#and there’s obv some of that that still lingers but now it’s more like

[ninawolv3rina]

So I’ve said this before but I’m thinking about it again….

As far as my book characters go, my art of them is NOT canon. Like, don’t look at that and think ‘the author drew this, so it’s canon!’. The only canon appearance stuff is stuff i *outright state* in the text. So like, for example, Quincy MUST have dark hair, scars on her arms, etc, Marlowe MUST have his plague scar, blue eyes, thin blonde hair, etc, all the priests gotta have black and white robes, but the designs and stuff? Not canon. Headcanon.

I basically view it as drawing fan art of my own characters. Like mine are fan depictions, if that makes sense? They’re subjected to change at any time, some things are even deