggy sex) tamper with your feelings, +18 *(reference to a pregnancy to violate the laws between alpha and omega by Y/n’s father raping an alpha girl)

You had always thought that the worst moment of your life would be the day of your marriage to Jiwon. The idea of being chained to an omega who treated you like an object to possess, who dreamed of breaking your wings to force you into a golden cage, made you sick to your stomach. But now… the worst was over. Or at least, that’s what you believed. You walked towards the college cafeteria with a heavy heart and a head full of questions. The bond with Heeseung had been real. Raw. Powerful. Your body still carried the marks from the night before. But your mind? It was a battlefield. You had given everything, even what you never thought you’d offer anyone. And now… you would be watched. Judged. Commented on. You entered the grand Victorian cafeteria, and the silence was almost deafening. Everyone was looking at you. Some with their mouths hanging open, others already whispering among themselves, throwing glances your way. You could feel every unspoken word like a blade on your skin. You lifted your chin. You had to. They wouldn’t see shame, not today. You walked as if every step was a declaration: “I’m here, and I don’t regret it.”

It was then that the voice of your best friend, an Alpha, broke the tension. She ran toward you with a smile that clashed with the coldness of the atmosphere. She hugged you tightly, as only someone who truly knew you could. 'Y/n… how did it go?' she whispered in your ear, her voice full of real emotion. Then she pulled back slightly and sniffed the air. 'Oh my God… you smell like him. I can sense him everywhere.' You smiled faintly, your eyes already burning. “It was amazing,” you answered in a hoarse but honest voice. Too amazing. And at that moment, you hated yourself for still having feelings for him. She caressed your face. 'You were so brave. The Alphas… the elders… they’ll want to honor you. They’re already preparing a ceremony—' She didn’t finish. A scream cut through the air. “Y/N!”

You stiffened. Your blood froze in your veins. You turned slowly… and you saw him. Jiwon. He was walking toward you, furious, his eyes bloodshot with rage. He yelled at you, words full of venom. <WHORE! You got bonded to that piece of shit just to avoid marrying me?!> he shouted, his voice echoing off the ancient walls. You trembled. Not from his words, but from his hatred. He stopped five steps away, suddenly panting. He put a hand to his nose, disgusted. <You stink… you smell like him. That fucking Alpha!> You forced yourself to stand tall. “At least Heeseung… will let me study. Go out with my friends. Live.” <Live?!> he laughed bitterly. <You’re an Omega! Your duty is to stay at home, give birth, serve. It’s the man who works, who commands. It’s nature!> You stared at him. “It’s not mine. I don’t want that.” He looked down at you, degrading you with his gaze. As if you were just a mistake. <Your father will kill you for this.>

-No, he won’t.- The voice came from behind. Cold. Sure. Deadly. Sunghoon. One of Heeseung’s best friends. A feared and respected Alpha. He stepped forward, positioned himself between you and Jiwon. He looked down at him. -She is one of us now. Part of our family. No man will touch her again. And if any of them tries… they’ll die before they even get the chance.- Jiwon clenched his jaw, but took a step back. <It’s not over,> he hissed. He looked at you one last time… and walked away. You stood there, your heart in your throat, Heeseung’s scent still on you, your body tense, and your mind screaming. But had you won? Or at least, had you begun to?

Sunghoon looked at you with a cold, cutting gaze. There was no compassion, only a chilling, unrelenting authority. -Take her to her room,- he said to your best friend. -It’s better for her safety.- She let out a soft sigh, pulling you close. 'Hoon, don’t you think you’re overdoing it? She’s already under enough pressure. There’s no need to treat her like she’s in danger—' But he interrupted her with a cynical look. -The problem isn’t her. It’s the others.- Then he turned to both of you, his tone ice-cold: -From now on, move in pairs. And don’t open the door to anyone who doesn’t carry our mark.- It wasn’t a request. Your friend nodded, holding your hand tightly and pulling you away, away from those inquisitive eyes. As soon as the door to your room closed behind you, you collapsed onto the bed, your gaze fixed on the ceiling. You whispered quietly, almost not wanting to hear the answer: "I’ve messed up, haven’t I?" Absolutely.

Your phone had been vibrating for hours. Every relative, every branch of the family, every Omega who knew you… wanted to know if it was true. And when you answered yes, insults, threats, screams, and spit flew through the screen. They’d called you a disgrace. A traitor. A broken piece. But still, no call had come from your father. The door opened slowly. Your mother entered in silence, as though knowing she had to measure each step, each word. She sat down beside you on the bed, gently stroking your hair. 'You were brave,' she said softly. 'I’m proud of you.' You looked at her, surprised. "Did you know I didn’t want to marry Jiwon?" you asked, your voice cracking. She smiled bitterly. 'I’ve known for years. I just hoped that… time would fix everything. But you’re not like me, Y/n. You don’t bend. Never.' You swallowed hard. "Did I do the right thing?" There was a long silence. Then she said: 'There’s no right answer. But if Heeseung bonded you without killing you… it means that, somehow, you’re his. Almost like you’re soulmates.' You jumped to your feet, your heart racing. "Don’t say nonsense, mom. Heeseung hates me. He did it just for revenge." But inside, deep down… a tiny spark. A stupid, fragile hope that there was more to it. That touch, that caress at the end of the knot… had been real, especially the kiss he’d given you on your forehead…

The moment was abruptly interrupted by a firm knock on the door. The headmaster. He entered with the solemnity of a judge. 'Y/n. I need you to come with me. The royal hall has been called to order.' Your blood froze. You didn’t even have time to ask why. You followed him. The hallway seemed endless. When you entered, every important figure on campus — Alpha, Omega, Beta — was there. The clans were gathered. And at the end of the room… there he was. Heeseung. Standing still, motionless, with his clan surrounding him. He was looking at you. Dark, deep, unreadable eyes. But he was looking at you. He made a slow, barely perceptible nod. It froze your blood, and then you saw him. Sitting in the middle row. Your father. The world crashed down. He couldn’t look you in the face. When he did… it was only to spew words full of hatred. ---You’ve dishonored me. You’ve humiliated me in front of everyone. You were supposed to be a wife, a mother. And instead… you allowed yourself to be marked by a murderer! By that bastard!-- Every word was a dagger. --You’re no longer my daughter. You are nothing. You are a damn disgrace.-- You didn’t know what to say, but Heeseung’s laughter was dry, muffled, yet it exploded like a gunshot in the council hall. A sound so out of place that it broke the silence, making even the oldest leaders flinch. You spun around quickly. You watched him rise slowly from the throne reserved for the supreme Alphas. His clan was silent, united, eyes focused on him, and some on you, like Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jay.

With confident strides, Heeseung stepped forward. Every movement seemed calculated. Lethal. He stopped in front of you, his body almost brushing against yours. One breath, and you would be enveloped in his scent. But he didn’t turn. His gaze was fixed straight on your father. "The only murderer in this room is you," he said, his voice sharp as glass. "You killed my brother. Not for revenge. Not for survival. But because he was stronger than you. Because you couldn’t tolerate another Alpha being superior to you." A murmur spread among the crowd. You were short of breath, your hands shaking. "And now you play the moralist?" Heeseung continued, his look full of pure contempt. "Y/n doesn’t belong to you. She never did. And she will be mine. Because inside her, there’s not only Omega blood… but Alpha blood as well." The silence became deafening. Some leaders whispered, others stared at you in disbelief. You didn’t understand. You stammered, "W-what is he saying? I… I don’t—" Heeseung laughed again. A fiercer sound, almost amused. "Your father has never spoken to you, except for duties. He has never touched you with a gesture of affection. And you know why? Because he knew you weren’t his wife’s daughter."

You turned towards your father. His eyes were filled with hatred. With blind rage. But also… with something that seemed like fear. "It was you who came to me," Heeseung continued, his tone now harsher. "You were the one who sought me out. Because something inside you knew. That becoming the wife of an Omega would have killed you. It would have taken everything from you. Including your soothing powers." A roar rose. Someone stood up. The others looked at your father, shocked. You felt like you were drowning. "ENOUGH!" your father shouted. And in a reckless gesture… he drew a sword. Panic spread. You didn't think: you immediately took refuge behind Heeseung, your heart pounding furiously. He didn't move. He didn't step back even an inch. "Say it," Heeseung hissed, his eyes fixed on that man who had ruined two generations. "Say it in front of everyone. Confess the truth." Silence fell again like a curtain. "That Y/n… is not the daughter of your mate. But the result of your sick experiment." The eyes of the council were fixed on him. Some already knew. Others didn't want to believe it. Heeseung continued, relentless.

"You raped an Alpha. Because you wanted to prove that an Omega like you could break the natural law. You wanted to see if an Alpha, and my brother’s future wife, could accept the knot of an Omega. And when the result... was Y/n... you hid everything. But she is not your mistake. She is your sentence."

Your father shouted. But no one listened. The leaders stood up, one after the other. The guards moved, and you, amidst it all... felt your knees buckle. Your eyes burned. The truths fell down on you like avalanches, the tears carved your face like burning blades. You couldn’t breathe, nor think. Only one question, desperate and raw, exploded in your throat.

"Is it true?!" you screamed, your voice cracking with anguish. "I’m not my mother’s daughter?! I was never loved because... because I was just the result of an experiment?!"

Your father didn’t speak.

But it didn’t matter. Silence is consent. The law was clear. The room was a witness. And you had just lost every foundation of your existence.

You collapsed to the floor, on your knees. Your hands on your face, your body shaken with sobs. Everyone was watching you. The leaders. The clans. The elders. But no one moved. Except for her.

Your best friend, the only one who, in that moment, could have pulled you away from that hell. She ran towards you but stopped suddenly. Not because she didn’t want to reach you.

But because of him, Heeseung.

Still there, unmoving, tall, cold. One look—just one, icy, full of command—was enough to stop her. And she obeyed. She stopped a few steps from you, bitten by pain, but helpless.

You kept crying, silently screaming. In your mind, all the lies played out, all the moments when you’d only asked for a caress, a hug, a word of love... and you had received only coldness. Now everything made sense. A horrible, sick sense, then, in the chaos of your collapse, a hand. A warm hand, placed on your back. A slow, almost imperceptible touch. It drew circles, small, continuous. Trying to calm you. To support you, and you... felt it. Him.

His scent. The one you now knew all too well. The one you had burned into your skin. Heeseung. You froze because in that gesture, there was too much. Too much warmth for someone who hated you. Too much sweetness for someone who had used you. Too many contradictions, now you understood it.

You hadn’t just been his revenge. You hadn’t just been the daughter of the man who had killed his brother. You had become the perfect pawn. His way to prove to the world that an Omega could be strong, that the rules could be rewritten... but also a weapon to mask his own needs. His desire to dominate... and maybe, something more.

You suddenly stood up. Eyes swollen, but proud, you looked at him, your voice trembling, but clear.

"I don’t want to be touched by anyone, especially not by you, Lee Heeseung."

He didn’t move. He didn’t stop you. He didn’t say a word and you... ran away.

Leaving it all behind: the lies, the council, your family... and him. But not the feelings. Those, like the knot... you carried them inside.

In those days, you hated everyone.

From the first to the last. There was no face, no name, that didn’t make your blood boil. Discovering that all the Alphas knew the truth was like receiving a second knot, this time in your soul. Not just Heeseung, not just your father: even the others. All those proud, arrogant faces, who had always looked down on you... they knew, and they kept silent. Your "mother" had tried to talk to you in every possible way. She knocked softly on the door. She left letters under your teacup. Sometimes she sat outside your room, in silence, just to let you know she was there. But you... couldn’t even look at her. You had been given a new room, closer to your best friend's, in the section reserved for Alphas. An exception granted only because of your bond with Heeseung, but you didn’t feel like an Alpha. You only felt the echo of his knot inside you. A mark. A call. A sentence. The Omega aura that surrounded you had become stronger, more palpable, and at that moment... more painful. That afternoon, however, you gave in. You opened the door, and she entered in silence. Red eyes. A tired gaze. She told you everything. She said she loved you. That she had always loved you. That, even though you hadn’t come from her womb, you were her only daughter.

"I couldn’t have children," she confessed, her voice cracked. "And when your father told me that... that he had found an infant, I... I thought she was the daughter of his previous partner. That she had died in an accident. I never knew the truth. Not until much later. But when I held you in my arms... you became mine." You looked at her. In silence. "Do you know my real mother?" you asked. You didn’t even know where that calm voice had come from. She shook her head. "No. Only the Alphas know her. Only them... and Heeseung." Your stomach tightened. You nodded slowly. No tears. Just exhaustion.

You saw him every day. Heeseung. In class. In the cafeteria. In the halls. Everywhere. Always with that leader-like posture, with that inscrutable gaze and slow, dominating steps. But there was something different. A subtle tension. A crack in his usual control. He tried to talk to you. He waited for you outside the classroom. He got closer when you were taking notes. Sometimes he let you pass in front of him in line, as if it were casual. But it wasn’t. Once, he brushed your wrist when you both reached for the same book in the library. "Y/n..." he murmured. And you gave him only a blank stare, your eyes frozen. And you left him there. Another time, after a class, he followed you all the way to the courtyard.

"You can’t avoid me forever," he said, his voice low, controlled. You didn’t stop.

"Look how you managed to do it for twenty-two years," you replied without turning around. You saw him stiffen. But he didn’t respond.

Every gesture of his was poison. Every attempt, every look, reminded you that he had lied to you.

He had pretended to hate you to justify his control. He had used your desire for freedom to take revenge. He had known everything. About your birth. About your identity, and yet... he had tied the knot with you. He had chosen you, and you couldn’t understand if it was yet another lie or the cruelest truth of all.

A month had passed. Four weeks of silence. Of walls built up. Of coldness that burned more than any knot. You only spoke to his cousin, your best friend, and with the teachers, you only answered when absolutely necessary. A word here, a nod there. And the rest? Silence.

He watched you. Always. He followed you with his gaze in class. He looked for an excuse to brush past you in the hallways. Occasionally, he would place his tray near yours in the cafeteria, but you’d change tables before he could even open his mouth. Everyone had started whispering. That maybe Heeseung had made a mistake. That maybe choosing to knot with you had been a mistake. An Alpha chasing his mate, a half-Alpha Omega, and being ignored like any other student. An embarrassment. A reversal of roles that no one understood… except you. In class, you threw sharp barbs. Once, while discussing bonds and compatibility, you raised your hand:

"Professor, what happens if an Alpha deludes himself into thinking he can control an Omega just because he’s marked her body, but not her heart?" The class erupted in laughter. Heeseung didn’t move a muscle. But his fingers, under the desk, clenched until they turned white.

Another time, while discussing leadership: "There’s a difference between commanding and knowing how to lead. Some Alphas think arrogance is charisma, when it’s actually just… weakness disguised." And there you looked at him. Straight in the eyes, with contempt.

That evening, however, something in him snapped. Heeseung knocked on your door. Once. Twice. Ten times. "Y/n!" Silence, he knocked harder. "Open up, damn it!" The door next to yours suddenly opened. His cousin, your best friend, popped out in pajamas, looking annoyed.

"What do you want, Heeseung?" she huffed. "Where is she?!" he growled. "Where the hell has she gone?!" She shrugged, leaning against the doorframe with feigned calm. "Maybe she doesn’t want to be found." "Don’t play games with me, ___!" He snapped at her, approaching menacingly. "Tell me right now where the hell she is!" But she didn’t back down. She looked him in the eyes and teased him with a sharp smile. "What’s wrong, does it bother you that now she gets to decide where and with whom she stays? That she’s ignoring you like a first-year girl who’s regretted it?" "Enough!" Heeseung growled. He grabbed her wrist, but without force. Only desperation. "You know her better than anyone. Where could she be?!" She lowered her gaze for a moment, sighed. Then, she looked him in the eyes. "If you know her at all... you’ll know where to find her." He stopped. His mind was in chaos. Three places. Three memories.

- "The classroom where we kissed for the first time..." A whisper. - "The waterfalls... no. Too far." And finally: - "The lake... beneath the university. On the edge of the forest." He said it in a half voice. His eyes full of panic.

"You’re crazy!" He shouted at his cousin. "You let her go there alone?! At this time?!" She pulled away from him with a sharp motion. She looked at him proudly. "She’s not just an Omega. She’s half Alpha, Hee. Like me. She knows what she’s doing." Then, with a cutting tone: "But you... do you even know what you want to do with her? Or do you just want her to come back to you to fill the emptiness you’ve created yourself?"

Heeseung ran down the castle stairs. But halfway down... he was no longer human. His bones cracked and rebuilt themselves, his clothes shredded to pieces, and his breath became sharper, deeper, wilder. The transformation was instinctive, necessary — his true Alpha nature broke free from all control. He sniffed. The evening wind immediately brought the scent. Your scent — a mix of Omega and Alpha, a fragrance that no one in the world had ever had, and within that aroma was his. Imprinted, mixed, fused. The knot was still inside you, still alive. Still his. The garden opened before him. His paws sank into the wet ground. He ran as fast as he could, between the hedges and the night flowers, sliding toward the lake like a shadow among the stars. When he neared the water... he howled. A desperate, raw, primal howl — a call. A lament. A cry of love and anger together. Where are you...? Then... he saw you. Sitting.

On that wrought-iron chair facing the lake. Still. Hair in the wind, face absent, the aura powerful — a creature born to exist between two worlds and hated by both. Heeseung ran. He jumped between the bushes, lowered his muzzle, felt the beat of your heart even from afar. When he was only a few steps away from you, your aura reacted. You turned. You looked at him and stood up abruptly to leave. No. Not this time. With a leap, he trapped you. He pushed you against the chair, with both gentleness and force, using his animal body to hold you in place. He sniffed you. Everywhere. Your neck, your wrists, your heart. Then he began to lick you. A warm, slow, adoring tongue. On your neck. Under your ear. Your jaw. Your cheek. Your chin. Every lick was a confession. A "I miss you," a "forgive me," a "you're mine," and your body… began to give in. "Heeseung…" you murmured. His name came from you like a stifled sob. He stopped. Pulled away. And in an instant, he was human again. Naked, trembling, vulnerable — his eyes… were not the same as before. A mix of deep brown and blood red. The animal soul and the human one merged within him. And all of it was directed at you. "Y/n…" he whispered. But before he could say anything else… "I hate you." The words came out like an open wound. They weren’t just anger. They were pain — a "you broke me." He stayed there, naked under the moon, silent. And for the first time… he didn’t know what to say. You spat out your anger. "You disgust me." "You're just a bastard." "You used my body for revenge, and now what? Do you want me to forgive you?!"

Each insult was a wound. But he didn’t stop. He bit your skin, with delicate animal-like tenderness. As if to say, "I’m here. Still. Even if you hate me." Then he changed. He slowly transformed. His paws became hands. His muzzle took the form of his face. His chest rose and fell in search of breath. But his eyes remained those of the Leader. The eyes of the Alpha who had marked you but also those of the boy who, maybe, had chosen you. "Stop…" he whispered. He held you tighter, pressing you against his bare chest. "Stop trying to be strong alone. Stop thinking that only you are suffering." You lifted your face, your eyes watery, full of rage. "And what do you know? You who plays at being the savior. You’re weak too, Heeseung." He closed his eyes, as if those words had hit him square in the chest, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he caressed your back, then your side. Slowly. As if he didn’t want to scare you, but to make you crumble. "I wanted to make you suffer… truly." Your voice trembled. "I thought about ending it. So you’d never be able to knot anyone. Not love. Not forget me." Silence. Only the lake. Only the heartbeat. Heeseung paled. His eyes widened. Then he screamed.

"Never say something like that again!" He grabbed you by the arms, and with slow movements, he took off your sweater. Every inch he uncovered, he kissed. He bit with gentle ferocity, not as punishment, but as a confession. A plea. A "forgive me" without words. His voice lowered, broken, angry. "You’re mine. But not because of possession. Because I feel you in every breath. In every dream. In every damn part of my being." And in the silence that followed, while his teeth left an imperceptible mark on your shoulder, you... stayed. His lips were everywhere on your neck, your chest, between your shoulder blades, along the fragile line of your soul. And his bites... Oh, his bites made you moan. Not only for the primal pleasure that set every nerve on fire, but for the dull pain you had been carrying inside for weeks. It was as if his body wanted to heal you. As if each lick, each kiss, each press of his tongue meant: "Stay. Breathe. Come back."

Your hands gripped his strong arms, the pulsing veins of his bare chest, illuminated only by the full moon. He looked like a vision, a nightmare and a dream fused together. "I can't take it anymore…" he whispered, his voice broken, labored. His fingers trembled slightly on your skin. "I want to feel your lips on mine again." You stopped him. You looked him in the eyes, those eyes so familiar yet so foreign. And you warned him. "You didn’t come to save me. You came to ease your conscience, Heeseung. You don’t want me… you want to forgive yourself." For a moment, even the wind stopped. His breath slowed, his body still wrapped in yours, but his soul laid bare. "I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I'm really sorry. I want to make up for everything…" And that’s when you screamed. With all the pain. With all the truth. "I want to forget! I want to forget all of this, Heeseung! I want it to never have happened! I want you to have never touched me! Never looked at me! Never chosen me!" He snapped. He grabbed your face in his hands, gently but roughly. His eyes, wet and furious, pierced through your soul. "NO, the most beautiful thing in my life… the only thing I don't want to forget… is you." He looked at you as if you were his entire universe. As if all the chaos that had built him had been created for this moment alone. "You were my ruin and my salvation. The only moment I felt peace was when I knotted you. When you fell asleep in my arms, naked, fragile… mine. Even when I pretended to be cold, distant, cruel with you… I wanted you. For years. It wasn't revenge, Y/n. It was desire. It was love I didn’t want to admit." And there, in the silence that followed, only the moon dared to watch you. Only the lake reflected your truth, and without thinking any longer, you crashed your lips onto his. It was like setting the night on fire.

Heeseung grunted against your mouth, a deep, animalistic, primal sound. His hands tightened around your waist as his tongue invaded your mouth with a hunger that seemed to have been held back for centuries. You clung to him, straddling his legs, feeling the warmth and strength vibrating from his body beneath you. You pulled him toward you, hard, as if you wanted to fuse together. You bit his lower lip with a sweet cruelty, and he admonished you with a low growl. But you, with your voice broken and venomous, degraded him with a cold whisper. "I hate you... and you know it well." But your hands spoke a different language, an ancient one, made of repressed desire and anger that burned hotter than love. Heeseung didn’t stop. He continued to kiss you, deeper, more desperately, while his fingers lifted your sweater. In a few seconds, you were left with only a thin tank top and your bra. His eyes, now red and filled with Alpha aura, scrutinized you like prey.

He also slid the tank top off you with a slow, almost ritual gesture, and when he saw your breasts covered only by fabric, something in him changed.

As if he was possessed.

His mouth fell on your chest, between bites and feverish kisses that made you moan, scratch him, pull his hair.

«You bastard... you are just my knot, nothing else.»

Yet your voice trembled, for every bite of it left you confused, every lick made you long again.

He sucked your breasts out of his bra with ardor, and you kept pulling his hair with your aura as a submissive omega, but also as a ruthless alpha. A fragile balance, perfect and then... click.

The hook of the bra gave way under his fingers.

Your breast leaped free in the crisp air of night. The nipples hardened instantly for the cold and her hungry look.

He panted, almost lost and you, with a filthy but sweet voice, whispered into his ear:

«Don’t pretend, Heeseung... you’ve always wanted me, right? Even when you said you hated me.» His hands trembled on your hips and he answered with a roaring voice:

«I wanted you... even before I knew you were mine.»

The forest was in a vibrant penumbra, only the moon filtered through the branches, drawing silvery shadows on the nody logs. The air was saturated with smells: musk, moist earth... and its scent. The spicy and pungent one of an Alpha in full call.

You didn’t have time to react.

He lifted you without warning.

«Ah!» you screamed, surprised, as your body was pushed against the trunk of a tree. His arms squeezed you with a fierce possession, as if that moment had been written in his flesh.

«Do you hear it?» he whispered against your ear, his voice crusty, broken by longing. «Your pussy is rubbing against my cock, and it’s looking for it even if you keep telling me that you hate me.»

«I... I can’t take it anymore!» you froze, trembling. «I hate you... I really do...»

But even as you were saying it, your pelvis moved imperceptibly against his, seeking that heat, that pressure.

He laughed, gloomy, deep, with a grin that was pure sin.

«No, darling. It’s not just your body that wants me. It’s every part of you. Even the one who lies to herself.»

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes lit up with an animalistic glow, and then - without further preambles - slowly slid her fingers under your skirt. The panties came down with a swift movement, and his fingers found at once the proof of your surrender.

«Already wet? So much?» he growled softly, as he stroked you with expert fingers. «I would have taken my time... Open you up, get ready, get yelled at while you were enjoying. But fuck... I can’t resist. I just want to sink into you, tie you and leave you full. Only mine.»

Your eyes were filled with confused tears: desire, anger, fear... and longing.

Your trembling hands, driven by a primitive instinct, pulled off his boxer shorts with ardor. His member was hard, imposing, pulsating with warmth. Your breath was cut off.

The wood seemed to hold your breath. Only your sighs broke the silence.

«Tell me,» he whispered against your neck. «Tell me you want me, even if you hate me. Tell me that your body belongs to me, even if it drives you crazy.»

«I hate you... but I fucking love you!» you shouted, your heart racing. «You drive me crazy, but my body... can’t stop.»

«Good little omega confused...» he muttered. And then howled, a primordial sound that shook the fronds above you.

In a single movement, it sank into you.

A moan will tear your lips, long, deep. The nails dug into his back as he began to move with force, with a wild but precise rhythm. Each shot was a message, a claim, a mark.

«I will keep you here,» he growled. «I will fertilize you, I will keep you tied up... until you learn that you can no longer run from me.»

The moon was the only witness of your bond. United bodies, broken breaths, souls entwined in a darkness that was more desire than shadow.

His impulses were bestial, ferocious, as if he was trying to erase every space within you that did not belong to him.

Each stroke of his cock made you scream, and your screams were mixed between extreme pleasure and uncontrollable tears. You cried, yes, but it was not pain - it was too intense, it was a pleasure so deep that everything shook. You felt split in two and at the same time more alive than ever.

«I hate you!» you shouted at them, with a broken voice, your face wet with tears and sweat. «You’re a bastard!»

He growled softly, squeezing you with a force that made you groan.

«And you are a little half omega and half alpha in heat, mine... always mine. Even when you insult me, your body calls me.»

Your words were full of poison and need, each offense a crooked, animalistic cry of love, which smelled something deeper. He bit your neck, strong, leaving the mark, and then sucked you slowly, mixing violence and tenderness as only an Alpha knows how to do with his mate.

Every push made you jump, your body stretched and broke under him, but you looked for it, you wanted it. His name exploded between your lips as a wave of heat swept you away, that primordial feeling that made you groan like never before.

«Keep on...» you whisper with a broken voice, almost praying. «Please tie me up. Make me yours for real.»

He grunted against your ear, going deeper.

«I want you tied to me. Tight. Filled. Possessed.»

You felt his knot begin to swell inside of you, slow, insistent, and the scream that came up from your throat was no longer contained. Your body bent to his, accepting everything, every pulsation, every wave of pleasure that spread like fire in the veins.

«Yes... yes, so... I want your knot, I want to feel full...» you sigh.

He stopped only when it was completely knotted within you, your tight bodies, fused into an indissoluble bond. His hands caressed you now with sweetness, the breathless breath mixed to yours but the pushes became stronger and deeper, as if he wanted to cross every border of your body and engrave his name inside you. He held you firmly, completely in his power, while the knot kept swelling inside you, and your belly began to stretch, full... full of him.

«Look how my knot is swelling...» he growled against your neck. «Your body accepts everything, wants it, begs for it.»

The words struck you like a hot and violent wave. You babbled between sobs and cut breath.

«It’s too... too deep inside... you’re... you’re filling me up... I can’t think...»

«You must not think,» he replied. «You must only hear.»

And it sank again. Deeper, stronger.

He lifted you with a single gesture, as if you were light as air, bouncing you against his chest. The friction was unbearable, sweet and fierce at the same time. And then... his finger found your most sensitive spot. A pinch, a precise touch, and the world exploded.

A scream escaped from your lips, your body trembled in a wave of uncontrollable pleasure, while the knot felt it pulsating more and more inside you, while your orgasm passed through you like lightning, hot and blinding.

«Good girl, come for me, all over me...» he murmured with a broken voice, adoring you.

You felt your excitement slide down, cover it, drip on your joined bodies. And he did not stop.

«I want you tied, filled. I will bind you again, mark you with my seed, leave you full of me, so much that every breath of yours knows of me.»

With a deep growl, you felt his movements become even slower, more powerful. And then... the heat

A liquid explosion inside you, very long, unstoppable, while the knot pulsed with violence, pushing that pleasure even deeper. You screamed, again, as you felt it fill you completely, so much that you lost the sense of time.

And for a long moment, the world stood still. Only the moon looked at you. Two wild souls, broken, chained by desire and something that neither of them had ever dared to call his real name.

Then, with studious slowness, he made you come down from his arms. Your legs shook as soon as they touched the ground but her touch didn’t leave you for a second.

His hands were fast and strong, they turned you with force and pushed you slightly forward, bent in front of him, the back arched. His gaze burned on exposed skin.

«Get your beautiful ass up,» he ordered in a roaring voice. «I’m not done with you yet.»

You were anxious. «It’s too much...» you protested with a little voice, but didn’t move.

He approached, fingers running down the curve of your hips. «You played the rebel for too long, my companion. Now you learn. You are mine. And I... am yours. That’s how the bond works.»

You sighed, but your legs did not move. His hands caressed the stretched skin, then slipped between your thighs and stopped.

«Look how beautiful you are...» she murmured. «Shine. Swell up. And you’re still leaking my seed.»

Closed your eyes, your breath broken. Yoy did not make in time to reply.

With a single leap, he was again inside you. A cry escaped from your lips, wild, uncontrollable. The pleasure hit you like a slap. The feeling of fullness, after the knot, was even more violent. Each movement was an electric shock, a liquid fire that went through your entire belly.

«Do you hear it?» he growled, sinking with ever greater force. «You take it so well, my little one. Half omega, half alpha... yet your body knows exactly who it belongs to.»

You were stuttering, unable to find sensible words. The sentences broke on your lips, between sobs and groans.

«It’s... too much... inside... too hot...»

He grabbed your hips with force. «And it will be even more. Because I want you completely. With another knot, another mark. I want you to not even walk without feeling me inside of you.»

Each push was deeper than the previous, as the words died out in your throat. Your body trembled, bending to the rhythm. And when you felt the pressure grow again, that second knot that swelled slowly, groaned his name in a broken voice, as if he were praying.

He praised you in a low voice, with words full of desire.

«So good... so mine. My perfect companion. And now you come again. I want to hear you hug me as I fill you up again.»

A few pushes were enough. Your body became stiff, then it was shaken by a violent, uncontrollable pleasure. A scream burst from your lips as she felt it everywhere - inside, around, in every fiber. And when he exploded inside you, you felt it all: the warmth, the depth, the strength. His seed filled you again, warm, abundant, and you groaned again, letting go completely.

The bodies remained united, once again merged under the full moon. There were no more words. Only breath. Only beats. Only them.

That morning, you woke up wrapped in a strange kind of warmth.

It wasn’t just the blankets—it was something deeper, more visceral… a heat pulsing beneath your skin, between your ribs, and in your thoughts.

The air carried a scent you knew all too well by now: wild mint and tobacco—the scent of his skin, his presence.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was his red hair—messy and soft—resting against your neck like a silent promise.

You were wearing one of his oversized shirts, hanging down to mid-thigh, and his arms were wrapped around you with a quiet, natural possessiveness—as if he had never known a world where you weren’t his.

You moved gently, trying to slip away without waking him, but his voice reached you in a low, sleepy murmur.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your heart skipped in your chest.

You blushed, inevitably, at the memory of the night before—the moon, the moans, the knot, your bodies tangled in the woods like creatures born to vanish into the wild.

“I just… wanted to get up,” you mumbled, but the words faded as you watched him slowly sit up.

He looked at you seriously, but with a soft light in his eyes.

“Do you feel okay?” he asked, one hand brushing over your side.

You shook your head slightly. “No… just a bit… full, maybe.”

He laughed quietly, almost amused, but his gaze fell immediately to one of the marks he’d left on your neck—a deep, dark bite, still faintly sore.

He touched it gently, a caress that clashed with the roughness of the mark.

You gave him a mock scolding look, more amused than anything.

“You told me you’d only mark me like that after we got married.”

He shrugged, carefree.

“To me, you’re already mine. No ceremony. No fuss.”

“So this is your romantic way of telling me you love me?” you teased, a smile playing on your lips.

He stared at you for a moment, then tilted his head slightly.

“I’ve already told you I love you. The thing is—you haven’t said it back yet.”

His words hung in the air like a sweet blade.

They stole your breath for a moment.

You chuckled, shyly, but he didn’t smile.

He looked at you with that disarming seriousness, his heart written plainly in his eyes.

“Hey… I’m really sorry. For everything you’ve had to go through these past few weeks… and for these 22 years of your life,” he murmured.

And before you could answer, his lips were everywhere—your neck, your shoulders, your cheeks, your forehead.

He kissed you like he wanted to erase every doubt, every hesitation, every unspoken word.

And only then, between one kiss and the next, in the softest voice—like a confession you could no longer keep—you said it.

“I love you too.”

The world seemed to stop.

He froze for just a second—long enough to look into your eyes.

And the smile that bloomed on his lips was so real, so raw, it made you forget everything else.

Taglist: @stwrlightt @hearts4cheol @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwni @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisaster @simj4k3 @numnommz @sspidermanss @vixialuvs @smlbch @xylatox @ikeulove @nishikio @ancnymcnzjy @sofiafromvenus @kayjiguki @annovaz @kkamismom12 @forrds @inishij @amortenha @sunnysidesins @isagistar @schniti-is-in-the-house @nyxiebabyyy @rubylace @petalsofink @asteriscoverde @azzy02 @sievenderz @reading-wh0re

[personapeters]

𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡

— a jj maybank one shot

✰ when y/n wears a new skirt out to brunch with the girls that her boyfriend, jj, thinks is simply too short

rating: sfw — cw: suggestive language/situations

“i don’t get it — why would anyone want to make breakfast and lunch one thing? taking two perfectly good opportunities to eat and turnin’ ‘em into one,” jj vented to his girlfriend who was hidden just behind the cracked bathroom door and all she could do was smile to herself as she finished applying her lipgloss.

“i’ll be back around noon then we’re good for a surf, yeah?” y/n questioned as she swiftly emerged into the living room, grabbing her bag from beside her boyfriend who sat slouched on the couch, snacking on whatever he could find.

“hell yeah,” he agreed, blue eyes lazily focused on the tv as he absentmindedly flicked through the same channels over and over again, “tell the girls i said— woah.”

“what?” y/n deadpanned, frozen in place as her boyfriend was now staring up at her with wide eyes, watching as his gaze trailed up and down her tanned legs before resting near her hips. his mouth went dry as he attempted to formulate the next words to say — the right words to say.

“i— uh, that’s… that’s new,” he commented in reference to the short frilly skirt that tightly hugged his girlfriend’s hips, stopping just above her mid-thigh and leaving the plush flesh on full display.

“yeah, it is,” y/n smiled brightly, clasping her hands in front of her waist bashfully, lightly twisting side-to-side to show off the flowy material, “sarah got one to match; you like it?”

jj pursed his lips before swiping his tongue over them, unsure of how to correctly answer. “i do,” he assured honestly with a slow nod, though his tone indicated there was a little more to it.

“but…?” y/n trailed off, becoming self conscious as she crossed her arms over her chest. “exactly,” he continued, pushing himself off of the couch before peering down at her through his messy blonde hair.

“what?” y/n laughed lightly, eyebrows furrowed as she tilted her head. “y’don’t think it’s a little… little?” jj reasoned, resting his hands on her waist before running them down her hips, stopping at the hem of her skirt and lightly tugging it playfully in emphasis.

“jay, it’s like a hundred degrees out,” y/n sighed, her heart slightly sinking as she lightly pulled away, “i thought you—.”

“hey, hey, no — you look good,” he rushed out, before a small smile pulled at his pink lips as he tugged her towards him again, “like, really really good.”

“stop,” y/n rolled her eyes playfully, lightly hitting his defined, tank-top covered chest, “seriously — does it… bother you?”

“you don’t bother me,” jj muttered, gently placing his hands on either side of her face, “men with their beady little eyes do.” y/n laughed softly at the disgusted look on his face, though jj couldn’t have been more serious; the idea alone made his jaw clench.

“i mean, they can look,” she shrugged before pressing a quick kiss go the corner of his mouth, “but they can’t touch.”

“damn right,” jj mumbled with small smirk before planting a firm kiss on her lips while sliding his hands down her hips. “mm, i have to go,” y/n softly laughed against his mouth, slowly pushing him back by the shoulders before breaking the kiss, knowing one thing leads to another very quickly with him.

“right,” jj agreed, swiftly leaving a light slap on her butt with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “have fun.” y/n let out a surprised yelp, shooting him a playful glare with an uncontrollable smile on her face before spinning on her heels and heading for the door.

he couldn’t help but watch as she walked away, his lids low over his crystal eyes as he chewed on the inside of his lip, his eyes running along her body from her hair down to her feet — he’s still not at all sure how she is his.

“later! i love you!” y/n yelled giddily as she nearly skipped out the door. “i love you, babe — call me if you need me!” he yelled after her just before the door shut, though it went without saying; if anyone ever tried anything, or even stared at his girl for a little too long (which truthfully was any amount of time at all), he’d happily get comfortable in the back of a cop car — again.

 personapeters 2025 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[wileys-russo]

stealth mode II a.russo

unc!era stays on🔝

stealth mode II a.russo

"alessia we're on the bus!" you laughed quietly, smacking your girlfriends hands away where they began to wander, the blonde huffing and pressing her face into your neck instead.

"you are no fun." the brit muttered as you smiled and shook your head, body leaning fully into yours as her weight bore into you and the pair of you basically sat in one chair together.

"be professional captain." you warned playfully, another huff and something grumbled into your neck before she shuffled back a little, resting her chin on your shoulder with arms looped around your waist as the pair of you turned to talk to your teammates on the other side of the aisle.

"now girls! i know last time there was a lot of sneaking out after lights out, and that will not be happening tonight. we have a big game tomorrow and we need everyone well rested and ready to go!" your coach clapped for everyone's attention as groans sounded in response.

"yeah against the team bottom of the table who are yet to win a game." your girlfriend whispered causing those within earshot to snicker and a small smile curl into your lips as you gently smacked her knee.

"i also understand a few of you have your finals starting next week, so i would encourage you use your downtime tonight after dinner to get some study in!" the coach suggested, chuckling at the boo's that rang out her way in response, loudest of all from the boisterous blonde clinging onto you like velcro as she had the entire bus ride.

"i don't see you booing, but i did see you pack two textbooks into your overnight bag." lotte teased as you rolled your eyes as a few of the girls around turned their booing toward you.

"watch it." alessia sat up straighter, fixing the group of them with an evil warning glare as immediately everyone turned back to their own conversations and your girlfriend settled again.

"mean ole captain russo." you teased quietly, turning in your seat as your girlfriends eyes rolled but a smile.

"yeah cause the only person allowed to tease you is me, obviously." the english woman reminded as you shook your head and pushed her, accepting the airpod offered your way as the two of you settled for the rest of the bus ride, leaning into one another.

~

"less!" you gasped as your girlfriend snuck your last roast potato when she thought you weren't looking. "its carb loading!" she justified, giving you an innocent smile with her mouth half full as you made a face of disgust.

there was a snicker across the table and within seconds the blondes features shifted, potato swallowed and eyes narrowing, fixing the junior across from her with a menacing stare.

"something funny?" the striker questioned though everyone could tell it was rhetorical, the table a little quieter now as some watched on in pity and the junior went pale, shaking her head furiously.

"no? oh but i'm sure we'd all love to know what was so funny, its in the team spirit to share." your girlfriend baited with a dangerous smile as you frowned, squeezing her knee beneath the table before your hand was batted away.

"uh no no it was nothing." the poor girl stammered out as you sighed, knowing better than to try and intervene, not fancying an argument just yet and knowing your girlfriend could be incredibly pig headed about defending her behaviour.

"nothing? well then maybe you should go and finish your food over there, you might find something worth laughing at." alessia nodded across the room and within milliseconds the junior grabbed her plate and all but sprinted away.

"teach her to laugh at me." the english woman mumbled under her breath, nobody else daring to make a comment on the interaction as alessia turned feeling your eyes set onto the side of her face.

"what?" the blonde huffed, clearly now grumpy and irritable as you sighed. "you know what." you muttered back, scraping your last mouthful of food onto your fork with a roll of your eyes.

"god please not this tonight. i wasn't that mean!" alessia defended herself, crossing her arms and spinning to face you head on as you only hummed, your conversation interrupted by your coach standing and clapping for everyones attention.

"now as i said earlier girls, there will be no messing around, sneaking out, getting up to any sort of trouble tonight!" your coach warned as a few murmurs and mutters sounded in response.

"and to ensure that is what happens, myself and assistant coach taylor have organised with the hotel staff that there will be adults on a roster in the hallway and any player caught out of their room or in someone else's will be benched tomorrow." she finished as collective arguments and groans of discontent rang around the room.

"none of that! my mind is made up. i know you all think tomorrow will be an easy win but that is a lazy mentality. if you start to enter play thinking you don't need to try then that's already cost us the championship girls!"

~

"i cannot believe you're actually studying right now." your girlfriend made a face of disgust from on your phone screen where it sat propped up against your water bottle.

"some of us like preparing for tests russo." you smiled, knowing your girlfriend nine times out of ten would just show up on the day with a pen and a dream, her course work hardly her biggest priority considering she wasn't on an academia based scholarship.

"can i please come over?" alessia whined for the tenth time in an hour as you chuckled. "no baby, you can't." you repeated yourself with an amused smile as the blonde pouted adorably.

"but why?" "you know why, would you like the captain of the team to be benched tomorrow?" "they wouldn't bench me, its just an empty threat to try and scare everyone out of sneaking out." "well its not worth the risk." "oh babe come on please? i'll even study with you!"

"oh you will?" you laughed at that, the strikers pout shifting into a scowl and a huff. "i will! even study my favorite subject." alessia retorted matter of factly as you raised an eyebrow curiously.

"and that would be what? the playbook for tomorrow?" "no, my favorite subject would be you of course baby." alessia beamed, clearly quite proud of herself as you tried to bite back a smile.

"come on, you can tell me. i'm the best!" your girlfriend grinned wolfishly as you flipped her off and looked back down to the barely started essay in front of you.

"need i remind you california, we have pre game traditions!" alessia tried a different approach as you rolled your eyes at the nickname. "yes we do, and we can make out in the change rooms tomorrow. not right now!" you warned as alessia groaned again, her head dropping down onto the pillow in front of her with a small thump.

"you are no fun. wheres your sense of adventure?" "left it behind." "clearly! but what did you bring with you?" your eyes flickered upward and catching the cheeky glint in her eyes you knew what it was she really wanted from that question.

not getting anywhere with your essay with the blonde distracting you and knowing the longer you placated her whining the more desperate she'd get, you closed your textbook and scooted your chair back a little.

"blue and black." you answered with a sly smile as your girlfriend closed her eyes and threw her head back with a groan. "seriously? the blue one? on an away game? where we're roomed separately?" your girlfriend accused as you nodded.

"you're lying, just to wind me up." "am i?" "you so are and-" the blonde fell silent as you grabbed the hem of the large faded UNC shirt you had on, lifting it up to your neck revealing the baby blue bra in question as your girlfriends jaw dropped and her eyes locked on your chest.

"i don't lie, goodnight babe. sweet dreams!" you dropped your shirt back down with a wink, covering yourself again and ignoring your girlfriends hurried protests, telling you you loved her and blowing her a kiss before clicking end call.

you grinned to yourself knowing for once you'd had the upper hand and gotten under her skin, it normally being the other way around as you chuckled at the incoming barrage of messages and calls from the striker.

you sent her a message you needed to concentrate and you'd message her when you were headed to bed, turning your phone over and putting it on silent.

though you should have known well enough, this would not the end of things.

so when you heard the knock on the window you just thought it the wind, not paying it much mind as you tapped your pen against your forehead trying to formulate the points of your introduction.

but then, it came again, and again, growing in frequency and volume as did your concern and slight worry for what was actually hidden behind the curtains.

you looked around for a weapon of sorts, grabbing one of your cleats and holding it up as if it was a sword, creeping toward the window as the knocks sounded again and you jumped.

taking a deep breath you paused, should you alert a teacher? your girlfriend? the hotel? no, it was probably just a bird who'd been fed by someone in this room before, that was clearly the only explanation (which didn't terrify you).

so steeling your nerves you crept forward a few more steps and yanked aside the curtains, your heart leaping into your mouth until you locked eyes with who the intruder was and your eyes widened as large as plates.

"alessia? what the fuck!" you hissed, sliding open the back door as she stepped inside and huffed. "i knocked like ten times are you deaf?" the blonde rolled her eyes as you glanced around to see if anyone could see before promptly closing and locking the door.

"how on earth-" you started to question but it was swallowed by your girlfriend pulling your body into hers, lips pressing sweetly against yours as you relaxed momentarily before tensing up again and pushing her off.

"are you crazy? you could have died!" you hissed, smacking her a few times as the taller girl shielded her face with her hands. "what two stories from the ground? worse it would have been a broken leg! and not my first." alessia grinned as you glared at her and raised your hand to hit her again.

"okay okay okay! i just snuck across three balconies, i'm fine see? nothing bad happened." your girlfriend assured softly with a smile that normally would have you melting but right now your heart was racing and it did nothing to quell that in the slightest.

"not yet! what if you had gotten caught? or if they come to do room checks and you get caught? we'll both be benched!" you warned with a shake of your head, pacing back and forth as the blonde sat herself on the edge of your bed.

"are you done?" alessia asked with an amused smile, leaning back on her hands and raising an eyebrow as you paused your pacing and fixed her with a glare.

"last room checks were at ten, and i'll set an alarm for six and sneak back over for the wake up at seven. no one will know!" the blonde assured as you huffed, shaking your head and deciding to ignore her, taking your seat back at the desk you'd been studying at.

"well thats quite the welcome." your girlfriend scoffed, stripping off her hoodie, tossing it onto your bed and making her way over to you.

"you're an idiot." you mumbled back, eyes not leaving the page in front of you. "oh its so lovely to see you too. no 'hey baby how was your day? hey baby how are you? hey baby I missed you! hey baby i appreciate you breaking the rules and almost dying for me!" the brit mocked sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

"you choosing to do all that was your choice. i was with you all day alessia, and i saw you-" you paused to flip your phone over and shaking your head at the barrage of texts from her. "-like two hours ago." you turned it back over and opened your text book again.

"well i missed you. so you didn't miss me?" alessia asked, and beneath the hard mean exterior she often exhibited, she was always herself with you and you didn't miss the slight whiff of insecurity hidden in the question.

"of course i missed you less. but it was one night, and you could get us both in trouble!" you dropped your pen with a sigh, leaning your head back on your chair and staring up at the blonde behind you with a small smile.

"well, then at least we'd keep each other company on the bench wouldn't we?" alessia grinned, english accent thick as she leaned down to connect your lips, warm hands cupping your cheeks and necklace clinking as it tapped against your forehead, though that wasn't anything you weren't already used to.

"i love you." alessia pulled away, squeezing your cheeks slightly between her fingers before letting you go, retreating back to the bed and flopping down, wiggling around to get comfortable.

"shoes less." you interrupted as she went to speak, nodding to her sneakers which were currently resting atop your comforter. "an 'i love you too' would have sufficed, so bossy." your girlfriend rolled her eyes playfully but none the less pulled herself into a sitting position, yanking off her shoes and tossing them in a corner.

"you know i love you, but i hate when you wear shoes inside." You sighed with a pointed look to which she simply waved you off. "yeah yeah and you hate outside clothes touching your bed as well, i know all your little quirks baby."

"my little quirks? shall we discuss your game day routine?" you asked amused, pink flushing the strikers cheeks as she huffed. "doesn't count! all footballers have traditions on a game day, you're just weird." alessia shrugged as you scoffed.

"one; its soccer, remember where you are. and two; i'm weird?" you crossed your arms and glared her down only making her grin and wiggle her eyebrows. "the weirdest. but i still love you, don't i? just risked a broken leg for you baby girl, wouldn't do that for just anyone." the striker smiled charmingly as you hummed.

"no you're normally the breaker of legs." "hey that is so not fair! it was one time, a freak accident." "mm and it just so happened to be my ex involved in this freak accident?" "right? such a coincidence."

"whatever you say hot head. aren't british people supposed to be well mannered?" you chuckled, picking up your pen again as your girlfriend mocked you under her breath.

"you're not seriously going to study are you?" the striker groaned, voice thick with annoyance as she collapsed back atop the bed, head hitting your pillows with a small thump.

"well one of us needs to be the smart one in this relationship." you smiled in amusement, the older girl lifting her head and shooting an unimpressed glare in your direction. "and what's that supposed to mean?" alessia challenged, propping her head up on her hand.

"it means you know if you studied for once, or spent the same amount of time doing the work as you do complaining about it, you might not need to keep retaking things!" you gasped sarcastically, clapping your hands together before wrapping them around yourself with a shiver as a cold gust of wind blew through slightly open window.

"and if you actually closed your window in the middle of winter or wore pants, you wouldn't be so cold!" alessia retorted back with the same sarcastic bite, hauling herself to her feet and making her way over to the window.

"i like the window being open a little, it helps me think, and if I don't want to wear pants then i won't!" you defended as she yanked the window closed with a loud bang, grunting with effort.

"oh i would never complain about you not wearing pants my love." alessia smiled coyly, perching herself directly across from you on the end of your bed.

you'd first properly met the english girl at a frat party, your first since enrolling at UNC, invited by the girls in your dorm when they saw you didn't have any friday night plans, one of them dating one of the boys in the frat.

you had soccer tryouts on monday and though not usually a heavy drinker or party goer during season you'd agreed to accompany them, your families words about embracing college life ringing in your ears.

several shots later and you found yourself roped into playing a heated game of beer pong against alessia and one of the girls from your dorm emily, who you were delighted to learn when you moved in was also part of the soccer program at UNC.

"if we lose you're drinking that last cup, I can barely see straight." you mumbled to your other roommate sam who simply clapped you on the back. "if you could see straight i'd know you were having a terrible time." the girl grinned before taking her turn, missing by a mile.

"oh come on you can do better than that carter!" one of her friends jeered from beside the pair of you, a small group gathered and watching the game.

"i know we can." emily smirked, her turn now as she effortlessly sunk their final ball, not having missed a single throw as the small crowd cheered and you groaned.

"you're up!" you shoved sam toward the deadly final cup, knowing that it was filled with various remnants of everyone else's drinks, disgusted at the mere thought of how it would taste.

you watched on with a wince as she somehow downed the entire thing, gagging a little but steadying herself before fist pumping and tossing the cup over her shoulder with a cry of victory.

shaking your head with a small smile you left her to attempt to keep flirting with one of the frat boys she had been insistent looked exactly like her future husband as you wandered away from the table, searching the crowded room for any of your other friends you'd made this week in your classes.

but unable to see any you collapsed onto the couch instead, taking a small sip of your drink, though sam had mixed it for you and you'd been warned she had a notoriously heavy pour, so you put it aside with a wince.

"so what do I get for winning?" you looked up hearing an unfamiliar voice behind you, tensing in surprise as one of the girls you'd just lost to catapulted herself over the top of the couch, landing nimbly beside you.

"sorry?" you raised an eyebrow in confusion, taking in the smiling blue eyed blonde beside you, seeing it was indeed the girl who'd paired off with emily earlier.

she wore blue frayed jean shorts and a tight slightly lowcut tank top, neck adorned in at least three different necklaces, all beginning to get tangled with one another though she didn't seem to care.

"you lost, your friend sam drank but you didn't. so i'll ask again, what do I get for winning?" she asked again, a dopey grin gracing her lips as you chuckled.

"the rewarding sense of self satisfaction that you beat two drunk uncoordinated idiots at a game designed for douchey frat boys. take it or leave it!" you bit back, surprise flickering across the girls face at your sudden change of tone, though her features melted back into an amused smile.

"alessia." she introduced herself, extending the hand which wasn't draped over the back of the couch toward you. you gave your own name back as you shook her hand before dropping it, shifting on the couch and tucking one leg under another, placing your own hands in your lap.

"you know i have a feeling we're gonna become really well acquainted." alessia grinned, subtly shuffling a few paces closer to you on the couch.

"nice accent. where are you from?" you ignored her remark, the english girl with a slight twang you couldn't quite place. "guess." she sat back a little and raised an eyebrow as you paused.

"london?" "is that because its the only english capitol you know?" "no, you're just...posh sounding?" "posh!" the girl laughed as you couldn't help but allow a grin to curl into your own features.

"you're new, right?" alessia changed the conversation and you shifted under her piercing stare as her bright eyes looked you up and down.

"maybe I've been here for years, you don't know me." you smiled, reaching over for your cup and once again wincing as you took a small sip, placing it back on the coffee table.

"oh i'd know if you'd been here for two years, i never forget a face." she grinned. "but this is also my first year too, so maybe not." the blonde admitted as you pushed her lightly with a playful roll of your eyes.

"are you always so sure of yourself?" you questioned with a shake of your head. "sure of myself? no. confident? i try to be." alessia shrugged honestly and without having known her for more than a few minutes you couldn't deny that did in fact radiate off of her.

"so what are you here for?" alessia asked curiously, finishing her drink and placing her empty cup down beside yours. "well since you're so confident alessia, why don't you tell me?" you smiled slyly as the blonde hummed and looked you up and down for a moment.

"you're studying...psychology? mm no. maybe business? marketing? this wasn't your first choice school but you didn't get accepted to that one, plus your best friend was going to go here so you decided to join her. you call your parents every weekend, your mom lets say...almost every day. you broke up with your boyfriend because you 'didn't want to try distance' but in reality you'd been bored of him for months. am i close?" alessia grinned cheekily, tilting her head as she leaned in a little closer, only half an arms length away from you now.

"hmmm...no. i'm majoring in journalism as a backup this was my first choice school, because as a d1 athlete the soccer program here has had my name on it for years." you began to lean in closer as you spoke, hyper aware of the warm hand which was now resting on your knee as you did so.

"-i moved here alone from california. i don't talk to my parents much, i call my mom maybe once a week if i have to because she just begs me to come back home. i broke up with my girlfriend because she cheated on me with one of my now ex best friends, though she could get a little boring sometimes." you shrugged, your face now only a few centimetres away from alessia, whose eyes were trained on yours.

"nice to meet you alessia." you breathed out with a smile, your lips a hairsbreadth from hers as you pulled away, grabbing your drink and walking off to find sam or emily, feeling her eyes follow you the entire way, unaware of how fast your heart was beating in your chest as you did.

"hey that's mine, i was looking for that this morning!" the taller girl raised an eyebrow, pointing to the large shirt you had covering the top half of your body. "mine now." You smiled coyly, tucking your knee up to your chest as she shook her head, unamused.

"you know I don't care if you borrow my clothes california but at least eventually give them back."

"well i look better in them anyway russo." you smiled smugly not at all meaning what you said, you adored the way alessia dressed. "very cute, but I'm still taking it back with me tomorrow, it's my favourite." alessia shook her head again, having bought the article of clothing from the gift shop her first week of college.

"and you're studying again." alessia groaned as you turned back to your paper. "don't you also have things to work on? like your sociology class you're set to fail?" you questioned glancing over your shoulder and waiting for whatever else it was you knew she wanted to say.

"hey i can still pass if i take the test again or write a make up paper." alessia explained as you hummed along in understanding, turning your attention to your own essay.

"but let me guess, you haven't started either and you have no intention of working on it at all this weekend?" you chuckled with a shake of your head, unable to see but knowing the blonde had rolled her eyes.

"the paper has to be at least four thousand words and give my opinion on a previous medical study or report which was deemed 'unethical'." alessia started to explain as you hummed again, fully aware of the minutes ticking by in which you weren't spending writing your own paper, knowing you both needed to be in bed by midnight to get a goods night rest before the game.

"so i was thinking-" alessia started as you scoffed lightly. "thats dangerous." you interrupted, your girlfriend giving you a serious dose of side eye before continuing. "so i was thinking. can you help me write it? i have a week." alessia finished with a smile, and now it all made sense.

"i knew there was an angle. you only snuck here to use me!" you huffed, giving her an unimpressed glare over your shoulder. "no i didn't! i mean yes, but no. please gorgeous you're so smart you barely even have to try!" alessia whined, shooting up to her feet.

"no. now get out and climb back to your own room, i'm busy." you mumbled annoyed, shrugging off her arms as she attempted to wrap them around you from behind. alessia huffed, moving to the side and tugging at her shirt on your body, trying to pull you off the chair and into her arms instead.

"go away alessia." you warned but before you could even utter another word the pencil was yanked from your hand and a warm hand firmly gripped your chin and turned your head.

"i didn't just come here to ask you to write a paper baby, i promise." the blonde assured softly, hands moving to cup your face and you'd be lying if your stomach didn't flip a little.

"i need to write my own paper and we have a game tomorrow." you sighed pulling your face away, her own softening as she took her seat back at the end of your bed, your pen captive in her hand as she swiped it from the desk.

"It's only friday you have plenty of time baby. come on and give me a cuddle at least, i really did come here cause i missed you." she opened her arms expectantly with a pout, getting up with a sigh eventually caving in as she knew you would.

"you're so annoying sometimes." you mumbled as you sat on her lap facing her, wrapping your arms around her neck as her own hugged your waist, the two of you sitting there just holding one another for a moment.

"i literally saw you a couple of hours ago, needy." you teased, leaning down to peck her lips a couple of times, her grip tightening around your waist.

"correct. but you slept over last night, and this morning i believe we started something before I had to leave for class, didn't we?" alessia grinned suggestively, hands moving to rest on your upper thighs.

"did we? guess I forget." you pouted sarcastically, moving her hands off your thighs and trying to reach for the pen still secured tightly within them.

"nah uh, you have to earn it." alessia smirked, holding it out of reach behind her head. "you know i literally have a whole handful of pens over there right?" you snickered, nodding behind her to your overnight bag on the floor.

"but you still gotta get through me to get to them." alessia challenged, tossing the pencil over her shoulder as it landed on the floor with a clatter.

"since you forgot, let me jog your memory gorgeous." alessia breathed out against your neck, peppering the warm skin with small kisses, hands moving slowly around your waist and resting cheekily on your ass.

"alessia." you tried to warn seriously, though it came out as more of a breathy moan as the blonde suddenly nipped at your neck, simultaneously squeezing your ass in her hands.

"yes love?" she hummed, slowly kissing up your jaw. "we have to-" you paused as she dipped her head and bit down on the other side of your neck,  harshly sucking to form a bright red hickey.

alessia had always been a biter from the moment the two of you crashed down into bed together, even if it was just to get your attention when she deemed you weren't paying enough of it to her.

the girl was notoriously mean to everyone but you, but that didn't stop her from being cruel in other ways when it suited her, the english woman perhaps the most eager tease you'd ever met.

"we have to?" alessia trailed off mockingly, moving her assault on your neck down a little lower as her hands moved to trail up your sides.

then before you could even utter another syllable her grip tightened on your hips and she pushed you down on the bed, moving to sit herself on top of you.

"we have to..." the striker whispered again, leaning down to tug on your earlobe with her teeth as her hand trailed up your stomach, nails gently raking down the bare skin, your shirt pooled up around your neck.

"do you remember yet baby?" alessia hummed with a grin, moving her jogger clad knee to rest between your legs and leaning down to connect your lips.

you withheld a groan as she bit down on your bottom lip, small gasp as she pressed her knee against you all she needed to take control of the kiss, tongue roaming your mouth freely.

"nope! no no no, we can't!" you pulled yourself from the hazy fog she was trying to drown you in and sat up suddenly, alessia falling off of you with a squeal as you pulled your shirt down and stood.

"no sex the night before a game. we have an agreement less!" you whined, burying your face in your hands and counting to fifteen, trying to will your body to leave its current state of need for the blonde.

"well fuck the agreement love i'm horny!" the brit hissed bluntly as you peeked out from your hands with a glare. "then count! we have an agreement for a reason." you reminded firmly, a slight pinch to your neck alerting you to a different problem as you hurried to the bathroom.

"alessia!" you shouted with a scowl, touching the two fast forming love bites on your neck with a wince, the blondes head popping sheepishly into the doorway as she shrunk beneath your glare.

however before either of you could say another word there was a knock at the door and both your heads snapped toward the door, your coach calling out your name.

"hide!" you mouthed at the blonde, yanking her into the bathroom as you stepped out, looking around the room wildly and hurrying to shove any evidence you weren't here alone into the closet as another knock and your name sounded again.

a towel hit you in the head as you spun around and glared at your girlfriend who'd thrown it. "hickeys!" she pointed to her neck as you hurried to sling the towel around your neck as if going for a shower.

taking a moment to collect yourself you rubbed your eyes a few times and slowly cracked open the door. "yeah coach?" you asked, faking a yawn as the womans eyes narrowed.

"i heard you yell, something wrong?" she asked suspiciously, trying to see behind you as you closed the door a little more. "no no, must have been someone else. night coach!" you assured, trying to close the door properly as a hand grabbed it and you winced.

"you won't mind if i check you're here alone then, will you?" "of course not coach." you forced a smile and opened the door properly, gesturing for her to come in.

"bit late to be studying, we need you sharp on defense tomorrow, its critical we maintain a low block." the woman noted your materials scattered across the desk in the corner as you hurried to note you weren't aware of the time.

"i could have sworn i heard you shout your girlfriends name. and i would hope that the captain of the team would know better than to be breaking rules?" the woman seemed to emphasize her point a little louder.

"oh we were uh, on facetime coach! we'd just hung up." you quickly lied with a smile as she hummed. "so i could shower! then head right to bed." you tugged on the towel with a somewhat nervous chuckle as she hummed again.

"well i'll leave you to it then." the woman did a quick check of the bathroom and you tried not to let the relief flood your face as she seemed satisfied you were alone, one last scan of the room before she left.

you barely exhaled before there was a thump and your girlfriend came careering out of the bathroom where she'd been hidden in the shower. "she is absolutely heading for your room now you idiot, go!" you whispered, shoving her with a huff.

"not that way! the way you came." you hissed, turning her around and pushing her toward the balcony door. "god you are so bossy, and everyone says i'm the mean one?" alessia scoffed as you smacked the back of her head.

"not the time! go!" you shoved her as she stumbled, catching herself and shivering. "hoodie!" she demanded as you rolled your eyes and hurried off to collect it, tossing it in her face and stepping back to shut the door.

"hey! what about my kiss?" the girl scowled as you stared at her in disbelief, a finger tapping her lips expectantly as you rolled your eyes but stepped forward, bunching her shirt in your hands and pressing your lips to hers.

"this was hot, like a forbidden love!" alessia grinned as you pulled away and pushed her toward the edge of the balcony where she'd climbed over. "yeah it'll be forbidden when you get suspended for being an asshole, go russo!" you pointed firmly as she blew you another kiss and swung a leg over the railing.

"i love you." "i love you." she repeated again as you went to close the door. "i love you!" a third time.

"oh my god shut up someone will hear you! i love you too, now go!"

[onlymexsarah]

Burning Flames IV | Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!reader Summary: Since you became High Fae there were only two things that scared you: your deadly power and your attraction toward the male you should hate most after Tamlin, Eris Vanserra. Warnings: mention of smut, Eris Vanserra being Eris Vanserra, my english and probably spelling mistakes since I'm also sick A/n: I apologize for my lateness, but uni is kinda taking all my time away. I was dying with the need to write about this scene, and I hope you'll like it🫶🏻 if you want to be add at the taglist just ask! Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

"Eris is coming to the Winter Solstice celebration at the Hewn City." Rhys informed the Inner Circle while you were discussing alliances for the probable war against Briallyn. "He's shaken by Tamlin catching you two meeting with him," he nodded toward your twin and Cassian. "and wondering if we'll balk from the alliance now that there's the slim chance Tamlin might reveal it. Or decide to sell him out first. We need to remind Eris of our continued commitment, and that he is...important to us. That we have his back."

You heard Cassian snarling with disgust while your sister Feyre echoed the expression.

"So buy him a present," Feyre said, waving a hand. "and tell him we all send our love."

You snorted amused at that. "Don't you have some old, dusty jewels? Give him one of those." You said obvious while you rested your arm on the chair's back..

"He'll want more than that." Rhys said, mouth twiching, and his eyes fell upon Nesta.

Nesta. Rhys wanted to use Nesta to win Eris over. The thought alone made you sick. Why her? Why Rhys thought that Nesta alone could make Eris swung at her feet? He had saved your life, not hers. Actually, he would have let Nesta die if it hadn't been for you and Elain.

But of course, Rhysand couldn't know that. No one knew Eris had saved your life during the war, and strangely enough Eris had never bragged himself nor made any comment.

From what Cassian had said it had seemed that Eris had been interest in flirting with your twin, and you had to admit, he had never tried to flirt with you in any occasion. Actually, he had tried to break your patience. So it did make sense, you supposed. Nesta was the most logical choice.

"You want me to dance with Eris?" asked Nesta caution.

"I want you to seduce him." Rhys' words made your stomach twisting with an unease sensation. You didn't know why you were reacting like that, and you told yourself that it was because you didn't want Nesta close to someone like him. It wasn't because the thought of Eris giving his full attention to someone who wasn't you made you sick. No, you could never want something like that. Someone like him.

"You really think that Nesta's dancing with Eris will solidify his loyalty?" you hadn't meant to make the question sound so...disgusted, but thankfully no one seemed to notice. Actually, most of them echoed your tone.

"I think Eris is our ally, and will expect to dance with a lady of this court at the ball no matter what." Explained Rhys to you, probably mistaking your disgust for worryness. "I won't let Feyre within five feet of him, Mor might kill him, and Amren is more likely to scare him off than win him over, so you, Nesta and Elain are the only options, but from Cassian's report Eris hadn't seem too friendly with you."

Cassian should learn when to shut up, you thought annoyed. Of course Cassian would say that, because Eris had made sure to annoy you at the meeting with Lucien, Vassa and Jurian.

"Was Cassian wrong?" asked Rhys carefully, reading something in your eyes that you quickly hide.

"No." You said with a lazy smile. There was no point in telling them what had happened during the war, probably Eris had already forgotten it too. "He was completely right."

Rhys watched you for few more seconds with his violet eyes that sometime seemed like they could look right inside your soul and read it. You checked your mental shield and found it intact, the fire that you pushed down burned brightly around your mind, protecting it.

***

The black dress you had chosen for the night fell comfortably over your body as you walked down the hall of Hewn City's palace. You had opted for something elegant yet less reveling than Mor's and Feyre's. The straps fell lightly down your shoulders, the bodice had a sweetheart neckline with what looked like black flames over your collarbone. You still had to decide if it was a hint that Rhys knew about your power still lingering in your body, or it was for pure imagine. The flames seemed to fell down your body in a lovely silky gown that captured the lights with each step.

Unfortunately, you now had to wear gloves, because the burned scars had expanded all over your hands, and the gloves was the only way to hide them. Thankfully, since it was winter no one ever questioned them, and tonight you had put some long, black, silky gloves that matched your skirt.

You were currently behind Rhysand and Feyre, between Elain and Nesta as the two of them still were on no speaking term. Tonight was a show of power, with your sister's pregnancy annouce and your twin's beauty offered on a silver plate for the Heir of Autumn.

You had appreaciated how Elain had wanted to come, and it didn't go unnoticed to you that she had opted to wear a plain dress with just two pearls in her hair to not outshine Nesta. Elain had always been the prettiest of the four of you, but tonight it was Nesta's time to shine, and she had gladly disguided herself as plain and boring.

As you entered the throne room every eyes fell on you. Not on you, actually. On your sister's swollen belly. You heard gaspes and whispers all around you. Keir's looked torn between anger and shock, and you had to hide an amused grin.

As your eyes scanned the room with a bored expression, you took you ropportunity to look at the redhead beside Keir, knowing he would be too focus on your sister to notice your staring, but as your eyes fell on the him you found two amber pounds already staring at you.

Eris was looking at you. Not at Feyre. Not at Nesta, the one supposed to catch his attention. He was looking only at you, and you hated how your heart skipped a beat.

He looked at you like he could admire you for the first time, and somehow it was true. You both knew that no one would notice your staring at each other, because everyone's attention was on Feyre.

You used every second to drank the sigth of him. Eris was dressed in Night Court black, and you could be damned for how handsomely he was. He looked like the darkest of the dark dreams that someone shouldn't have. That someone be you.

That game was dangerous, you realized. Those stolen glances, stolen moments would lead you only in a dangerous territory. But danger looked so appealing when he let his eyes slowly roam all over your body.

For a moment you felt more naked than Mor and Feyre.

Eris must have noticed the black flames on your dress because he slowly grinned. It wasn's a mocking grin, it wasn't even amused. It was one of Eris' grin that you still had to classify.

His eyes met yours again, and he did the last thing you had expected. He winked at you. He fucking winked.

You felt your cheeks getting warmer and you quickly looked in front of you again, dismissing him as if nothing had happened, and for a moment you wished it hadn't.

As Feyre and Rhysand sat on their thrones, you and your sisters went to stand at the foot of the dais, between Cassian and Azriel who looked like they could kill anyone watching at any of you in a wrong way.

Keir and Eris scuttled forward, and while the former bowed, you pointly avoided to look at the latter. "Allow me to exted my congratulations." said Keir and you knew that he didn't mean a word of it.

"And allow me to extened mine as well," said Eris with a voice that could warm even the coldest spot of the Winter Court. "on behalf of my father and the entire Autumn Court. He shall be thrilled by this news."

Rhysand mouth curled in a cruel half smile, the stars winking iut in his eyes. "I'm sure he will."

Sometime you forgot how powerful and cruel Rhysand could be. He was always gentle and kind with you, with all his family. But the moment that something threated Feyre's life? He become feral, and you were glad for it. You were glad Feyre had found Rhysand.

They gave the crowd some command to make it loose, and when Eris did to follow Keir Rhysand stopped him. "Before you join the merriment, Eris, I'd like to present you with your Solstice gift."

A long black box appeared in his hands, and you tried your best to hide your confusion. Rhysand had never spoken of other gifts beside Nesta, so what was all of this about?

As the box flew to Eris and he opened it you could see the dagger that Nesta had made. You hold your breath as Eris's face went pale. "There's flame in it." He said. "Why give this to me?"

"You're our ally, " Feyre said, a hand resting on her belly. "You face enemies that exist outside of the usual rules of magic. It seemed only fair to give you a weapon that operates outside those rules, too."

You cursed in your mind as Eris understood that the dagger was Made and started to question Rhysand. Eris culd be the monster of everyone's story, but he was no idiot. Actually, you had the suspicious that he might be smarter than he let the other see.

“Ordinarily I would ask you to dance," said Feyre kindly. "but my condition has left me unwell enough that I worry about what so much spinning would do to my stomach.” It was the truth. Feyre had bolted from dinner three nights ago to find the nearest toilet. Now she looked at you and your sisters, as if deciding who would dance with him.

You looked away, not really wanting to see Eris admiring your sister Nesta. You focused your attention on the couples dancing, and you couldn't wait to be among them. You didn't have the same passion as Nesta, but you had always enjoyed it if you had a good partner.

You had asked Morrigan to give you lessons too, just to be able to dance freely with whoever might ask you. It had been fun when you had found Cassian too at Mor's lessons, silently agreeing that you would say nothing about the other.

"One of my oldest sisters shall take my place." you barely heard Feyre's words, knowing she would be gesturing to Nesta, so there would be no point to look away from the musicians.

It was when you heard Nesta stiffining beside you and Elain elbowing you that you looked away and gave the latter a confused look. Elain only inclined her head, pointing to something in front of you.

You furrowed your eyebrow, still confused, and looked where Elain was pointing. Your breath caught in your throat as you found Eris standing in front of you with his hand strechted out.

"If I require right, you are the oldest." He said with that lover's voice that tricked your mind.

You gulped and tried to not let your eyes widining too much as you gave him a nod. "Only by few days."

Why was he not looking at your sister? It was quiet obvious that she was the one planned to be offered to him, the one who looked like a queen. Hadn't Cassian said that Eris had been flirtatious with Nesta? Hadn't Cassian said that Eris seemed to loath you? Then why was he looking like that?

You slowly brought your hand on his, as you had done the day he had saved you, and something about his wicked, sparkling eyes told you he remembered it too.

He brought your hand around his arm, and accompanied you at the center of the dancing floor with a royaly grace. Even throught your gloves you could feel the warmness that his body radiated. A warmness that somehow made your body relax. Hadn't you had asked this to the cauldron? Warm, nice fire? Not the destructive flames that burned inside you.

Eris stopped at the very center of the floor, and you could already feel everyone's gaze on the two of you. What a gossip this would be; one of the High Lady's sisters with the heir of the Autumn Court, dancong at the Winter Solstice.

"Saying that you look gorgeous would be minimalizing." Said Eris as he gently put his free arm around your waist bringing your bodies much closer than they had ever been. "But flames are supposed to be red, not black."

You would have smashed his grin if the violin's hadn't started playing. You put your free hand on his shoulder and rose your chin to meet his eyes, with the fakest, sweetest smile you could master.

You had indeed wanted the dress to be red, because it had always been your favourite colour, but the Night Court's colour was black, and you needed to appear as a unit front.

"I wouldn't want to be mistaken for a member of your beautiful, appealing court." Your tone was soft, not wanting to gain any more stares than what you already had on you, but the sarcasm was there. "I find black perfect for this dress."

You were soo the wrong person to complete the job. Nesta was supposed to seduce him, because Eris didn't rail her up like he did with you. It was impossibile in your mind to even think of being nice with him, let alone flirt.

"What is not perfect is this dance, I'm afraid." he said still with his smirk on his lips. You looked at him confused, and he leaned close to your ear making you hold your breath. "Your High Lord and High Lady look like I have just spilled icy water on them. Aren't you supposed to be the oldest? They seem to think I might eat you in any moment."

His hot breath on your neck made it ashamedly hard to concentrate on what he was saying, and you would never admit to yourself that it was only when he leaned away that you found the capacity to speak again.

"We were all convinced you enjoyed my sister's company more than mine." You managed to say, offering him that truth.

The sound of his dark chuckle was like silk on your skin. His grip on your hadn and waist tightned a little, and you would have ripped his hands away if it would have been any other moment, or any other male.

"And why would I lose time playing with her when I have my perfect match right here?"

Cauldron boils you.

It was a bad, bad, bad, bad thing that you knees almost went weak at his words. It was even worst that your stomach seemed to be dancing its own waltz inside you. It had been so long since someone had touched you like that and hell, no one had ever looked at you like that. Ever.

You told yourself that that was the reason why he was having that effect in you. You had been used to the human's beauty, then you had been too busy to save the world to even notice High Fae's beauty. Eris had just happened to be in the right place at the right time and boom, you were weak on your knees for him.

"Someone might stirr if they heard you calling me your perfect match." You said finding a surprising calm, steady voice. "The future High Lord of the Autumn Court should have no equals."

Something flickered in his eyes as he looked at you with the typical gaze full of secrets. "I have no worries of any equal since you seem so determinated to conceal yourself as a rabbit rather than the dragon that you are."

His words managed to make you shut down every...confusing feeling you had inside and rose your chin a bit higher, watching him with a bored expression. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Is that so?" he slightly tilted his head with the same eyes that a predator used to study its opponent. "Then I take the gloves as the newest fashion in the Night Court? Curious, I don't see many other females wearing them."

He made you do a double spin on your feet before bringing you back against his chest. "I would have thought that a princeling had more important things to think about than the fashion in other Courts." You said coldly.

You hadn't realized that the music had ended until a new dance began and Eris easily led you throught that. It was slower, lighter, but you didn't need to think about the steps; Eris was annoyingly good at leading you.

His eyes darkened a little, as if you had just insulted him. The grip on your hand tightened and you hissed in pain as his fingers pushed into the burned flesh of your palm. "Tell me, it's still about fashion?" He tightened his fingers again and you stepped on his foot angrily.

"Do it again and your father will have to name another heir." you hissed still blinded with pain. Fuck off the whole court him thing; you would have never been good at it nevertless. If Eris wanted to play with you, you would play back.

***

Cauldron boils him.

He was so down bad for you. Never in five hundred years he had met someone who could turn him on just with a glare. And the glare you were giving him was of pure challenge and threat.

He laughed at you. He laughed because it was the only thing he could do. He laughed because the alternative was to see if you would still talk to him like that if he pushed you against a dark corner of the palace, knelt and buried his face under the gown of your dress.

That fucking dress.

You looked like a night Goddess of fire, and the Mother knew how happily he would worship you if given the chance.

But he couldn't. Not until his father was alive. Not until he would be free to let you know the true Eris and let you decide what to do about the bond. Not until you desired him as much as he desired you.

"I would like to see you try without any training." he lightly mocked you, needing to see how far he could push you until you finally gave in and unleashed what you had inside. "But I could make your odds better if you just admit what we both know, Little Flame."

He grinned as he sensed the effect that the name had on you. You face stayed neutral, it was your heartbeat that betrayed you. Eris had to admit it, even if you had just entered the game of scheming, courts and alliances you were doing a great job at it.

"I'm afraid I'm not following you." You said giving the room around you a bored look. He knew you were actually seeing if any of your court was listening to the two of you.

Eris had a vague idea of what would happen if you find out about the bond in the near future. You would be caution about it at first, then after few words with Mor and the Inner Circle you would decide to break it, and why wouldn't you? He was the villain in everyone's story, and he was fine with that. He didn't really plan to change that narrative in your head, yet. But he refused to sit still while you burned yourself in your own power and the Inner Circle did nothing to stop it.

"I could train you." He said suddenly serious. "If you are too ashamed to show your precious family what monstrous power you have, you should have no problem showing it to someone who is already considered a monster."

You arched an eyebrow. "Considered?" you asked ironically. "I recall hearing quiet thrutful stories about you for just considerating what you are."

He didn't pretend to be hurt by your words. He knew exactly what you had heard, what he had done, but obviously you couldn't know the whole true. No one did execpt for one. "Careful to let your new ears believe everything they say about me."

"Because you seem so much more trustfully." You said with a ironic smile that he immediately matched.

"Train with me a day every week, and I'll answer honestly to one question of your choice." He proposed before spunning you on your feet. "Maybe you'll make your own idea of me."

Those beautiful, careful eyes studied him, and he almost knelt right there. "Why would I accept? What do you gain from this?"

His grin widened. "I'm pleased to see that those brutes taught you something useful." He mused. "Let just say I think your power will play a key part to my...succesion on the throne, and I rather have you as my ally than my enemy."

You narrowed your eyes, surely pondering every single word he had said. "I won't do the dirty job for you."

Eris knew you meant killing his father, but of course you couldn't say it out loud since Keir was still around. He admired your quick thinking, and he was extremely glad that you were smart enought to guard yourself around people like himself.

He chuckled lowly. "That is a matter I'll deal with alone." He stated firmly and the fingers on your back lightly caressed you, assuringly. "I just ask for your help when my court will need it."

Eris would never admit out loud that he already know what kind of favour he would need from you. The idea had come up as the two of your were talking, but he knew that if he had proposed it right away you would have left him on the dancing floor without a second thought.

"One day of training everyweek with one question of my choice in exchange of my help, once, when you'll need it with your court?" You carefully stated looking cautionsly in his eyes.

He gave you a grin as he leaned his face closer to yours. "Do we have a bargain, Little Flame?"

He had to call all his hundreds years of training to not close his eyes as your scent hit his nose. It was sweet, like cinnamon and caramel. It was everything he recalled to like, to bring him joy.

He smelled the shift in your scent as your faces were dangerously close, and for the first time he was glad that you were new to this world because otherwise your would have smelled the shift in his scent too. And that, would have bring the two of you in a dangerous situation.

"Yes." you said after a while. He could see that you had thought of every outcome of that bargain, you probably had thought about how to tell the others, what reactions they would have and in how many ways it could end badly. "But you have to stop calling me that."

He laughed. "You should have put it into the conditions of the bargain before you accepted it."

As he said those words he felt something stung on his back. It felt like someone was writing something on his skin with fire. It didn't hurt, it was more like a tickle, and when he saw your hand flying from his shoulder to your back, scracthing the same part on your body that tickled on his, he knew that the bargain had been sealed.

The music ended and he gave you a bow, bringing your gloved hand to his lips. He could smell the burned flash, and a part of him wanted to kill Rhysand to have let you do it to yourself. But he only placed a gently kiss on it, sensing how you, elegantly, shivered and gave you a charming smile.

He studied you for a monent. Your eyes were looking at him with what was not surely kindness, but at the same time was not hatred too. You were trying to find your place in this new, cahotic world, he understood. His eyes traveled on your dress, and his jaw clenched. You would have been a beautiful living flame if it hadn't been concealed with black, somehow a represantion of how you wanted to conceal yourself to fit in that Court.

"Let me begin the training now with a little advise." Eris said still with your hand in his. Your eyes flashed with curious. "Do not follow blindly those who walk in front of you. You might find out that black is not the colout that suits you best."

He didn't wait for you to process his words as he gave you a last, parting smile and turned on his heels, already putting his mask back on. "See you next week, Little Flame." he mocked over his shoulder as he walked away.

He heard you curse him under your breath, and it only made him grin amused. He found it surprisingly fun to rile you up, it was a kind of amusement that he didn't feel with anyone else. He needed it as a reminder that his equal was indeed like him: fierce, smart, witty and always ready to fight when needed.

He walked toward Rhysand and Feyre, still seated on their thrones, already watching him with their calculated eyes. He was sure that they were probably having a mental conversation about what they had seen, and Eris fought the urge to smirk.

"Did you enjoy the company of my sister?" asked Feyre politely with a lazy smile. He had to admit that both her and Rhysand did a great job at acting like the rulers of the Court of Nightmares.

"Your sister's company had been delightful." He said matching her smile. Before asking them what he wanted he was curious to test the waters. "But I'm curious; you showed me what I can have, Rhysand. I'm intrigued enough to ask what you'd want in return."

He saw Feyre's jaw clenching. She would never sold her sister, and surely not to someone like him, but it was still fun to imply just that.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Rhysand not betraying a single thought that was in his mind.

"I mean that whatever you want, I'll give it to you if you promise to keep her safe and away from my father." Eris said suddenly serious.

He saw the confusion flashing on both rulers' face as they surely spoke to each other mind to mind. Eris knew he was letting them see too much, but it was the only way he could be sure that you would be safe as long as his father was alive. They needed to know in what danger you were if his father ever find out what you and Eris were.

"Explain yourself better." Feyre commanded with a cold voice.

He gave her a mocking grin. "You keep your oldest sister away from my father, and train her. and I'll give you whatever you want. You wanted to reassure our alliance? This is the prize."

"I cannot force her in doing anything she doesn't want to, but I can come up with the right arrangment for that." Rhysand said calmly. "But it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for...her safety. Why would you care so much about that?"

He could see that both Rhysand and Feyre were trying to understand what kind of game he was playing, what kind of tricks he had in mind, so he let his mind shield opening a little, inviting them in his head to speak the words that he could not say out loud.

"Because it seems that the Cauldron gave two Archeron sisters to the Night Court, and two to the Autumn Court." Eris said in his mind, knowing that they both were listening.

Feyre's face drained of colours as Rhysand's eyes hardned and his deep, dangerous voice sounded in his mind. "Why should we believe you?"

Eris smirked and let the memory of the day he had saved you fill his mind, letting them see it. He replied the moment the bond stirred inside him, urging him to run toward you. He made them see the exact moment your eyes met and his whole existence screamed the word Mate all over again. He made them see how he had foolishly followed you to the King of Hybern, keeping you safe until you had run to Nesta. He let them see how hard it had been to return to his father and hide eveything, how scared he had been when after the war he had been sat beside his father while you were right in front of him, terrified that any gaze might give him away. The last memory was of when he had found you outside the Autumn Court's camp, and he had been so close to grab you and winnow on the other side of Prythian, not wanting you close to his father in any way.

He stopped the memories just as the one of when you had cured him started to pop in his mind, and watched careful the reaction of the two rulers in front of him. "I cannot risk for the bond to snap for her when my father or any of his allies are close. He would hurt her to hurt me, and despide what you think of me, I won't let it happen."

Rhysand studied him with a heavy, dangerous attention. "I could keep her away from you and have you do anything I want just for the chance to see her, do you realize that?"

A test. Eris knew it was a test, because Rhysand would never do something like that, but still Eris couldn't help but laugh ironically. "It would be the first time you'd do something smart, Rhysand." he tilted his head in a mocking grin.

"You should speak of this matter with Feyre then." Rhysand stated, making a good job at sounding bored. "It's her sister you are mated with."

"I could have your head in any moment if I suspect you to be a danger for her." said Feyre in his head viciously.

"I would like to think that the bond would make your sister miss me a little if you do that." he answered ironically placing a hand on his heart. "But I'll give you everything else you need. After all you are my sister-in-the-cauldron, you might find out you'll have more advantages from this situation than your boring mate."

"Go away before I test that bond theory." threatened him Feyre making his grin grew wider.

taglist: @adventure-awaits13 @blueeclipsepaperstudent @huffleruffplant @azysmate @bia-wayne-west @babypeapoddd @lady-targaryens-world @sourapplex @ghostwritermia @asteria33 @pinklemonade34 @tell-me-a-poem @sourapplex @speedypersonawhispers @historygeekqueen @marly500 @webvics

[fangirlfuel]

Unshakable

---

Request : I NEED a protective Lewis Hamilton fic where he defends the reader from online hate or a rude reporter. Please! 🥺

---

The hotel room in Monaco was silent, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the rapid tapping of your fingers against your phone screen. You had tried not to read the comments. You really had. But curiosity is a dangerous thing, especially when it drags you into the murky waters of social media.

“She’s just a nobody. Lewis can do better.”

“She’s only with him for the fame. Classic gold-digger.”

“Why would a world champion waste his time with her?”

Your throat tightened, jaw clenched. You didn’t ask for any of this attention. Loving Lewis had been easy, natural even. But being loved by him, the most famous, talked-about driver in Formula 1, came with a price you hadn’t known you’d have to pay.

The door opened with a soft click. Lewis walked in, fresh from media day, sunglasses still perched on his face and his Mercedes jacket unzipped halfway. He smiled when he saw you, until he noticed the way your eyes didn’t lift from the screen. The way your shoulders sagged under a weight he couldn’t see yet.

“Y/N?” he asked gently, pulling off his sunglasses. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You blinked, set the phone down quickly, and forced a small smile. “Nothing. Just tired.”

He didn’t believe you. He never did when you said that.

Lewis walked over, kneeling in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours like they were the only thing that mattered in the universe. “Tell me the truth.”

Your lip trembled. “It’s just… people online. They say horrible things. About me. About us.”

He exhaled slowly, his jaw ticking. “Show me.”

You hesitated, then handed him the phone. He scrolled in silence, his brows furrowing deeper with each comment. The screen dimmed as the phone locked itself in his hand. Lewis stood up, pacing, running a hand down his face.

“I’ve had people talk sh*t about me for years,” he muttered, almost to himself. “But you? You’re the most genuine, beautiful, loving person I’ve ever known. And they don’t even know you.”

You stood too, voice small. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t belong in your world.”

That broke him.

Lewis turned sharply, crossing the space between you in two steps, cupping your face in his hands. “Don’t you ever say that. You belong with me. And no one, no one, gets to decide that but us.”

His voice was fierce, his grip tender.

---

The next day was race day, and you walked behind the scenes, trying to stay out of the spotlight. But of course, that never worked.

The press line was crowded, and as Lewis made his way through the interviews, one journalist’s voice rose above the others, sharp, biting, too familiar.

“So, Lewis,” the reporter began, smug, “after all the buzz about your… girlfriend, do you think she’s a distraction heading into the championship fight? Some say your focus isn’t where it used to be.”

You froze, breath caught in your throat.

Lewis, still smiling, slowly turned his full attention to the reporter. His posture shifted subtly, calm, but with an edge like steel.

“I’m glad you brought that up,” he said, voice cool and composed. “Because it gives me a chance to say this loud and clear.”

He looked into the camera—not at the reporter, not at the fans, but straight through the lens, as if speaking to every critic, every online troll, every petty voice hiding behind a screen.

“Y/N is not a distraction. She’s my peace. She’s the reason I show up every day stronger. The hate she’s been getting? It's disgusting. Uncalled for. And I won’t stay quiet about it anymore.”

The crowd went silent.

“If you think loving someone openly makes me weaker, you don’t know me at all. What makes me stronger is being real. And she’s as real as it gets. So from now on, back off.”

You swallowed hard, heart thudding, barely able to process what just happened. The way he stood there, unapologetically defending you, making the world know exactly where he stood, it was overwhelming.

When the interviews wrapped, he walked back toward you, ignoring the cameras, the handlers, the noise. Just you.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, tears in your eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin. “Yes, I did. I’ll always stand up for you. Always.”

And just like that, the hate didn’t matter so much anymore, not when you had a love like this.

---

[lustagel]

𓂃 to fit in ˖ ݁ patrick bateman ⊹ dark, sfw content.

you were better than jean. your skirt fit perfectly, well organized, always on time, never spoken unless spoken to, but you were paul allen’s assistant.

c. readers skin is described as smooth n is called pumpkin twice. jean slander but i still love her.

patrick was disgusted by most things: people who felt they were better than him, women who weren’t slutty and didn’t know how to shut their mouths, anyone below him… the list could go on. but, you weren’t one of them. when he looked at you his sanity always began to slip. especially when you were speaking with your boss, paul allen. paul had a lot of things patrick wanted, and you were the number one thing.

your skirt always an appropriate length, heels arching your feet, pen and paper in hand readying for whatever paul needed, your shirts dipping just enough to see the swell of your breast, skin smooth, hair styled and you never spoke much unless you were spoken to.

you would look perfect on his arm- you would make him fit in perfectly. besides, replacing jean wouldn’t mean anything to him, she was a mess; her outfit never being what patrick wanted, her scheduling process always a slow, she never caught on to his jokes, and she was always questioning him. he was simply never satisfied with her. he wanted to be satisfied.

unlike what he was feeling now, as he sat mindlessly at the conference room table. it was full with business men unlike any other day but that was because of paul’s presence. conversation had been going around for a while, none of their conversations ever peaking his interest. “so how’s the fisher account?” bryce questions, fixing his suit against his body as he sits upright, in front of bateman. “fantastic as always,” his smile small as he speaks, “i’d tell you how i got it but i’d have to kill you.” everyone listening laughs, it annoys patrick, so he simply lets out a stiff chuckle, smiles and nods profusely. he even goes as far to comment quietly, “hilarious.”

as the laughing quiets down, the light sound of heels hitting the carpet floor gains patrick’s attention and some others. you’d already made it halfway across the room before any of them noticed. once you’d made it to the end of the table on patrick’s side where paul sat, you give the table a small smile. “sorry for interrupting,” you fix your eyes onto paul, “your reminder for your meeting at 1.”

paul glances at his watch, before looking up at you, pointing a finger at you in recognition, with a small smile and nod, “thank you.” patrick face is stern, eyes giving away the greed he feels when looking at you. they’re almost low as if he’s on cannabis, lips slightly parted at the looks of your wet ones. not noticing his gaze, you don’t hesitate to nod back to paul, and make your way towards the door, eyes of all colors following you until you can’t be seen. a light whistle sound comes from a couple men around the table, one of them being van patten. “mother of god, how’d you get her?” he speaks, leaning back in his chair a bit.

“who?” paul almost looks clueless for a minute, but the smile that cracks on his face gives him away. his coworkers still push the question. “seriously,” bryce insists, eager for the answer. “i’d definitely bang that,” mcdermott comments with a nod, and everyone follows shortly behind in agreement. “she’s marvelous,” luis comments, to the left side of patrick— while he sits annoyed for the second time since sitting down at the table.

after the conference “meeting” everyone went about their day of work, patrick’s being not very pleasant because of the lingering anger he felt about you not sharing him a glance in the conference room. so angry that he found himself hating the show he watching and began to be heavy annoyed by jean’s presence. the greed, lead him to your small office outside of paul allen’s office.

“do you need something, mr. bateman?” you call, from your desk, eyes watching him closely as he stands in your doorway. “call me patrick,” he says, giving a smile as he walks further in. “patrick…” you let the room run quiet for a second to looking down at paul’s schedule on your desk, “do you need to schedule something with-” he’s quick to interrupt. “no.” his tone is stern and irritated, but he lets out breath to calm himself. “dinner. the two of us,” he tells plainly.

you’re taken back by the sudden offer, and you almost let out a chuckle but you don’t. only cracking a small apologetic smile, “can’t. i have a boyfriend.” it was a lie, of course. you had to admit you found patrick quite attractive despite his indifference to the rest of the men in the office who have tried to either get your number or take you home. you could never really put your finger on why though.

“come on, pumpkin. you can do better than that,” he says, not being deceived by the known lie. you don’t comment on him catching you. “pumpkin? never thought i’d have a nickname like that.” you smile enduringly at the name he’d given you in this short time. ignoring your comment, he asks, “how about dorsia?”

you search his face to see if he’s joking, but he stands, waiting for your answer. “sure,” you smile giving him what he’s been waiting on. “paul saying their sea urchin ceviche is great. i’m excited to try it,” you comment, playfully, and patrick gives you a light chuckle. the mention of his name slight irritates him but shakes it off. “right. friday, i’ll pick you up.” he doesn’t care for a reply and turns to leave. his mind too busy worry about how he was going to get the reservation, but he’d kill for it, if he had to, just to have you.

[bluesidez]

The Love Lab presents:

Boyfriend is to Husband

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gn!Reader

summary: How would Miguel react if you did the “calling my bf my husband” trend? 🤔

content warning: It gets a little suggestive, but other than that, it’s fluff fluff fluff. There are short mentions of food, but nothing too crazy. The Miguel in here is also not Spiderman. Just a little guy.

credit for art and dividers: Me! and @kimjiho1 (plus another person for the gif divider, if this is yours, lmk!)

a/n: This will be apart of a series called The Trendy Couple! This is the first installment ☝🏾😌. I’m not sure how long the series will be, but right now it’s just based off of cute couple's trends. My fyp has suffered trying to do research for this…

word count: 2.2k

I use the word "buggy" in here. Buggy = shopping cart or trolley. I'm southern so buggy just rolls off the tongue. ❤︎ Plus, it sounds cute!

You and Miguel have been out since 8 am running errands and grabbing supplies to fill up the new apartment. 

After a year of your dresser being full of his sweatpants and hoodies and his furniture hosting several of your blankets, his fridge being stocked of your favorite fruits and your shower caddy holding his body care, you both decided it was best to live together. 

Towel sets, bed sheets, comforters, silverware, curtains. This was only the tip of what you and Miguel had managed to stuff inside the car.

After hitting five shops just that morning, you opted to stay in the car while Miguel went and handled a pickup order from the hardware store. It was getting closer to lunchtime and you didn’t want to become irritable because of the long lines. 

To pass the time, you decided to scroll on TikTok, watching video after video, reacting to each accordingly. 

First, it was chatty kitties begging for food. Then, it was edits of hot wrestlers. Next, it was ramen recipes to cook at 2am. There were even a couple of NPC lives even though the trend was nearly dying at this point. 

Finally, you scrolled to a video hosting a girl and her boyfriend huddled together in a car over the console.

She’s leaned up against him, her smile beaming, “Today I’m going to be guessing my husband’s favorite things!”

“I’m not your husband,” are the words that shoot from her boyfriend’s mouth, fast as lightning. Cold. Unkind. Callous. 

You watch as the girl’s smile drops and the video cuts, her laughing out of shock beforehand, evidence of her trying to stamp out her embarrassment. 

You watch more as his grin widens and she gives him this awkward glance. 

“Not yet,” he adds, seeing how quiet she was. 

The video ends with her jumping at him playfully, trying to play the situation of. 

“Jesus,” you sigh, mouth turned sideways as you pause the video and open up the comments. Thousands of people were telling her to dump him, others questioning why he would say what he said in the way that he did. 

Your heart went out to the girl who clearly wanted to do a harmless joke that completely backfired. 

You liked a comment about this being a possible red flag. Although he could have responded that way because he wasn’t ready for marriage, his response was so quick and distant that it was like he was disgusted at the possibility of being with her that long. 

After working yourself up by scrolling through the comments, you decide to go even further by pressing the “calling my boyfriend ‘husband’” search at the top. 

There were so many stitches to the original video with people giving their own thoughts about the situation. Some people were proclaimed dating coaches, others psychologists, and a few influencers. 

You even see a follow up video from the original couple with the guy giving a shitty excuse as to why he was so quick in his response. 

“Yeah right,” you mumble, watching the girl snicker at her boyfriend’s pouts. You agree with the comments that his response makes the original video even worse. 

Still scrolling down, you find another video featuring a new couple. 

They’re at a table eating donut holes out of a hat, and when the girl calls her boyfriend “husband”, the guy’s entire body lights up. He’s grinning, cheeks rosy, and can’t stop staring back at his girlfriend. 

From there, you were able to see countless other couples with cute videos, all of the guys radiating at the word “husband.”

Biting your lip, you wondered how Miguel would react if you called him your husband. 

You loved him with all of your heart and you were sure that he loved you. You guys are literally moving into an apartment together. But the thought of him being unsettled by you calling him your husband weighed on you. 

Just as you were deep in your thoughts, you heard a knock near the trunk of the car startling you. Looking up in the rearview mirror, you see Miguel standing with a few bags and wood planks in his hands. You reach over and press a button to pop open the trunk. 

“Got everything?” you ask, turning to watch as he drops items in the back. 

“Yeah, I think so. Although there was almost a brawl over some potted plants,” he said. “Some older lady just came up to this guy and snatched his monsteras.” 

“What?” you respond, watching as he closed the trunk and walked around to the driver's seat. “Out of his hands or the buggy?”

Miguel laughed, both recalling the scene and finding your terms adorable. “She just came up and snatched it out of the cart while he was waiting at the end of the line. She swore that she saw it first.”

You listened to him retell the story, hand under your chin as you leaned closer. He was cute, lilt in his voice to make an impression of the plant thief. Thinking to yourself that you liked this little moment of playfulness, you take your phone out to record. 

Placing your phone in a case attached to the dashboard, you smile at the camera while Miguel’s still going. 

“‘You youngins think the world owes you everything, and that’s just not the case!’ And the poor guy is standing there going ‘ma’am, I just want my plant back.’ He looked so distressed.”

“I would be too! A random lady just shopped from my buggy. It’s like, why are you this close to me to see what I’m trying to buy?”

Miguel turns the car on and buckles up. “It started to escalate when the lady’s friend came over. Then there were two shrill voices fussing at this guy.”

He started to back the car out of the parking spot, hand behind your seat and head turned towards the back window. 

You slowly glanced at his arm, eyes tracing a vein up his shirt. 

Too bad you were in a car right now or else you’d let his arm wrap around you elsewhere. 

You tune back into his words, silently scolding yourself for letting something so simple get you to fold. 

“Luckily, I was able to calm them both down. All it took was me showing them some dasheen leaves,” he said, driving the car closer to the exit of the parking lot. 

You came to a conclusion. There was no better time than the present. 

“Aw, look at my husband. Saving the day with his genius,” you say, hand reaching out to pat his chest. 

Then you feel your body jerk to the right. The seat belt tightens as the car jerkingly swerves in between two parking spaces. 

You stare in a panic at Miguel who puts the car in park and turns his entire body towards you. 

“What did you just call me?” he asks, eyes searching yours, a little startled but mostly hopeful. 

You decide to keep the charades going, “I was just praising my husband for stopping the creation of another Karen video. Why did you turn the car like that?” You’re still looking at him as if he has two heads. 

“You just-!” Miguel takes your hands into his and places his forehead on his fists. “Baby, you know what you just said.” 

You laugh, a little giddy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Miguel leans back against his seat and closes his eyes, reaching down to take his seatbelt off. His eyebrows scrunch up as he brings your hand to his chest, “Feel my heartbeat.”

Your mouth drops as you feel his heart rattling against his chest. He really wasn’t being dramatic. 

“Baby look at me,” you grab his hands and hold them tight. “You did a good job today.”

His breath stopped, as he looked at you. His face was tinted from the whole fiasco. 

“Husband.”

Miguel’s entire body slumped as he grinned wide. He nearly jumped over the console to sag his body onto yours. 

His shoulders were shaking and you heard his laugh muffled by your shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and make a face at the camera. 

“What’s up, Mig?” you say, trying to get him to talk. 

He mumbled into your clothes, shoulders still shaking. 

“I can’t hear you, you gotta sit up.”

He sits up and sniffles, turning his head toward the backseat. 

Looking at his profile you can see a few streaks down his face. 

“Are you crying?” you ask, turning his face towards yours. 

Miguel swipes his wrist across his cheeks, “Stop, this is extremely embarrassing.”

“No, it’s not! I promise it’s not,” you say, rubbing your thumb across his ear. “Talk to me.”

He chuckled, eyes looking down, “It just feels really good to know that you think of me that way. We don’t have to ever cross that line, but one day, if you would like, we can make that title true.”

“Is this a pre-proposal?” you ask, heartbeat in your ears. You went out on a limb to follow a trend, not knowing how it would end. Now you’re staring at Miguel’s flushed face with his heart pouring out into your lap. 

“Maybe,” he whispered, grabbing your hands. “Possibly a promise for what could be.”

You bite your lip to hold back a grin, “Can I know what could be right now?”

“And expose my plans? Not a chance,” Miguel smirked. “Besides, a husband knows what’s best for his partner, right?”

“He does,” you quip, rubbing your hand in a circle on his chest. “He also apparently forgets that SUVs can flip very easily.”

“Lo siento, mi amor,” he says, looking sheepishly at the placement of the car. “Did I startle you?”

You just giggle at his concern and give him a quick peck on the mouth. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting that big of a reaction.”

“How would you react if I casually called you forever mine? While driving!”

“Go 90 in a 70,” you joke. “Maybe pull over and do a little more than make out.” You rub your hand down his chest, and squeeze playfully at his pec. 

Miguel stared back at you, body instantly reacting to the shift in conversation. “We can actually do that right now.”

He leaned forward and brought your lips to his. You could taste the mint from the gum he had earlier, humming when he pushed further into your mouth. 

He started to reach for your hips, ready to pull you over onto his lap. 

Your stomach let out a loud grumble, making you jump. 

“Ok, let’s try this again after we get you some food,” Miguel says, plastering kisses on your face. 

The day moves on smoothly with Miguel not letting you out of his sight, hands itching to hold you in some way. 

He also never lets the husband thing go. 

As you’re ordering lunch, “One lemonade for my baby. And a water with lemon for me, the husband.”

As you stop in a clothing store at the mall for a small break, “These say boyfriend jeans. Do they have any husband jeans?”

As you’re trying to reach the top shelf to grab the last of your favorite detergent, “No, cariño. Let your husband get it for you.”

As you’re looking for throw pillows and towel sets for the apartment, “You think they have a couple’s set? I want something that says ‘Mr.’ on it.”

As you stop at a gift store, looking for something extra to give to the movers, “Look, this shirt says it’s made of ‘hubby material.’ Should I get it?”

This feeling is only amplified when you post his initial reaction online. The comments were full of people yearning to be in your predicament. 

“If my boyfriend doesn’t crash the car when I call him husband, THROW HIM AWAY. 😒”

“Does he have a brother….asking for a friend”

“I needed this after the “I’m not your husband” he in LOVE”

“If your bf doesn’t cry at the thought of you, what are you doing”

“He was blushing HARRRRD 😭😭😭”

“So when’s the wedding? 🤨”

“He was literally cheesing and crying omg”

“Get you a man that stops the car to declare his love”

“What if I did a five mile marathon on i-55”

“He’s so in love with you that it’s palpable”

“He was ready do a lot more than make out 😭”

Miguel saw most things, a little embarrassed but mostly happy that so many people found him to be genuine. 

You laid on his shoulder as he checked the comments, liking the funny ones as they passed by.

“Do you want to make a response video?” you say, liking a comment going ‘he’s a good man, Savannah.’

“No, I think this is enough,” he replies, handing the phone back to you. “Let me keep a little mystery. At least until I actually propose, of course.”

You looked at him with stars in your eyes.

“A mysterious husband. I kind of like the sound of that,” you say, wrapping your body around his side. “Maybe I can be nosy, find out his secrets.”

“I bet you would, cariño,” he voiced, nuzzling his chin on top of your head. “After, everything is planned and done.”

You laughed and snuggled closer, happy to be with him.

Once again, I hope you enjoyed reading! ❣️

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and welcomed.

I'm excited for the future of this series and I hope you guys are too. When I finish the series masterlist, I'll link it here. If you guys have any trends that you want me to include, then just let me know and I'll see what I can do!

- Blue ♡

[inkpetrichor]

Nasty Dog! | Kuroo Tetsurou x f!reader

1.- Part one.

masterlist here<3

cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. smut. dry humping. dirty talking. power struggle. both you and kuroo are kinda feral. lemme know if i missed anything ;3 wc. 5.6k an. i blame this on sir mix-a-lot and my instagram fyp. enjoy<3 comments are appreciated <3

And when I catch a little kitty lookin', oh, so tough Bring hot water 'cause I might get stuck!

Nekoma wasn't huge, but it wasn't some tiny rundown school either. It wasn't a prestigious rich-kid academy like Fukurodani, but it wasn't a dump. You'd call it perfectly average—just balanced enough to create a decent social jungle.

The school had its fair share of quiet nerds, top-ranking students, sports freaks, and, of course, the so-called delinquents, as adults liked to whisper whenever they saw kids with piercings, dyed hair, or a cigarette hanging from their lips.

You? You belonged in the latter category.

Which is why, during lunch break, you and your bestfriend Emi had a cigarette and a canned coffee for lunch, tucked into a secluded corner she'd found and claimed after a teacher caught you smoking behind the gym a week before and threw a fit about it, forcing you to find a better place.

You leaned against the sun-warmed brick, one boot crossed over the other as the late morning light sliced through the cracks between the buildings.

The sky was too blue for how shitty the day had started.

"Inukai-sensei scolded you again? What a drag." 

Emi's voice broke through the idle silence, syrupy with a mix of concern and genuine amusement. She had her eyes closed and face looking up into the sky, bathing in the sun like a happy cat.

You nodded in response.

"Another lecture about skipping class and how I could amount to more and to 'please think of my future' and yeah... The usual." You waved a hand in the air as if you could swat away his voice. Just retelling it made your skin itch with anxiety. You patted your blazer for your cigarettes.

Emi let out a thoughtful hum. And opened her eyes to study you with a tilt of her head.

"Well, he's right. You used to get really good grades in first year..."

You shot her a disgusted look, scrunching your nose.

She laughed, brushing you off. "Hey, I'm just saying. Why waste your time with us anyway? Why don't you listen to Inukai-sensei and get your grades back up?"

"I just don't get the point of chasing 'academic success' All that effort just to end up working in some office that'll suck me dry and bury me under unpaid overtime like the rest of this country?" You scoffed, still patting your pockets. "Bullshit... Where are the fucking things?"

Emi rolled her eyes and reached into your bag, retrieving the familiar box with a practiced flick of her wrist. She stole one for herself, already slipping it between her glossy lips.

Emi was loud, pouty, and wore trouble like lip gloss. Shiny, sweet, and impossible to ignore, she floated through the chaos of Nekoma High with a glossy grin and one too many questionable friends (one of them being you).

The perfect image of a bleach-blonde puppy pretending to run with the big dogs.

But underneath the fake lashes and the too-short skirts, she was pure heart: loyal, messy, a little reckless, and your best friend.

She loved too fast, forgave too easily, and stuck to your side like her life depended on it. In a city full of knives disguised as smiles, Emi was an open wound—raw, real, and stupidly brave. A rare trait in Nekoma. You'd landed more than a few punches to protect her, and you were willing to land many more if it meant she was out of harm.

"You sound like such a snob, Y/N."

You snorted as she handed over the box.

"Thanks, babes," you whispered as you took it form her hands, pulling a cigarette out of the box. "Call me whatever you want. As long as I pass and graduate, the rest is useless." You bit down on the filter of your cigarette, patting your pockets again, this time in search of your lighter.

"Sure, sure. You've gotten enough lectures today. I've got my own problems anyway." Emi sighed, reaching into your left pocket and fishing out the lighter. She lit her own cigarette before handing it to you. You gave her a grateful nod. "Yasuo broke up with me. What's up with that?"

You didn't really hear her. Your gaze was already drifting toward something—someone—far more interesting. Your lips parted just a little, cigarette hanging forgotten between your lips.

Kuroo Tetsurou, striding across the schoolyard.

Broad shoulders, long legs, the kind of posture that said I know exactly who I am.

His hair was a wild mess—bedhead in the most deliberate, devastating way, like he'd rolled out of someone else's bed and still looked hotter than anyone had a right to. It was all jagged spikes and volume, practically defying gravity, but somehow it worked for him.

Too well.

Next to him walked a shorter guy with a slouched posture and his eyes glued to his phone. But your eyes? Locked on Kuroo like a heat-seeking missile.

He turned his head slightly, talking to his friend with a lazy grin. You caught a glimpse of sharp, narrow eyes and a grin that looked like trouble.

The kind of cocky smile that said he knew exactly what you were thinking and was daring you to think it louder.

Your heartbeat stuttered, then picked up like it was trying to break free from your chest.

Fuck, he was hot.

The kind of hot that made you want to do something reckless.

Like ruin your academic record.

Or make it better.

Or crawl into his lap and ask him to tutor you in anything but math.

Eureka.

"Very cute," you muttered under your breath and lit up the smoke, eyes raking over him like he was your next bad decision wrapped in a school uniform.

(He was.)

Emi's voice rose in protest beside you. "Hey! Are you even listening to me?!"

You crushed the flavor capsule between your teeth, a little too hard.

"Who's the hottie? Never seen him before..." you murmured, half to yourself, half to Emi—afraid that if you took your eyes from him, he'd vanish.

Emi's annoyed pout was immediately replaced by a curious squint. "Eh?"

"The tall one, next to blondie," you pressed with a jerk of your chin in his direction, your body practically leaning forward like gravity itself was pulling you toward him. "You know him?"

Of course she did. Emi knew everyone.

She followed your line of sight—and her face lit up with recognition. "Oh! I do, he's the captain of the volleyball team... Tetsurou! Kuroo Tetsurou. He's in Class 5, I think."

"Kuroo Tetsurou-kun, huh?"

You rolled the name over your tongue like candy, savoring every syllable.

"Class 5... so hot and smart. I like."

You needed him.

Biblically.

You didn't notice Emi's wide-eyed stare as she put two and two together, looking between you and Kuroo with a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

"Wait—seriously? Him?" she spluttered.

You shot her a glare, brows raised.

"Don't get me wrong," she rushed, "he is hot. And he does sports. And he's like, top of his class, I'm pretty sure. Pretty good catch... for a good girl."

You scoffed. "Pfff. Who's the snob now?"

"I'm just saying. I don't think he'd mingle with the likes of us. You could have any of the guys if you wanted."

You made a face like you'd tasted something sour. "The guys have no brains. And even less charm. Brain-eating bacteria would starve up there."

She blinked. "Brain-eating... what?"

You shrugged, lighting your cigarette with a smirk.

"Besides, it's the chase that's exciting. He looks like a tough cookie. I like that."

Emi snorted. "Girl, if he's a cookie, you're a box of cheap cigs. You two don't mix."

But you weren't listening anymore.

Your sights were set, your interest fully piqued. Your mind was already spinning a thousand possibilities.

And right now? You wanted Kuroo Tetsurou under you.

Or on top of you.

Or really anywhere he wanted to be. But that was beside the point.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing on him like a predator sizing up prey.

"Magnetism, honey. Polar opposites attract... sometimes."

You took another drag, eyes back on Emi. "But no pain, no gain. Whaddaya think?"

"I think you're insane," Emi said, laughing, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But I love it when you get that crazy look in your eyes. It means a shitshow's about to happen."

"Thank you, babes."

"You know it. Always got your back."

"If you need someone dead, you know who to call." You winked, and she rolled her eyes with a smile.

"No new info there." She took her final drag, then ground the cigarette out under her shoe.

She turned back toward Kuroo and his friend. "Okay, but real talk—how're you gonna pull this off? You need a plan."

You mirrored her movement, flicking away your cigarette and pulling a tissue from your blazer pocket to pick it up.

"I'm working on one. Step zero is in motion." You handed her the crumpled tissue. "Pick up your butt or the teachers will know we smoke here now."

"Oh shit, you're right." She bent to grab the butt, mumbling as she moved. "You see? You're smart—Eh? Where are you—"

When she looked up, you were already walking.

Purpose in every step.

The distance between you and him closed with every beat of your heart, Emi's voice fading behind you as she scrambled to catch up. The sun hit your back. The breeze lifted your hair. And in your head?

You were already imagining his hands on your waist, his voice in your ear, the way that smirk might look beneath you.

He looked even taller up close.

Even hotter.

And you needed him like your lungs needed that next hit of nicotine.

The two boys stopped talking, eyes flicking up as you approached.

You looked up at Kuroo with a tilted head and a smirk.

"What's your name?" you asked, even though you already knew.

Conversation had to start somewhere.

Kenma scrunched his nose immediately, catching a whiff of cigarette smoke before he could.

You caught it—a flicker. Kuroo's pupils dilated. A split-second widening of the eyes before suspicion slammed into place.

Cute.

Kuroo was already analyzing you. Running the odds.

He couldn't quite place what your intentions were, but something about the way you looked at him told him it couldn't be anything good.

His eyes narrowed, as though trying to peel back the layers of your carefully crafted nonchalance. He didn't trust easily, and people like you... well, you had a way of being unpredictable.

Kuroo knew you, or at least he had heard of you.

You were infamous in ways that made most people wary, always getting into fights with girls and boys alike, to the point that more than one person he knew was outright afraid of you.

Still, for some reason, the teachers—despite the rebellious streak you wore like armor—seemed to favor you. They kept trying to pull you out of whatever bumpy road you'd decided to drive down, but he couldn't see why.

You were... trouble. Big trouble.

But despite that, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. And damn it, he couldn't help but wonder if it was curiosity or something deeper that had him paying more attention to you than he probably should.

You were also lowkey hot to him—highkey, super pretty. But way too much trouble to pursue.

So, what the hell were you doing right in front of him?

"Kuroo Tetsurou," he answered, tone neutral.

"Nice. I'm—"

"Y/N," he interrupted. "Most people know you."

"Most people know about me." You caught the way Kenma cringed at your words. It made you smile.

There was a moment of silence between you, where you took your sweet time examining his features. His eyes flickered, maybe to keep his cool, maybe to hide the fact that he was intrigued—his eyebrows raised, like saying 'So... what do you want?'

But he was fronting. Freaking out on the inside. Still trying to make sense of you. He wasn't sure if you were about to punch him, kiss him, or just walk away.

The worst part? He couldn't figure out which one he hated less.

Your unassuming smile made it hard to read you, but there was something in the way you looked at him he liked. Your eyes looked curious. Like a dog sniffing a possible friend.

Or a prey.

"Would you tutor me?" You saw Kuroo's eyes snap to Emi, whose jaw hit the floor the moment the words left your lips.

He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, tutor me. My homeroom teacher has been giving me shit about grades, and I'd like to graduate."

He shrugged. "Naturally."

Oh, so he was a smartass.

"Would you?"

"Why me?"

"Aren't you in class 5? That means you're smart."

He wasn't budging. His expression remained unconvinced, the flicker of suspicion in his eyes never fully disappeared.

And then there was the look on Emi's face, like she was questioning your sanity. Yeah, that confirmed it—he was right.

This was bullshit. There had to be more to it than just grades.

"I'll pay you."

Both Kenma and Emi looked at you with wide, unblinking eyes. Kuroo's lips curled into a sly smirk. 

Now he was really curious. 

He leaned in just a little, intrigued. "How much?"

"1000 yen." Emi's eyes almost popped out of her head. Why were you willing to pay him?

"3000 yen." Kenma's face shot to Kuroo, equally shocked. Why was he raising the price?

Your smile grew. Why was this kinda hot?

"Are you trying to scam me, smart boy?"

"Pfft, that's a miscalculation, considering you'll be taking away my study time to help you out."

You raised an eyebrow.

He looked down at you like he didn't regret this conversation anymore.

And you looked up at him like you were about to set his entire world on fire.

"2500." You offered your final bid. His smirk widened.

"Y/N!" Emi whispered in urgency.

"Done."

Your smile grew. "Okay. Thursdays after class."

"After practice," he corrected, voice smooth.

You shrugged. That worked for you.

"Can I go watch?" you teased, flashing a cheeky grin.

"I'd rather not." His smirk deepened as a pout tugged at your lips. That look suited you.

"Fair. See you Thursday, smart boy~" You waved a hand at both of them as you turned to walk away.

Kuroo watched you go, still wearing that crooked grin—but now, there was something else behind it.

Interest. Amusement.

A flicker of intrigue he hadn't expected to feel on a Monday.

You'd crashed into his day like a storm in lip gloss and leather, and now he couldn't stop wondering what the hell you really wanted from him.

Kenma nudged his elbow. "You're actually gonna tutor her?"

"She's paying," he replied, though his gaze was still on your retreating figure. "And she's... interesting."

"Interesting's one word for it," Kenma muttered, unamused.

Meanwhile, Emi was dragging you down the school grounds back to your little corner like you were a possessed doll, whisper-screaming at you in complete disbelief.

"What the actual hell was that?!"

"What?" you said, feigning innocence as you pulled out another cigarette, mostly for effect. "I got a tutor. Aren't you proud of me?"

"You just offered to pay the guy to spend time with you—and called him smart boy, by the way. That was a little cringe."

You exhaled with a grin, smoke curling past your lips. "And he didn't say no."

Emi looked like she wanted to peel her own face off, but she wore a shocked smile.

"You're insane," she whispered, like she couldn't believe you.

But you? You felt electric. Buzzing with adrenaline and reckless possibility.

Being honest, even you couldn't explain what had you this hooked in the first place. It wasn't like you to flirt, let alone sleep around—especially not with some guy you'd just met. You weren't even that experienced, really. Just good at faking it when you had to. You knew how to make guys back off, not draw them in. And you liked it that way—especially with a friend as stupidly pretty as Emi. 

Someone had to be the one with teeth.

But the second you laid eyes on Kuroo, something unfamiliar ignited in your chest. Hot. Sharp. Wild. It didn't feel like danger, not exactly—but it burned just the same. And without thinking twice, without looking back, you lunged toward it like instinct. Like hunger.

You weren't chasing chaos for the thrill this time.

You were chasing him.

And there wasn't a single part of you planning to stop.

When Thursday rolled around—and after confirming to Emi three separate times that yes, you were going to pay him, and yes, you were trying to fuck him—you actually paid attention in class. Took notes, too, so you didn't show up to tutoring empty-handed. Half-assed, sure, but it was something. You even waited for him outside school like you said you would.

The spring wind clawed at your jacket as you leaned against the weather-worn "Nekoma Metropolitan High School" sign, flicking ash from your cigarette like you weren't freezing your ass off. Rust crept along the metal edges, and the chain-link fence behind you rattled every time the breeze picked up. You looked every bit the part of a stray dog waiting to be fed—eyes sharp, restless, scanning for the only person you'd follow home.

You caught sight of him leaving the gym, towel slung around his neck, hair damp and a little more tousled than usual from practice. Of course he wasn't alone—Kenma trailed behind, glued to his phone, already scowling once he noticed you.

Kuroo slowed when he saw you, surprise flickering across his face. He clearly hadn't expected you to follow through on your offer, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he couldn't decide whether to be impressed or concerned. But once it was clear you were serious—and once you confirmed the study session was happening at your place—he tossed a quick goodbye over his shoulder and followed you through the alley-strewn veins of Tokyo.

Your apartment complex looked like it had seen better decades.

Rusty stairwells, cracked concrete, the faint smell of piss, mildew, and something metallic hanging in the air like a permanent tenant.

Neon light from a busted sign across the street flickered through your broken blinds.

The building groaned when the wind pushed through its joints, and the elevator had been broken since forever.

Kuroo took it all in with that quiet, unreadable look you'd noticed he got sometimes—eyes narrowed, thoughtful.

He didn't say anything. That was somehow worse.

Inside, the place wasn't much better. Cigarette smoke clung to the yellowing walls.

A stained countertop, three empty ramen cups, a crumpled paper bag, and a scrawled note waited:

For your tutoring and anything else. I have a fight today. Grandma's at the pachinko. Behave.

It was scrawled in your dad's sloppy, half-illegible handwriting. Kuroo read it, then blinked slowly like he wasn't sure if he was impressed or deeply concerned.

You grabbed the bag, tossing the note into the dented trash bin with a smirk.

"A fight," he muttered, still processing as he followed you down the hall. His gaze drifted around your room like it was offering up pieces of you without permission—band posters, a half-broken fan, a low table in front of a dusty floor TV.

"My dad's a boxer," you explained, toeing off your slippers and throwing your bag onto the bed.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. "And your grandma's a—"

"Pachinko enthusiast," you finished, grin crooked. "So we've got the place to ourselves until at least nine."

You thought he'd get the hint. His Adam's apple bobbed—nervous? Excited? You couldn't tell. But when he sat down cross-legged at your low table and pulled out his books like he was actually here to tutor you, you almost groaned aloud.

"So," he said, pulling a blue folder from his bag, "let's see what you're failing."

"You actually got my report card? That's commitment." you said, raising a brow.

He ignored your teasing as he flipped through the papers. "You're not failing anything, surprisingly. But your chem grades are garbage."

You flopped dramatically onto your bed. "I'm struggling."

"I see that," he muttered, pulling out a notebook. "Come on."

You sat up with a groan and dragged yourself to the table, grabbing a pen. He didn't look at you when you settled beside him, but you caught the slight shift in his posture when your knee bumped his. He cleared his throat and started explaining covalent bonds.

You half-listened. You watched his mouth move instead.

His voice was smooth, confident. He was focused, leaning over your textbook, one hand pointing at a diagram, the other scribbling notes with clean, sharp handwriting.

He smelled like cheap body spray, shampoo and faint sweat from practice.

Your hand slipped onto his thigh.

"Tetsurou-kun," you said, all syrup and heat, "you can't seriously think you're here to actually study, right?"

He froze. Swallowed. Then, to your shock, lifted his gaze with forced calm.

"What am I?" he asked. "Some common whore you're gonna pay to fuck?"

The words cut sharper than you expected. Your smile faltered. You hadn't meant it like that. You weren't sure what you'd meant, actually. Suddently this whole thing felt a little shittier.

Your fingers twitched where they rested against his thigh, but you didn't pull them back.

"N-no," you muttered. "I just—" You exhaled, frustrated. "I didn't think this far ahead, okay?"

He watched you. Read through you. His expression softened a little, the edge in his voice gone. But he still didn't touch you.

You were about to say something else—maybe change the subject, maybe apologize—when he talked again, teasing.

"You actually want to learn this or not?"

You blinked, thrown off. "Huh?"

He held up the notebook. "Chemistry."

You stared at him. Then, grudgingly, nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

You leaned in, this time actually paying attention. Took notes. Bit your lip when he smirked at your compliments and felt your stomach tighten every time he laughed when you cursed at the confusing parts.

"Not gonna lie, you make this sound way easier than the teacher. What the fuck," you grumbled.

He seemed to like the praise, smiling beside you while he continued to explain.

His voice settled into your ears like warm honey. When you answered his questions right, he smirked. When you got one wrong, he nudged you with his knee and explained it again, slower this time.

You hated that he was good at this. That he made you want to keep going just to see the way his eyes lit up when you understood something.

Eventually, the lesson became background noise. Your focus shifted to the way his knee brushed yours, to the way he stole glances at your thighs like he didn't want to be caught but also didn't care enough to stop. To the way his fingers moved—long, elegant, tapping the page as he talked, not realising he was doing it.

His mouth, his voice, his brain—God, this was so much worse than you'd planned. He was actually hot and smart.

You were openly staring at his lips when he finally noticed.

"What?" he asked, brow arching.

"Nothing," you said, leaning back with a slow smirk. "Just wondering how you make covalent bonds sound hot."

That got a laugh, rough and short. But his ears were a little pink.

"Thought you liked ionic bonds more," he teased with a raised brow.

"Don't get me wrong, ionic bonds are cool. Covalent bonds are... hot."

"That's a new one," he said, voice low. "Gonna start rating chemistry terms by sex appeal now? Want me to whisper 'intermolecular forces' next?"

You snorted. "Don't tempt me. I might actually learn something."

"Blasphemy," he said, mock-scandalized. "You learning? In my presence? Next thing I know you'll be asking about valence electrons like you mean it."

You sat up, leaned in, and closed the book between you with a soft thud.

"Okay, I was good. I listened. Took notes. Didn't even flirt for twenty straight minutes." You raised a brow. "Now, when are you gonna stop pretending this is actually about chemistry?"

That wiped the grin off his face—but not entirely. It curved at the corners, wry and knowing. His gaze didn't leave yours. You saw the fraying edges of restraint, the tension vibrating between you.

"Isn't it?" he asked, the words almost gentle.

But his pupils blew wide when they dropped to your lips. You caught it. And still, you didn't move.

You weren't about to force it. A single "no" or even a flicker of hesitation from him and you were ready to throw in the towel, swallow your embarrassment for the rest of the session—maybe learn some more chemistry and then avoid him for the rest of your last school year. Hopefully, the rest of your life.

You let the silence hang a beat longer.

"Look..." you exhaled. "I'm not really good at this. I just pretend I am."

That caught him off guard.

He could tell—you were slick, but he was smart. Sharp enough to see through you and that overconfident persona you put on, but he hadn't expected you to admit it. Not like this. Not in your room, with his textbook sitting closed between your thighs. At least, he knew he wouldn't have.

You saw the shift immediately—his breath catching, his posture tightening ever so slightly.

"Huh," he said after a second. "Guess I'm not the only one bluffing their way through this study session."

"So you're saying you don't get turned on by covalent bonds?"

That earned a soft huff. He leaned forward, eyes sharp, voice low.

"Depends. Are you offering to share some electrons, or...?"

You laughed. His hand moved slowly, fingers brushing your hair behind your ear. And when he looked at you this time, it wasn't with that usual playful glint.

It was something raw. Like honesty.

"I like you," you admitted, tilting your head slightly. "But I don't really know what I'm doing."

"Good," he murmured. "Then we're even."

Then, slowly—finally—he leaned in to meet your lips.

Soft at first. Testing. But when you answered back—with a hunger he didn't expect—the leash snapped. His hand slid behind your neck, anchoring you against him as his mouth claimed yours. His tongue licked into your mouth with filthy, unhurried precision, dragging a whimper from your throat.

He kissed like he meant it. No fumbling. No hesitation.

You gasped when he tugged your hair just enough to tilt your head back, and the gasp melted into a moan when his other hand traced up your spine, pulling you closer—guiding you over to sit on his left thigh. Your fingers twisted into his shirt, clutching him like he was the only thing holding you up.

"You're all talk," he muttered against your lips, grinning when you shivered after a well-placed flex of his thigh. "But so am I."

You squeezed your eyes shut—dazed, aching, and a little embarrassed.

"...Shut up," you breathed, your usual sass caught somewhere between your throat and the pounding in your chest.

His smile turned downright wicked. His mouth dragged along your jaw, down your neck. You squirmed, knees bracketing his thigh as his hands slipped under your shirt, palms hot and rough against the bare skin of your back and waist.

"You don't have to act tough," he whispered, voice rough and reverent. "I think I like you more like this. Messy."

His mouth dipped to your collarbone, kissing and biting the sensitive skin. Every nerve in your body lit up.

Your head tilted back to give him more space, heart thudding so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. Your tough-girl act had fully melted now, replaced with the kind of hunger you'd been feeling since the first time you saw him—the kind of hunger you didn't know how to fake.

"God," you gasped. "You're not supposed to be good at this..."

He chuckled low in his throat, kissing a line down your chest. "Top of my class, remember?"

"Smart boy..." you growled—but it came out more like a broken, desperate plea. "If you don't—"

He cut you off with another kiss, deeper, devastating. His hands dragged up your stomach, slow and sure, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra with maddening patience.

You tried to shove him gently back, straddling his lap like you could wrestle some control back—but the second his dark, hungry gaze locked onto yours, you felt your composure crack.

"You sure you're inexperienced?" you asked, trying to tease—but your voice betrayed you, too breathless to land the hit.

He didn't even dignify it with a real answer. Just kissed you again, harder—tongue sweeping into your mouth like he fucking owned it. His hands clutched your hips like he was trying to brand himself into your bones, and after a small, involuntary moan slipped from your throat, you pulled back with a narrowed look, silently demanding a response.

He just shrugged. That maddening, smug little shrug. Like he hadn't just made your whole body tremble.

"I'm a fast learner," he said, trailing his mouth down your throat, voice dropping lower.

A shiver went up your spine as he bit down at your pulse point, and you whimpered, threading your fingers into his messy hair and tugging.

Still, you didn't stop him.

Didn't want to.

This was what you wanted, wasn't it? To see if all that cocky arrogance and big-dick energy were just a front.

And judging by the thick length of him, already hard beneath you and pressing snug under your embarrassingly wet core...

You might've bitten off more than you could chew.

Kuroo unbuttoned your shirt slowly, peeled it off your shoulders, and tossed it aside—then paused for just a second.

His gaze was scorching.

Starving. Almost reverent.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed. "What a pain in the ass."

"Huh? Which one is it?" you whispered, smirking—until his mouth latched onto the top of your breast, sucking hard enough to make you tense a little. It burned in the best way—lingering and possessive.

He unclasped your bra like he'd done it a thousand times, and the second you were bare in front of him, his hands were everywhere—palming your tits, dragging his thumbs over your nipples until they were tight and sensitive. Squeezing. Claiming.

Then his mouth followed.

Hot. Wet. Perfect.

His tongue circled a nipple, then flicked it—slow at first, then rougher—and you arched with a soft, broken moan.

"Oh my god," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your hips rolled. "You're dangerous."

He laughed against your skin, biting just enough to make you jolt.

"Top of my class," he muttered again—infuriating, smug, hot as hell.

You rocked down harder, grinding against the hard bulge in his pants, and his breath stuttered. He gripped your hips tighter—bruising—guiding your movement with a low, wrecked groan.

"Fuuuck..." he breathed. "Do that again."

You did—and something snapped.

His hands shot down to unzip your skirt, and you let him, lifting your hips so he could drag it off and toss it somewhere on your floor, leaving you in nothing but lace panties. Bare thighs. Wet as hell.

He didn't even strip off his shirt, still fully clothed—his mouth just went right back to you, trailing down your chest with a reverent slowness that made your pulse jackhammer. You felt his lips, his tongue, worshipping every inch like it meant something, while little groans and moans escaped his lips as you rode him over his pants.

His lips were swollen, your skin flushed, legs wrapped around him as he rolled his hips into yours, pressing you harder against his thick cock. His hands moved over your body like he owned it—confident, thorough, maddeningly slow.

And every time you thought you had control, he took it back.

Faster.

Rougher.

More deliberate.

His grip bruised. His tongue fucked into your mouth like he was chasing a high. Your panties were soaked, clinging to your folds, and your clit throbbed with every subtle shift of your hips against him. You didn't even care how obvious it was.

You wanted him. All of him.

Every time you rocked down onto the thick bulge in his pants, you could feel the friction spark—sharp, maddening, electric. The tension inside you built in waves, tightening with each grind, pressure curling low in your belly, spiraling toward something reckless.

You were right on the edge, strung so tight you felt like you'd snap if he so much as exhaled too close.

And the worst part? He was trying to keep quiet.

You could feel him trying—holding back. Swallowing grunts. Burying moans against your skin.

But they kept slipping out.

Low, desperate sounds tearing from his throat with each drag of your body against his cock. His breath caught every time you moved—hitching, stuttering, wrecked. You could feel it vibrate in his chest, in his mouth, in the fists he clenched on your hips like he was trying not to beg.

Oh you could only imagine he was a loud fucker.

Those sounds were unraveling you faster than anything else.

And still you kept grinding. Kept chasing the friction.

You were dizzy with it. Hot and wet and aching. So close you could barely breathe.

"Don't stop," you whispered—your voice low, needy. "Just... don't stop."

He froze.

Just for a beat.

Just long enough to make your heart lurch.

Then he leaned in, lips ghosting over your throat, collarbone, jawline.

"Oh, I'm not stopping right now," he said, voice rough like a sin. "I'm just choosing when."

You scoffed, tried to grind again—but his grip locked you down, holding you in place like you weighed nothing.

"God, you're..." He cut himself off with a ragged breath as his fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties—just barely. Teasing. "Didn't know you were this fucking greedy."

"I'm not," you argued. "But you are. You're so—fuck—you're cocky."

He laughed—quiet and mean—and you felt it echo through his mouth as it dragged over your bare tits again, tongue leaving wet, hot trails.

"If I keep going..." he murmured, lips ghosting over one aching nipple, "...I'm not going to stop."

You looked down at him, lips parted, chest heaving. "That's not a problem."

But he just stared at you—hungry, calculating. Controlled to a fucking fault.

"You're paying me to tutor you," he said.

Calm. Dangerous.

Like a warning—or like a reminder.

To you.

To himself.

Maybe both.

"And you think this is a game."

Your stomach flipped.

You didn't know if it was the way he said it—so calm and knowing—or the fact that he was absolutely right.

And then he leaned close, mouth brushing your ear, breath hot and voice fucking lethal.

"I'm not going to fuck you just because you're good at pretending you want me."

Your whole body locked.

Then his hand slid up between your legs, pressing against your clit—hard enough to make your spine curve, but still not enough to finish you.

"I'm going to make you mean it."

You moaned, hips bucking—but before you could chase it, he was already pulling away. Already lifting you off him.

Gone.

Just like that, the warmth of him was gone.

He stood, chest rising and falling, one hand dragging through his hair like he needed air.

The other palmed his cock through his pants—thick, straining—not even trying to hide it.

"I'll see you next Thursday," he said, voice maddeningly even. "For chemistry."

Then he smirked.

And walked out.

Left you half-naked, flushed and aching, sitting on the floor of your room.

Ruined.

Fucking prick.

tags. taglist open! let me know in the comments <3

Next chapter↪

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for Anna

Request: Would you be able to do some like, plus size body positivity fluff mixed in with some nsfw? Like a girl who feels too big until she meets a monster who's very big and he thinks she's soft and perfect?

Let’s make a deal

Orc x chubby fem!reader || (light) body worship, oral sex || tw: fatphobia

“I don’t want to do this,” you tell him again you let out with a pout. He looks down at you with the most adoring smile you’ve ever seen, your legs getting a bit weak.

He presses his hand a bit harder against your lower back, guiding you inside the awful store. “But you need to, you know you do. It’s your friend’s wedding, come on.” His reasoning is solid, and you know it, but going shopping at a normal mall with your size… Not the best experience.

You wanted to order it online, but you couldn’t find anything good enough so he suggested the mall… And maybe bribed you with the promise to buy any books that caught your attention if you were a good girl and tried on the dresses you like. Who were you to refuse that? He was offering to buy you books… So you accepted.

And now you are regretting it.

“But… They are all going to look stunning and I’m going to look like a sausage covered in lace or something.” You try to cover it as a joke, but you are really worried about it. You are worried you’re indeed going to look awful next to all of your thinner friends in their pretty dresses.

To your surprise, he continues your joke: “I’d eat that sausage any day.” You chuckle, and then burst out laughing when he adds: “Wait! I do eat her out every day,” he whisper-shouts making the lady at the front turn her head with her nose furrowed as if the comment was disgusting.

Her look brings back all your worries. You bite your lip, doubts overpowering your amusement. “I’m serious. I’m going to look so fat in the pictures. All the other bridesmaids are dainty and thin and I’m going to be the fat friend… again.” You try not to sound bitter about it, but you’ve been the fat friend your whole life, never the pretty one, never the hot one, never the sexy one… And it just hurts to be.

His eyes soften, and his hand caresses your cheek as he tells you: “Okay, let’s make a deal.”

“Another one?” You ask, remembering the book deal you make. You are definitely not forgetting about that one, you’ve been eyeing a couple hockey romances you want to have real bad and he’s going to pay for those.

“Another one,” he repeats with a soft smile. He lowers his voice to make his offer: “If you try on four dresses, I’ll make you come so many times later that you’d be dehydrated by the time I finish.” Your whole body thrums with anticipation.

“And if I don’t?” You tease.

“Then I’ll be a good orc boyfriend and let you sit on my face until you are too tired to feel bad anymore,” he states with a very serious face.

You break down laughing, doubling in the middle and holding your belly as you do so, tears in your eyes. “How is that a deal?”

He arches an eyebrow: “You don’t want it?” He extends his hand and you look at him intensely for a beat. Your heart feels so full you feel like it’s going to explode. He’s just so fucking perfect, always having the best words, the perfect words… Fuck, you love him so much.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Deal,” you tell him with an amused smile as you grab his too big hand and shake it.

You end up in the dressing room with four dresses that you aren’t sure are going to fit either your boobs, your belly or your ass… But you’ll give them a try because your boyfriend insisted. You aren’t sure how they are going to look over all your fat, probably awful, but you take a deep breath and try the first one. It’s a no go, as soon as you try to pull it down your body it clings to your boobs and doesn’t go down.

You take it off with your heart beating too fast and your mood souring instantly. You knew this was going to happen, and still you are feeling worse and worse.

The second dress fits… very badly. It sticks to parts of your body that you don’t want it to, making you feel, as you pointed out earlier, like a sausage.

The third one gets over your boobs and belly, but the second you try to pass it down your hips it gets stuck, leaving you feeling like Winnie the Pooh as your eyes fill with tears.

Your boyfriend asks how is it going three times, as if he knows you are struggling. You tell him you are trying them on, you’ll be out in a sec… As you wipe the single tear that runs down your cheek as your whole brain starts vibrating with self-doubt and self-deprecation.

You want to leave, you don’t want to try more dresses… But there’s only one left, only one pretty emerald dress that looks so pretty you know you are going to be devastated when it doesn’t fit. But you try it either way, the willingness to make good on your deal powering you through it.

To your utter surprise, the dress fits, the corset like upper part hugging your waist and your boobs and making you feel like a princess. The skirt flows around your hips almost to the ground, and a deep cut up your leg makes it feel sexy. You look at your reflection in the mirror and feel something in your chest bloom.

“I think… I think this one is good,” you say as you open the curtain to find him leaning against the opposite wall.

His mouth falls open completely, his green cheeks turning pink as his eyes travel down your body. “You look… wow.” He takes a deep breath, covering his mouth with his hand as if to wipe saliva out of his mouth. “Wooow,” he repeats as if he can’t believe it. Your heart is pounding like crazy in your chest.

“What?” You ask, feeling self-conscious as his eyes travel up and down your body over and over, mouth still agape.

“Absolutely ravaging,” he finally lets out. The blush that covers your cheeks burns as hot as your body when he looks at you like that.

But because you are you and can’t deal with emotions, you joke around: “You are just trying to gain my favor to get your dick sucked.”

He smirks at you, the corner of his lips reaching almost the tip of his tusk. You sigh adoringly as he chuckles. “I don’t need to compliment you to get my dick sucked,” he states.

“Oh, yeah?” You tease, feeling cheeky.

“Yes. Because I know my little human loves to do that. I don’t need to convince her.” You let out an accidental moan at his rough tone. His eyes darken before he’s guiding you back inside the dressing room: “Take off that dress, we need to get home now.”

“But the bookstore…” You try to argue.

“I’ll let you pay your whole online wishlist with my card if you get out of that dress and sitting on my face in the next thirty minutes.” Your big orc eating you out and all the books you want? Yes.

You change in a hurry, almost throwing the cash to the rude girl at the counter as you do, but you don’t fucking care. Your orc is grabbing your hand and pulling you along to the parking lot, his dick clearly hard in his pants. Some people stare, but neither of you worry about them.

You make it home in record time, pulling off your clothes as you run to the bedroom. He arrives before you, laying down on his back and staring at you squirming next to the bed. You are still feeling a bit self-conscious after the dress-fitting.

But the heat in his gaze makes you shiver. “Come here, darling.” His voice is rough and pure sex. You approach the bed, kneeling next to him. “I promise to give you orgasms until you pass out, so come sit on my face and let me rock your world.”

You instantly shake your head. “I’m too heavy for that.”

“No, you’re not,” he says with a growl that makes your clit tingle as he grabs your hips and pushes you down until you are straddling his face.

His tongue darts out as you try not to push too much of your weight on him, but he’s not having any of that. He growls and grabs your hips again, pushing you completely down until his face is smothered against your pussy and his tongue can reach your welcoming heat. His nose is rubbing your clit, and you let out an involuntary cry of ecstasy at the sensation. Fuck, that feels phenomenal.

Before your body could react, he was making out with your pussy until your brain felt like cotton candy and your hands are tangled in his hair as you ride his face with abandon. Your pussy is making obscene noises against his face, so wet it’s almost embarrassing, but the way he’s moaning under you blows away all your doubts. The pleasure overriding your fears of crushing him as he devours you, moaning like a bitch in heat against your pussy lips and making you crazy with desire.

He eats you out like he’s a starved orc, and good goddess if you aren’t living for it. His hands find your belly, your ass, your boobs… He’s groping around your body, making you feel more secure about yourself as you’ve ever felt. He’s just so fucking perfect, always making sure you feel like the goddess he believes you are.

And right now, with your hands in his hair and your clit, rubbing perfectly against his nose, you believe him, too.

He keeps going until your thighs are trembling against his ears and your pussy is gushing around his tongue as you come for what feels like an eternity, your full body shaking over him until you can’t think straight anymore.

And then he does it again.

And again.

Until you are begging for him to stop because your clit feels too tender and you don’t think you can hold yourself up anymore. He chuckles between your thighs, helping you to your back and caressing your cheek, kissing your forehead as your eyes close very slowly.

Before you pass out, he lets out a soft “I love you,” and you melt completely against his warmth and his love, feeling like a goddess.

[back2bluesidex]

Slippin' Under - JJK (18+) [Part 2]

Pairing: Bully!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: angst, toxic workplace settings, bullying, class difference, haters to lovers au

Word count: 1k+

Summary: "You're toxic, I'm slippin' under"

Warnings: workplace bullying, insulting the reader based on her social stature, class difference, Jungkook is a shit.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

Minors, I am not responsible for what you consume online. So, act more rationally and stay away.

A/N: here we go. also, taglist requests are closed for now.

Previous | Next [Patreon]

Fate is a fickle thing - or something that only the privileged ones can consider fretting about. People like you, on the other hand, can’t entertain the idea of fate or destiny. You have to eat whatever is thrown your way. 

And you are doing so with very little to no self-preservation left. 

You can feel the heel of your left shoe slapping against the underside of the sole. It’s coming off. Your hold on your tray goes extra hard as you pray for it to stick around for the next few hours, you will glue it well after reaching home.

However, your life seems to have a different plan because as you step ahead to serve yourself the next dish, your heel refuses to cooperate and you end up tripping. The tray full of rice and soup goes flying in the air. 

When you manage to pick yourself up on the floor upon collecting the tray and the bowl, you hear people giggling, grasping, some straight out cursing you. 

They hate you already and now- 

“What the hell- You! You are just good for nothing!” it’s a low growl, spoken more with rage than with actual words but you know who it belongs to. 

You turn your head slowly, it’s very dizzying and you are not ready to go through his rage again after what happened a week ago. 

Jungkook’s eyes are ablaze. The soup has splashed all over his front, making his white shirt see through - you can see his honey-tanned skin underneath. His expensive blazer and shoes are drenched as well. 

A small part of you is extremely happy. For the first time you want to believe in fate. 

This was fated for you, Jeon Jungkook. This is what you get for insulting me. You say to yourself. 

“I am sorry, Mr. Jeon.” you apologize in a loud and clear voice. How much of the apology is genuine, that’s a question though. 

Jungkook’s fiery eyes pierce through yours, you feel your skin burning with fear, anticipation and your own anger. 

“See me in my cabin in an hour.” he growls passing by you with an extreme amount of disgust pouring from his face just like the translucent soup. 

It’s better to die rather than admit that your fingers are nor trembling as you knock on Jungkook’s office door. 

You are not afraid of him per se. You are afraid of the comments and insults that he would shower you with. 

You have met rather ignorant people in high school and university and were never once bullied for your parent’s financial capabilities. While no one ever considered you as a member of their friend’s group, they never picked on you either. 

Lack of having friends is always better than having bullies. And you thought things were going to be similar at your workplace too, you thought people would just ignore your existence altogether and would leave you alone. 

But wrong you were - because one Jeon Jungkook has taken it upon himself to make sure your life is nothing short of a nightmare. 

You knock again, upon not getting a reply during the first time around.  

This time Jungkook shouts a loud ‘come in’, annoyance clear in his voice. 

You follow his order. 

“I am sorry, Mr. Jeon. I should have been careful. I am deeply regretful of the damage I caused.” you apologize again, daring not to look into his eyes.  

“You really think I care about how sorry you are” Jungkook’s words come pressed against his perfect set of teeth. You look up, see him standing with his shirt half open - you lower your eyes immediately. 

“You ruined my clothes, do you understand that? Do you even have an idea how much those cost?” he screams at the top of his lungs. You flinch but stay on your spot, head lowered in something akin to fear. 

“Tell me how are you going to repay me.” the man takes a few hurried steps towards you. His shiny, now ruined, shoes come into your view but you still don’t look up. 

And then you feel Jungkook’s fingers latching themselves under your chin and forcing you to look at him. 

“Look at me and fucking tell me how are you going to repay me?” Jungkook shouts on your face. 

His face is too close - everything feels hazy, sticky and ruined. 

“I- I don’t know, Mr. Jeon. I can’t afford to pay for your clothes.” and that’s the truth. You can’t even afford to buy yourself a new pair of shoes and paying for Jungkook’s clothes is a daydream. 

“You did it all to take revenge, didn’t you?” a smirk grows in his devilishly handsome face. 

Yes, you reply internally. “So you know you have done something worthy of taking revenge, huh?” you smirk back, standing head to head with the devil himself. 

You expected Jungkook to get even angrier with your retort. But no, his smirk grows even more sinister. Jungkook presses his body on yours, chest to chest, your entire body ornate with goosebumps. That weird feeling you felt a week ago, comes back. 

“You know what?” Jungkook starts, a hand of his circles around your waist to pull you closer to him, “The only thing I like about you is how you fight.” he whispers in your ear. 

You shiver as his breath touches the delicate skin of your earlobe. 

This.. whatever this is… isn’t going the right way.

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[hildergard]

A GENTLE HAND ★ AEMOND TARGARYEN

SUMMARY | "Gentle Hand," Mylenda insists on calling you, and perhaps that is what you are destined to be, perhaps that is what Prince Aemond needs.

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Maid!Reader

TAGS | Mention of sexual assault and abuse, mommy issues, angst and light fluff.

WORDCOUNT | 10k

NOTE | This is my first fanfiction on this website. Ewan Mitchell plays such a fascinating Aemond that I had to write this. I hope it's any good. Tell me if I should write a part 2! <333

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The roebuck’s blood turned your fingers sticky and the knife handle slippery. 

Brought by the royal hunters that very morning, the poor creature now lay on the counter of the Red Keep’s kitchens between the dismembered rabbits and the plucked ducks. It had only taken you a few cuts to skin the beast⏤practice makes perfect. 

The flesh was now raw and spilling its bloody perfume. You grabbed a thyme leaf from one of the bouquets garnis picked for the mutton stew and pressed it against your nose to soothe your nostrils, assailed by the disturbing scent of game⏤a full-bodied mixture of earth and wildness. Above this acrid aroma, death distilled its powerful bouquet and turned your stomach. It had been years since you entered the service of the Crown and yet the disgust never vanished. 

"She's coming," a small voice yelped from the kitchen entrance. 

A murmur passed through the crowd of maids. All around you, they hurried their movements. Two tables away, Cass grimaced and hurriedly threw the pieces of mutton into a large pot before drowning them in wine. You met Dacey's panicked gaze as she hastened to peel potatoes. The blade of the knife slipped and nicked at her palm, but she had no time to care or feel. 

Nothing mattered when Mylenda was around. 

You straightened up and slipped the thyme leaf into your apron pocket. Your knife took no time to sever the roebuck’s tendons, spread the muscles, scrape the bones and, finally, dislocate the shoulder with a clean cut. The second limb followed immediately afterwards. 

Heavy footsteps echoed through the kitchen and rattled the pans. The strong, greasy smell of venison, which had been bothering you all morning, disappeared at this familiar noise. Your fingers tightened around the handle of your knife as you stuck it in a leg. 

One piece of meat wasted and your head would be chopped off. 

"Is that venison ready, girl?" the matron’s voice grated against your eardrum. "It shouldn’t take you hours to cut up a poor carcass. I taught you better. Has my absence made you lazy? You know what happens to slackers."

You shook your head. 

"Sorry, ma’am."

She grabbed your hand. The knife fell with a sharp clang, silencing all movement in the vicinity. Pots and pans, chopping boards and spits were cast aside. Amidst this deathly silence, all eyes fell on you. 

"These are no hard-working hands. No, they're not… Next time I see you, I'd better see blisters on your lazy palm. Such… Such gentle hands in my kitchen," she scoffed, "Even whores get rougher skin jerking off cocks."

You flinched. 

"You better start working harder, got it?"

Terror ran through you. You nodded frantically before wrenching your hand from her grasp and cradling your clenched fist against your heart.

Mylenda muttered something you did not care to hear, your ears deaf to anything but the frantic pounding of your heart against your temples. You looked down and immediately came across the beast's eyes, sitting in a clay bowl and reminiscent of the pile of gooseberries that would be used as a sauce for the chops. You could almost taste the delicious berries on the tip of your tongue. 

Your stomach rumbled. 

If the old woman heard it, she said nothing, too busy assessing your work. 

"The cut could be cleaner," she criticised, "but I don't suppose the royals will mind when the meat crumbles into the stew. You're lucky we're not roasting it. You’re as tactful as a headsman, girl. You’re not cutting off a thief’s neck but the King's dinner. You better fix that."

"Yes, ma’am."

Your gaze fell even lower, to the hide piled up in a jumble on the floor. You were hoping to make a coat out of it this evening, in the privacy of your little bedroom. The air was getting colder and colder and your cotton dress would soon no longer suffice. Gilliane, like a true Northerner, kept saying that winter was coming. 

Whatever that meant.

You kicked the skin under the table and prayed to the Seven Gods that Mylenda would not see it.

"Once you've finished cutting it up, you’ll make a terrine from the legs and shoulders," she ordered. "The Hand loves it. And don't forget to cook the guts. I ain’t letting a plump liver like that go to waste. Must’ve been a brave beast, that one," the matron said as she struck the bloody organ with pride. "A persillade should do. The mutton stew will be the main course."

You nodded and swallowed down your bile. The rancid scent of the old woman rivaled with the earthy exhalations of the venison. 

"Back to work, girl."

With these words, Mylenda left to go and torment Cass, who was struggling to cook the mutton. Bubbling wine stained the sides of the copper pot and evaporated on the flame. 

"Gi' me that. I'll carve it up for ya."

Someone snatched the knife out of your hand. You lifted your head and found Gilliane beside you, her gaze riveted on the matron who had turned crimson from screaming at poor Cass. 

"Gentle hands... Gentle hands... I’ll tell her what I think of her hands. I'd love to see them so-called palms wrinkled wi' effort. I've never seen her hold no knife since I arrived," she mumbled. 

Her defence warmed your heart. 

"Tek care o' them offal ‘fore the old cow decides to serve yer kidneys wi' mustard instead," she whispered. "She'd get a kick outta that, that madwoman." 

"Do you think she can smile?" you asked. 

"Gods, no," she scoffed. "She was born wi' pursed lips and that ugly wrinkle between her eyebrows."

You both laugh before returning to your tasks. Gilliane was busy carving up the rest of the venison so you concentrated on the liver and the parsley. The smell of garlic and herbs wafted out of the mortar in front of you and made your mouth water as you added a pinch of salt and a spoonful of oil. 

For a second, you dreamt of being a lady and imagined tasting these exquisitely flavoured dishes. The soup⏤more water than broth⏤and the stale bread you were entitled to once the service was over were intended to feed you, not to please. This right was reserved for people of good breeding. 

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mylenda stopped to face Hendry, a little boy of just thirteen who had joined you a month earlier. It wasn't unusual for people to sell their children in exchange for a new cart or some meat. Sometimes, mothers would lay their babies outside the gates of the Keep and pray that the place would blossom into a better life. From here, you could see the boy's pale complexion and shaking shoulders. The plate he was cleaning was dangerously close to falling. You prayed to the Gods to spare this child from the wrath of the woman next to him. 

"The King's dinner my arse..." you grumbled as you started to dice the liver. "She doesn't give a damn about doing His Majesty a favour as long as she can torture us."

"What's worse is she doesn't realise that she doesn't need t'beat us. Just a whiff of her rotten breath and believe me, even the worst brigand would fall to their kn–"

Oswell Pyne stormed into the kitchen, his fist wrapped around the arm of a weeping Prudence. 

You dropped the pestle at the sight of her swollen face. Her milky complexion faded into a mass of frightening bruises. The purple and blue weren't enough to hide the drops of blood beading at her temple and the edges of her lips. 

What had this poor girl fallen into? 

You immediately abandoned your post⏤to hell with the damn parsley⏤and tried to make your way through the other servants who had gathered at the entrance to the kitchens, just as eager to find out more. Gilliane insulted two or three of them, who immediately moved aside for fear of poking the Nordic woman and having to face her coarse tongue. 

"Steward Oswell," Mylenda stammered. "To what do I owe your visit? You don't normally drop in until dinnertime, which, if I'm not mistaken, doesn't start for another two hours."

She turned to the maid, whose sobs had worsened at the sight of the old hag. Her headdress had been ripped off and her blonde hair was falling in knots over her tiny shoulders. 

"Prudence, what have you done, girl?" she asked dryly. "Oh, sir... I hope she didn't cause you no trouble. My girls usually know how to behave."

"Well, it seems Prudence here has seen fit to answer back to His Majesty."

The whole kitchen fell in an uproar.

Mylenda, who ruled with an iron fist over the henhouse of the Red Keep’s maids, harped on to you all day long about the importance of keeping quiet. You still remembered your first day in the service of the Crown and the words she had screamed… 

"Maids can gossip all they like in the kitchens, Gods know stirring a stew for two hours can put even the most seasoned of maids to sleep, but if I catch any of you uttering a single word outside these walls, they will be punished. The Lords don't need to be reminded that we exist. As soon as you stop smelling the kitchens, you shut up."

Shivers ran down your spine. 

"Obviously," the steward continued, heedless of the chaos his words had unleashed, "Prudence didn't care about the repercussions such disastrous behaviour might have on the maids. Or on Mylenda herself. Am I right, girl? Own up your mistake."

He shook Prudence's arm and she let him, her chin trembling. You wanted to slap that horrible man, to make him swallow his arrogant smile, but what could you do but stand by and watch this horrifying spectacle? 

Next to you, Gilliane cursed against the matron and the steward. Her insults were drowned out by the whispers of the other maids. Cass, her apron still stained with wine, was turned towards Ellyn, the baker. Even Hendry had leaned over to Dacey and was whispering something in his ear. 

"Quiet, girls!" Mylenda shouted before turning back to Prudence. "Well, what are you waiting for? Speak up! For Gods’ sake, what's got into you?!"

"He... He tried to... To... I didn't want to... My father... he would have... No... I couldn't..."

Your heart fell into your stomach. Of course. You closed your eyes and breathed in to try and silence the flicker of indignation blossoming inside. The hubbub around you increased. Several girls gasped. A few had the courage to protest. Next to you, Gilliane grunted and clenched her fist. 

How many more maids would have to suffer the same fate before someone took action? How many young girls would have to be broken, their prospects dripping down their aching thighs, because of the animal urges of one and the same man? 

"And that gives you the right to answer back to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms?" the steward growled. "You fool!"

The memory of Dyana still haunted the kitchens. No one dared mention her name for fear of invoking her tormentor, whom the aromas of poppy and dirty gold could not mask. How naive you had been to think this had been enough to keep him out… The executioner had invited himself into your ranks and was sowing his eternal seeds of destruction. Again and again and again. 

Such was the luck of Targaryens and their royal blood while the small folk picked up the pieces and healed the wounds. Spoilt blood flowed and flowed and flowed without a care in the world. Who would stop the bleeding? Were we destined to die, our empty bodies turned towards the gold-covered hands that held the knife? 

"I understand Prudence was to be one of the cupbearers at tonight's dinner. You can understand why the King would be... offended if he had to endure the sight of that... that seductress while he ate his meal. Would he not?"

Ashamed, the old woman grumbled under her breath, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Mylenda only cared about her reputation. She forgot that, like all of you, she was nothing. You frowned, disgusted by this dishonourable but not in the least surprising display. 

"Of course, sir! Come here, girl!" Mylenda barked at Prudence before grabbing her hair and pulling her forward. "I'll show you what I do to maids who dare to talk back! You'll be sorry you didn't let the King get his way!"

Next to you, Gilliane took a step forward, ready to fight, but you held her back before she too sealed her fate. You had seen what happened to girls who dared to speak out and you didn't want to see your friend beaten to death by a stick. 

Mylenda's crazed gaze swept across the assembly before coming to rest on you. She pointed at you with her bony finger. 

"You! Gentle Hand! You'll be the cupbearer in Prudence’s stead. I hope you fill glasses better than you cut meat. I will not be humiliated any further by one of my maids. You will behave yourself and do me honour. Got it?"

You paled and glanced around in panic, but the other maids lowered their heads, happy not to have been chosen. Nobody wanted to be the cupbearer. Not since the coronation. Standing for hours enduring King Aegon's indecent babblings, his lips loosened by the acrid taste of wine, was an ordeal you all sought to avoid. Until now, you had managed to escape it, eternally hidden behind the steaming pots. 

The Gods had now taken away your chance and were throwing you into the dragon pit.   

You stammered incomprehensible words, pointing to the pieces of liver ready to be cooked, but Mylenda would have none of it and glared at you until you bowed your head and admitted defeat. 

Oswell stood next to the matron, staring at you with his nose turned up⏤like watching an insect, you realised. He finally nodded and left the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. 

His departure set off a firestorm. Gilliane turned sharply towards you, her grey eyes ablaze with rage. 

"One day, I’ll gut him like a pig," she spat. "Mylenda. Oswell. They're rats, all of 'em."

You watched as the others busied themselves around Prudence. Cass wrapped a cloth around her shoulders and led her to a chair. Ellyn handed her a loaf of bread and forced her to eat before bringing a glass of water to her bruised lips. 

"Poor girl," Gilliane continued but you were listening with a distracted ear. "She's far too good to work here. I'll pray t'the Old Gods for her tonight. Maybe they'll hear me and get her outta this hell ‘for the old cow gets the better of her."

The Northerner shook her head and, at last, looked at you, her eyes moistened with concern. She leaned towards you and asked if you were all right. Words fell short on the tip of your tongue, troubled by the sight of a destroyed Prudence and the evening ahead of you. Your chores consisted of cooking and washing cloths, nothing that would justify being in the company of the royal family.  

You shrugged. 

"If ya want, I can ask Mylenda to swap us," Gilliane suggested. "I don't want ya to have anything to do wi' him. Not after all that mess," she nodded at Prudence. 

Henry was clumsily dressing up her wounds. 

You shook your head. 

"No. It'll only get you in trouble with the old cow. I'll go. It's just serving wine, isn't it? It can't be that bad."

"I guess," Gilliane conceded. 

You knew very well that your friend wanted to protest. You could see her plea right at the edge of her lips, but you went back to your post and your persillade before she could tell it. Protesting wouldn't change anything, so you might as well get used to the idea and put up with it. You deliberately ignored the shiver of terror that ran down your spine at the thought of the King and grabbed a new sprig of parsley, chopped it roughly before adding it to the mortar. 

Mylenda appeared beside you as you grabbed the pestle. 

"What are you still doing here, girl? Didn't you hear me? Go and look after the wine. We still have to add the honey and decant it. And for Gods’ sake, change that bloody apron! Spare the royal family the sight of these hideous rags! Ahem. Right, then. Now, where was I? Henry, polish these bloody chalices!"

The old matriarch left you alone, arms flailing away. 

Contrary to popular belief, the wine cellars were not next to the kitchens. You had to venture even further down to find the huge and cold rooms. You were already missing the lively melody of the kitchens before leaving them. 

"We probably won't see each other again before dinner, so... Stay away from t’King," Gilliane whispered to you before pursing her lips. Her hand squeezed your shoulder painfully. "If anything happens, anything, tell me and I'll take care of it–" 

"Don't you worry about me," you put an end to her budding act of betrayal. 

She nodded, frowning and her gaze determined. It was hard to believe that this fiery fury had been bred by the icy winds of Longtown. 

"Can you do something for me?" 

"Anything," she replied immediately. 

"Hide the roebuck skin." 

Gilliane smiled and winked at you. 

"As long as ya leave me some to mend me cloak."

"Deal."

You gave her a thin smile and abandoned the venison and parsley, your knife and mortar for barrels and crushed grapes. When you reached the caves, a cellarer was stirring wine in a gigantic pot. Beside him, another was pouring honey into the red bath. They were probably making the hypocras the King was so fond of. 

"I... Mylenda sent me. I'm the cupbearer... For tonight’s… dinner..?" 

The pourer interrupted your poor explanation and nodded towards the corner of the room. 

"Make yourself useful and fill those jugs up, girl."

The two hours passed quicker than you had wished and soon you found yourself with your back against the wall, your arms already tired from carrying the jug of wine you had filled yourself. 

You thought back to Mylenda and lowered your head a little more. Her orders, engraved in your skull, haunted you. You could almost feel the old woman's bony fingers wrap around your chin and yank it down. The labyrinthine floors of the Keep were not enough to blur the threat of the old woman. Even when she wasn't there, she forced you to keep your head down, your eyes glued to the floor and, above all, your mouth shut⏤if you dared utter a single word, you'd suffer her fury and her fist. 

You remembered Prudence's swollen face and shivered. Aegon Targaryen may have cast the first stone in her doll's face, but you had no doubt that the matron would throw all the others and beat her to the bone. You tightened your grip on the jug's handle and prayed to the Gods to spare you from the same fate.  

With a distracted ear, you listened to the Dowager Queen, Alicent Hightower, speak in a soft voice, but her words faded under the suffocating presence of the King. He stood close enough to you so that you could hear every gulp of wine drunk, every mouthful chewed open. He spat out your persillade and stained the white tablecloth with vulgar words, obviously caring little for decorum. 

The perks of being King, you supposed.  

Your mind wandered away from Kings and Queens to the hide under the worktop. Had Gilliane taken it away or was it still lying on the sticky kitchen floor? Would you keep the hair or turn it into a leather coat, less warm but more durable? After what Mylenda had called the "deer disaster", she wouldn't let you butcher any more animals. No more skins for you. You'd have to buy fabric, but the few silver stags you were given every month wouldn't be enough. 

Despite the plump little purse hidden under your straw mattress, you refused to dip your hand into it. The Crown housed you and fed you; clothes were a mere futility when the Keep provided you with a red dress and a white apron to wear. So why spend your fortune, meagre though it may be, on coquettish whims? No. The purse would remain hidden until you left the Keep. 

Leather it is, you thought. 

"Girl. Wine."

You startled and hastily filled the glass the Hand held out to you. Otto Hightower glanced at you for a moment but said nothing. He took a sip and turned to continue his conversation with his grandson, Prince Aemond. You sighed, relieved when his attention left you. A small voice in your head, however, whispered to you that he would definitely mention this incident to Oswell, and if not to the steward, to Melynda herself. 

You gulped and absent-mindedly wiped the drop of wine from the jug.  

As you moved to regain your place by the wall, your eye drifted to the venison terrine in front of the Hand, left untouched. You frowned. The fruit and cheese had long since filled the plates and foretold the end of dinner. A bitter taste poisoned your mouth and tugged its corners down. They were happily wasting the food while, under their feet, maids would fight to trim the bones of their leftovers, like vile carrion-eaters around a leprous corpse. 

The nobles boasted of their noble education and mastery of good manners, but these vanished in the indecency of their existence. 

A pale hand burst in front of your eyes and stopped under your nose to present you with an empty cup. Without a word, you poured the King another drink and kept your head down. His insistent gaze burned the side of your face and moved lower, stopping on your heaving chest. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end and the handle of the jug pressed painfully into your sweaty palm.  

You pig. 

You looked around for a way out and found no better distraction than the Prince Aemond. Your gaze immediately fell on his eye patch. You were standing on his blind side, you realised. The thought reassured you. For the first time, you could observe the members of the royal family as you pleased. 

Unlike his brother, the second son of the late King Viserys did not take pleasure in fondling servant girls. He spent his urges studying the texts and holding the blade when he wasn't off murdering his nephews⏤for the war that emptied your stomachs and purses had blossomed at the hand of Aemond Targaryen. 

Your eyes fell on his clenched fist, his angular jaw and his famous leather eye patch. 

Yes, you could easily picture him a as murderer.  

You left your thoughts for a moment to serve the Dowager Queen again, noticing that there was nothing left of the parsleyed liver that had filled her plate⏤a flash of satisfaction shook you⏤but your gaze quickly returned to the statuesque figure of the Prince. 

You frowned. 

A crack split the fascinating sight. His hand was gripping his glass so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, but even this strong grip couldn't mask the tremors shaking his fingers. The veins in his wrist gushed against the pale skin and seemed to be screaming out a pain that no one could hear but you: the King had started singing, the Dowager Queen was biting her nails and the Hand seemed about to insult his Grace. 

Other details suddenly jumped out at you, as the din next to you worsened: his eyebrows furrowed, his other hand gripping the edge of the table, his vacant purple eye. He wasn't even answering Otto Hightower any more, just nodding absently. 

Prince Aemond soon had enough of his brother's ditty and stood up. The chair legs creaked against the floor and made you wince, but you lowered your head and pursed your lips. He greeted his family in a curt voice before leaving, his head held high, a far cry from the spectacle of weakness you had just witnessed. 

"My glass isn't going to fill itself, girl. More wine. And don't be stingy. To the brim. I'm thirsty."

You watched in silence as the red liquid crashed into the golden glass. A fine foam rose to the surface, the syrupy aromas of the spiced wine oozing out of it. For a second, you indulged yourself in the divine fragrance and its sweetness, which almost made you forget the King's perverse eyes. 

Aelinor stepped forward and cleared the Prince's place setting. She took the empty plate, then the glass, and soon it was as if Aemond Targaryen had never dined here. Only a round of wine, where his glass had been placed, was proof of his presence. 

He had never asked for a refill, you realised.  

For some reason, the vision of Prince Aemond stayed with you for days. 

A new servant, Gretchel Stone⏤a bastard of the Vale⏤had been hired to replace Prudence as cupbearer and waitress. The blonde girl had disappeared from the Keep three days after what the maid now called 'The Accident'. Wherever she was, you prayed for her good fortune and health. The law of the Lords was merciless⏤they played games and let the Small Folk suffer the consequences of their actions. 

If Prudence's departure had saddened you deeply, Gretchel's arrival had freed you from your duty as cupbearer. You were elated to be back in the kitchens and the laundry. The mere memory of the King's gaze still sent shivers down your spine. It stuck to your skin despite the hours you spent in the bath, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing. Your flesh, however raw, couldn't shed the terror. 

The hour of the Nightingale enveloped the Keep in an unrivalled softness. You enjoyed this in-between moment, when the night clung to the fragments of moon that still remained and left the few early risers to enjoy the quiet that the sun would take away. 

The journey to the Great Sept was quick and untroubled. The few drunkards sprawled out on the ground in their own filth were fast asleep and the laborers already working had no use for you. Wrapped up in Gilliane’s cloak, your friend still asleep, you hurried on⏤soon, the Red Keep would awaken and duty would crush you.

When you finally passed through the monument's great doors, septas were silently cleaning the wax from yesterday’s burnt-out candles. 

You passed them and knelt before the wall of the Crone, letting your gaze drift over her wrinkled statue and the murals carved in her honour before taking a splint and lighting a candle. You clasped your hands together and closed your eyes. 

"Dear Crone," you whispered, "You who have seen so many lives and so many fates, grant me clairvoyance and discernment, for the future seems full of trials. Give me patience in my struggle and the strength to act with justice and compassion. Enlighten my steps and bless me with your mercy." 

A bruised, stoic face appeared before your eyes, but you stood up before your thoughts drifted into those dangerous waters. 

Lowly people need not concern themselves with the affairs of a Prince, an unknown voice said firmly.

When you returned to the Keep, it had come alive, bustling with hurry and duty. The kitchens were busy preparing meals for the Lords as other maids were coming and going, their arms drowned in clean and dirty linen. When Mylenda saw you, she threw a white pile into your arms and ordered you to change Prince Aemond's bedding. 

 "Gwenys, the poor girl, is ill," the matriarch explained. "The flu, no doubt. Bloody business. I'll be damned if the Prince catches it. He breaks his fast an hour after dawn. Any minute now, in fact. Make haste, Gentle Hand! And don't let anyone see you."

You stammered your obedience and hurried to Maegor's Citadel. The huge closed doors sent shivers down your spine. They separated you from the power of the World and its cruelty. The blood of the dragon slumbered in these quarters and you would not be the one to poke the sleeping beast. Your gaze fell on the King's chambers ⏤had an innocent soul once again fallen to his cruelty last night?⏤but you lowered your head and continued on your way. 

You knocked on the door⏤your knuckles hitting the carved wood painfully ⏤but nobody answered. Your shoulders relaxed and your breathing calmed. The heavy door would not budge as you tried to push it open. Where were the Kingsguards? You threw your entire weight against the wood and when it finally did open, a thick layer of sweat was soaking your back. 

Your eyes quickly swept over the Prince's quarters, drowned in the distinct opulence of royalty. In one corner, a bookcase was overflowing with ancient tomes and the smell of parchment filled the room. On the walls, murals glorifying House Targaryen caught your eye, but you forced yourself to keep your chin down, your mouth shut, and moved towards the bed, ignoring its warm and cosy appearance, a far cry from your straw mattress. 

The four-poster bed alone was bigger than the small room you shared with Gilliane. Its tastefully embroidered green and black curtains caught your eye, but you resisted the urge to touch them. 

Your arms went to work on their own and fell into familiar gestures. 

You pulled off the worn sheets⏤trying not to think about the fluids trapped in them⏤rolled them into a ball and let them fall to the floor before taking the new ones and draping them over the feather-filled mattress. At last, you fluffed the cushions, releasing a musky and unmistakably masculine scent in the air. It floated in your nostrils. Your heart raced and your cheeks flushed. A little voice⏤sounding strangely like Mylenda’s⏤discouraged you from giving in to temptation, but the perfume numbed your senses and your reason. 

Your trembling hand grasped the cloth and brought it to your face... Already, the scent caressed your cheeks. You gasped, your lips parted, ready to taste this intoxicating bouquet... 

The door slammed. 

The cushion fell from your hand. 

You scrambled to your feet, almost tripping over the pile of dirty sheets on the floor. 

The look on Prince Aemond's face made your blood run cold. 

"Out."

Head down, you picked up the linens and left, taking care not to approach the Prince, who was visibly enraged. As you passed him, his gasping breath caught in your eardrum. You risked a glance in his direction and glimpsed at his clenched fist. 

Just like at dinner.  

The doors closed behind you with a slam that startled you. You had just enough time to hear a grunt and see the Prince's silhouette collapse to the floor. You paled and opened your mouth, ready to offer help, but Mylenda's threats came back to haunt you. You lowered your chin and disappeared around the corner of the corridor, determined to turn a deaf ear to the Prince's groans of pain.

Surely he would have ordered you to stay or fetch a Maester if he felt the need. His silence said it all, didn't it? A creature as proud as Aemond Targaryen probably wanted to be left alone to brood over the illness that was tormenting him. Perhaps Gwenys flu had affected more people than Mylenda thought. 

Yes, that must be it. 

Gwenys' ailment had turned out to be much more than the flu. Blood flux, a nasty ordeal… Oswell and Mylenda had tried to keep the matter quiet so as not to alert the Lords and give them more reason to hate the servants they were condemned to brush shoulders with. Several maids were dismissed from their duties to stop the spread of the disease⏤better letting it grow in Flea Bottom than the Keep, the steward had said⏤and their tasks had fallen on the already stooping shoulders of the remaining workers. 

Busy changing the Prince's sheets at dawn and working in the kitchens during the rest of the day, it had become difficult to find time to pray to the Crone and the Mother in the Great Sept. This new schedule left you exhausted and irritated. Gilliane sometimes had to wake you up⏤something that would have been unthinkable just two weeks earlier. You were finding it hard to mourn the Hour of the Nightingale and the peace and quiet that Mylenda had forced you to give up. Now you had to pray in your room late at night, with the smell of cooking and soap still clinging to your skin. 

But the Gods turned a deaf ear to your pleas and left you to face alone the guilt that grew in your heart each time you abandoned the Prince to his painful fate. 

Your mornings were structured around a heavy sense of déjà vu. No matter how late you changed the Prince's linens, he would always appear and order you to leave with a booming voice before collapsing in a tornado of pain that, strangely enough, broke your heart. 

"I don't know what's wrong with him," you shrugged. But I'm sure... I mean… It can't be the blood flux," you dared to whisper the forbidden word. "His sheets are always clean. I've never found any blood or vomit or... or anything. No... It must be some other affliction. For it to happen every day... Maybe it's his spirit? With all this talk of war... Oh, it's terrible. And strange. I can't stop thinking about it. Perhaps I should speak to the Maester..."

You stirred the contents of the pot absent-mindedly. As you had predicted, Melynda no longer trusted you to cut the meat and had assigned you to the sauces, much to your delight⏤the dreadful scent of fresh had been replaced by bouquets of redcurrant, wine and mustard. 

Next to you, Gilliane cut a rabbit’s head in one clean stroke. 

« Dozens of masters would travel from the Citadel just to treat him. It's not yer job to worry about him. He doesn't deserve it and it’ll only get ya into trouble. Maybe it's a ploy to bed ya. ‘Ve heard he spends lotta nights in the Street of Silk."

"Hmm... I doubt that's it. What's the point of dismissing me, then? If it was a ploy to... to do that… wouldn't it be easier to let me help him? I don't think the Prince is like his brother. No... He seems genuinely unwell."

"Generations of incest do that to ya," your friend scoffed. "It's about time the Gods punished 'em for their sins... These Greens are rotten to the core and you'd do well to remember that. These... These usurpers are–" 

"More cutting and less talking, girls. The Crown pays you to fill stomachs, not to gossip like wenches. If working is such a bother, I'll be happy to replace you with obedient young ladies. Hundreds of them dream of your position in Flea Bottom." 

"Yes, ma'am," you replied in unison. 

Gilliane waited until Mylenda had gone before turning back to you, the bloody tip of her knife pointed towards you. 

"Don't waste your prayers on that kinslayer. And keep away from him, d’ya hear me? There's something evil about that boy, I know it."

You nodded silently and stopped your thoughts from drifting to the Targaryen man. Perhaps Gilliane was right. A prince's business was none of your concern and it would be foolish to think otherwise. 

Yes, you would do your chores quietly and let the lords play their game and fight their demons alone. 

Prince Maelor's flushed and  tearful face refused to leave your mind as you took his dirty linens to the laundry. You did not normally look after the King's heirs⏤Queen Helaena preferred to entrust this task to her trusted servants since that night⏤but a panicked Jenny had stormed into the corridor of Maegor's Citadel, a crying Jaehaera in her arms, as you went to the Prince's room. You had not hesitated to volunteered to take the soiled sheets to be washed; on the contrary, you welcomed the distraction with open arms⏤everything was good to postpone the duty that awaited you. 

The smell of urine emanating from the sheets in your arms made you wince and quicken your pace, but your heart wept for this little toddler whom life had not spared. The King's last child had been prone to accidents since the barbaric assassination of Prince Jaehaerys⏤no doubt the traumatic death of his brother had upset him, as it had all the inhabitants of the Keep. 

Once the sheets had been dropped off, you turned around and retraced your steps until you arrived in front of Prince Aemond's room. You swore under your breath as noises pierced the wood. The sun, already high in the sky, was taunting you. Your little diversions had only delayed your duty, not erased it despite your prayers, and now you had to change the Prince's bedding with the man in the room. 

Maybe he would not care to hold it against you... After all, he told you to leave every day, whether his linens were changed or not. You turned on your heels and were about to head for the kitchens and Gilliane, but a scream stopped you in your tracks. 

A second followed, then a third. You glanced around, hoping to see a Royal Guard burst around the corner, but no white cloak appeared. The corridors remained empty and the Prince's screams continued to ricochet off the alcoves and ceiling mouldings with you as the only ear listening. 

Over your shoulder, the door taunted you. It was ajar, you realised. An unusual lack of attention from the Prince. You took a step towards it, keeping your eyes fixed on the small gap. Soon, the Prince's silhouette came into view. 

On the ground, wearing only a shirt and trousers, Aemond Targaryen was shaking like a leaf, a trembling hand pressed against his bruised eye. A new wave of pain must have swept through him as he curled into himself and screamed. 

You rushed to his side. 

"Are you all right, my prince?" you asked breathlessly. Mylenda and her orders be damned. "Would you like me to fetch the Maester?"

Your hand hovered over his shoulder, which twitched with agony, but you did not dare to touch it for fear of retaliation. The Targaryen man raised his head with an almost bestial growl, resembling the dragon on his coat of arms. When he recovered enough to understand who was standing in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed and his complexion flushed with anger. Your heart skipped a beat and fear seeped through your veins in a matter of seconds.

"Get out," he gritted before turning his head⏤no, hiding. 

"My Prince, I fear I must insist. Your eye–"

His eye patch had slipped off and, although it didn't unveil the horror that lay behind it, it did reveal a red and irritated scar. The lower eyelid was now a mass of inflamed skin. You turned your head and saw a bottle of milk of the poppy overturned, its translucent liquid staining the floor. 

"Get out or I'll have your head!"

You jumped. In an impulse you would no doubt regret, your fingers went to his bruised cheek and brushed against the burning skin to feel the damage before you squeaked. The Prince's hand tightened around your wrist and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed, until you yelped and abruptly pulled away. Pain colonised your palm, your fingers you could now barely move, and the bone at the centre of it all. You got up on shaky knees and walked away, leaving the Prince alone with his torments. 

Instead of heading for the kitchens, your legs led you to Maester Orwyle's dark and silent storerooms. No doubt he was busy deciding the fate of the kingdom with the other members of the Small Council. Silently, you slipped through the door and lit a candlestick before examining the shelves filled with ingredients of all kinds, some perhaps older than you. Hundreds of labels jumped out at you, but none caught your eye until the orange of a jar lit up your retina. 

You glanced behind you and were relieved to see the room still empty. Hastily, you uncorked the jar and dipped your hand in. Your fingers brushed against the softness of its contents before closing around it. You repeated the operation once, twice, thrice, until your pockets were overflowing with expensive and precious ingredients. When it came to stealing the powder you needed, you hesitated but ended up finding a small wooden bowl, insignificant enough so that no one would notice it missing. 

Just as you were about to leave, the faint glow of the candle caught on a small metal container and blinded you. You read its familiar inscription before dropping it, too, into your apron and setting off again, praying to the Gods that the Maester didn't notice the missing ingredients, otherwise you'd certainly end up on the scaffold. 

Your footsteps hit the floor of the Keep. The corridors gave way to staircases that revealed the lower floors, hiding your bedroom. Once you were safe, you tossed your loot onto the bed before digging out a mortar and a sticky jar from underneath it. With trembling hands, you dipped a wooden dish into a bucket of clear water normally used for bathing before grabbing the pestle. 

In the mortar, you emptied the bag of green clay and drowned it in the water before stirring. The pain in your wrist redoubled, but you gritted your teeth and persevered. You added the marigold and camomile petals, then the gooey inside of a Dorne plant whose name you didn't know, before adding two large spoonfuls of honey. 

The neck of the metal container hung in the air for a few seconds. Was that wise? You hesitated, thinking back to the bottle spilt in the Prince's room, but gave in to temptation and let three drops fall into the concoction. 

You ran back towards Maegor's Citadel and snuck into the Prince's quarters. He raised his head and his features quickly contorted with rage at your sight. 

"You again! I shall speak to the steward of your–"

You threw the mortar on the floor, along with some bandages, before turning around and slamming the door. Your back slid against its wood until you fell to the floor, gasping for air. 

Seven Hells, what have I done? 

For a week, your nights were spent praying to the Gods to spare you from the Prince's rage. Sleep slipped away in night terrors that always woke you with a start, leaving you paranoid enough to look over your shoulder every few minutes, waiting for the inevitable. A beating by Mylenda, a dismissal by the steward, even a visit from the Royal Guard... but nothing happened. And that somehow made it worse. Perhaps the Prince wanted to deal with you alone. A series of shivers made you waver. He was terrifying, untouchable⏤impunity incarnated. If anyone found out what you'd done... 

No. No one would know, you tried to convince yourself. 

You decided to keep the incident from Gilliane, who wouldn't have understood anyway. No doubt she would even have chastised you for not leaving him to die on the icy floor of the Keep. A staunch supporter of Rhaenyra, she hated the idea of working for the enemy. You had no thought on the subject. Politics did not matter to you as long as you were paid and the Gods let you live. You wouldn't spit on the hand that fed and housed you. 

It was comfort that kept you under the yoke of Mylenda and her petrifying breath, not ideology. 

The dirt on the King's sheets dissipated in the icy water of the washroom. Your purple fingers struggled to wring the fabric. Terrified of having to face the Prince and reap the consequences of your reckless act, you had asked Mylenda to change your chores in the morning. Fortunately, the matron didn't argue too much, sending you away with just a barb about your hands⏤as was her custom⏤before returning to her duties. Washing clothes had never been your forte, but you preferred it to Aemond Targaryen’s presence.

Two more weeks passed without the Prince making his presence felt. He seemed to have disappeared from the Keep. According to the other maids, his appearances at meals were brief and always tense, and some had even seen him lose a duel during his sparring sessions with Criston Cole. 

When you realised that the Prince would not take revenge, your shoulders relaxed and your mind returned to more pleasant thoughts. 

How naive of you to think that Aemond One-Eye would give up. 

He cornered you in a corridor one evening as you were making your way to your room. Your fingers were itching to do something other than stir sauces and wash cloths. The deerskin, hidden under your bed and still intact, was waiting for you. With all this fuss, you had never found the time to make your long-awaited coat, a decision you bitterly regretted⏤the cold had definitely fallen on King's Landing and left you shivering when your chores weren't there to warm you up. 

A hand pulled you into an alcove. You attempted to struggle but the stranger quickly overpowered you, leaving you unable to move or scream. White streaks cascaded in front of your eyes, carrying a distinct musky smell which stunned you into compliance. 

By the Gods, he had come seeking revenge. 

Aemond Targaryen was going to kill you. 

"Which Maester did you steal that poultice from?"

His sharp tone was terrifying. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes and a squeak fell from your lips. The prince turned you towards him, waiting for an answer, but you didn't know what to say. Your thoughts were all jumbled together, rendering you as mute as Cromm, the horse keeper from Flea Bottom. He was close, so close that you could see the grain of his skin, the purple of his eye and the scar on his cheek⏤less red than last time, you noticed. 

"Answer me, girl. Where did you find this ointment? Maester Orwyle assures me he has no knowledge of it. Nor do his colleagues. No one in this Keep knew of its existence until I mentioned it. So speak up!"

You stammered a few words, incomprehensible even to your own ears. This seemed to frustrate the Prince to no end as he tightened his grip on your arm. 

Your wrist throbbed, reminiscing the pain. 

"If you do not tell me who–"

"It’s mine," you cut him off, eager to free yourself from his grip. "I made it."

The silence stretched and wrapped around your neck in a horrifying premonitory vision. 

"... You? »

"Yes?"

He glared at you. The darkness of the alcove didn't dull the brilliance of his purple irises. It glowed and made your heartbeat quicken. Legends said the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men and you couldn't help but agree, blessed enough to contemplate their work. 

"Hm."

The pressure on your arm vanished. 

"You will tend to my linens. The new maid cannot do it properly."

The Prince turned around and disappeared into the night. 

The green and black curtains of the four-poster bed had long lost their novelty but none of their splendour. You fluffed the pillow before picking up the duvet. The musky scent of the Prince invaded your nostrils and dilated your pupils. You'd never admit it, but you were relieved to find yourself back in the quarters of the Dowager Queen’s second son. No more freezing water. No more soiled sheets. No more vomit and sperm staining the King's robes. 

The Prince entered the room without a word, but his panting alerted you. Over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of his clenched fists, furrowed brows and soaked forehead... You didn't wait for him to dismiss you before curtseying, your headdress almost falling off. You gathered up the sheets and headed for the door, but he held out a hand.  

"Stay. I've... I've got to..."

The sheets fell at your feet as the Prince wobbled. Your hands struggled to hold on to his torso, which, in its mass, threatened to send you to the floor too. With clenched teeth, you guided the man to his bed, ignoring the stabbing pain in your arms, and immediately covered him with a blanket, not caring that you had spent time tucking it. 

"What... what should I do? Should I fetch Maester Orwyle? Or someone else? A guard? Ser Criston Cole, perhaps?"

The situation was surreal. Prince Aemond Targaryen, kinslayer and rider of Vhagar, was turning to you for help. A spark of jubilation ignited in your chest but panic spoiled the moment. Large beads of sweat beaded on the Prince’s forehead and ran down his skin to his twitching eyebrow. Your eyes widened at the sight. The whole left side of his face was twitching and convulsing. 

You were right to add chamomile, you thought gravely. 

Prince Aemond had spasms, his muscles never healed from the loss of his eye.

A pang lacerated your heart at the thought of this young boy, fated to suffer in silence during all those years. 

A warm sensation brought you back to the present. A pale and large hand had engulfed yours and was gripping it so tightly that you winced. But you said nothing, just whispered words of encouragement that were drowned out by his groans. He was no longer the terrifying Prince the maids talked about. He was turning into the fragile, battered being he had once been before your very eyes 

"Do you... have your... your poultice?" he managed to say. 

You shook your head. The prince had started to shiver. In a fit of bravery, you placed the back of your hand against his forehead and found it burning. A spark of panic ignited your chest.

Fever was never a good sign. 

"Can you... Can you make some?"

"I–"  you stammered. "My Prince... The ingredients are not easy to find."

"Paper… And a quill."

Not wanting to exhaust him further, you rushed to his secretary and promptly grabbed the items before running back to his bedside. He grasped it with a trembling hand and scribbled something on a roll of paper before handing it to you. 

"Give this to Maester Orwyle. He'll grant you access to his supplies. I... I need your help."

With a determined nod, you set off in the direction of the healer's quarters, who was stunned by your request before letting you in. The man watched you make the ointment in silence. The weight of his gaze slid over your tense body, too concentrated on your movements to pay attention. You left, throwing a thank-you over your shoulder, and returned to Aemond's room, out of breath and with your heart pounding against your temples. 

The Prince had not moved. He only moved when you handed him the pot.  

"Can you... put it on me?" he asked in a small voice. 

So, you, the ever-dutiful maid, did what you knew best and obeyed. 

Gently, you removed his eye patch with his permission and dipped a bandage in the poultice before placing it on his wound. You were careful not to stare at his wound for too long. The Prince was tense, uncomfortable with the idea of his face bare. His hand had found a piece of your apron and was clinging to it like a mussel to a rock in the vain hope of finding comfort. Sometimes, in an uncharacteristic show of bravery, you would let your fingers caress his before taking a new strip and starting the operation all over again. 

Soon his scar was entirely covered with the ointment except for his eyelid, whose bright red flesh alarmed you. 

"You must remove the sapphire, my prince," you murmured, thus speaking into existence what had until then remained silent. 

He tensed under your fingers. A rustle echoed in the room. His hand had torn off a piece of your apron. You swallowed and looked down. 

Had you gone too far? 

Mylenda will beat you for ruining your apron, a more urgent voice reminded you. 

"Your eye socket is irritated," you tried to explain. "And the pressure of the gem seems to be... making it worse. Perhaps it would be best to let the flesh rest and not torture it any further."

"Turn around." 

Your eyes latched onto the drapes and slid higher, over the murals. Dragons were drowning castles in their flames, ridden by white-haired men. Behind you, something clanged against the bedside table. Here and there, blue reflections ricocheted off the wall and drowned the blaze in a fragmented ocean.

"Resume."

A gasp escaped from your throat before you could take it back, horrified by the new mural, even more violent than the war scene you had just abandoned. There was nothing left of the eyelid. The empty eye socket clung to the remaining skin, but it was tangled up in a carnal mess⏤the work of a hurried butcher. The roebuck galloped into your mind. Mylenda would have grumbled at the sloppy stitching. 

"Resume," he repeated. 

His voice trembled with rage. 

Silently, you wet yet another strip of cloth and placed it on the remnants of his eyelid with a trembling hand. Your finger grazed his temple before falling back into your lap. Once again, the Prince grabbed your apron. The chamomile perfumed the room, releasing its soothing fragrance all around you, but he remained impervious to it, battered by pain and ghosts. 

With his face wrapped in white clothes, Aemond Targaryen resembled the dead king.

At least the spasms had subsided. That reassured you. The first bands were already hardening and working their miracle. The hollows in his forehead had disappeared, his body finally giving itself a well-deserved rest. The Prince let himself fall back against his pillows. 

You took this sign as a dismissal and got up, not wanting to impose your presence on him any longer. The dirty sheets from the night before were still lying on the floor. Mylenda was probably wondering what you were up to. Gilliane couldn't make up excuses indefinitely. 

"Stay."

"I have to get back to the kitchen. And your sheets..."

"Stay," he commanded in a weak voice. 

What could you do but make yourself comfortable at the Prince's bedside? The order sounded like a request, but no doubt he would have taken your refusal as an affront. He was still a noble and nobles did not like to be contradicted. 

"Can you touch my cheek? Your hands... Your hands help."

His purple eye rolled in its socket and struggled to stay awake as it rested on you. The Prince was not in his right mind. The pain left him bare before you, vulnerable. What could be more dangerous than a vulnerable Targaryen? He would wrap you in his secrets, not caring that you would surely burn in them. In the Red Keep, it was wiser to remain ignorant. To be a confidant was to meddle in unknown and dangerous matters. 

Mylenda was right. You should have kept your mouth shut. 

So you said nothing as the Prince grabbed your hand and pressed it against his cheek. His courage seemed to surprise him, for he tensed before relaxing and pressing back against your hand, desperately seeking the warmth of your palm. His lips parted and he sighed. Your cheeks flushed at the sensual sound, but you clung to the illusion of peace that embraced the room and buried your fears in a corner of your chest.

It was easier to cooperate. 

Your fingertips traced his temple, the arch of his eyebrow, the hollow of his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and then repeated the exploration on the other side. His purple eye disappeared behind an intact eyelid, so different from the other. He sighed happily and curled up against you. The grip on your apron loosened. His breathing slowed. 

"Mummy."

The moan pierced the silence and took the peace with it, leaving only the cruel reality. She laughed at you and your naivety. Your blood turned cold. A wide purple eye looked into yours. You immediately stood up and mumbled an apology. The Prince followed suit, despite the pain. A bandage fell with a wet noise onto the sheet but, for once, you could not bring yourself care. Your eyes remained stuck on your hands. 

Stupid, stupid girl. What had you done? Touching a Prince like that? If His Highness didn't take care of you, the steward would beat you⏤like Prudence, like all the others. And Mylenda... The horror squeezed your stomach painfully and twisted your guts. 

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll–"

Hot tears rolled down your cheek and dried your skin before landing on your trembling lips. You shook your head frantically and picked up the pile of dirty sheets before running for the door. 

If there was one thing Mylenda had taught you, it was to shut up.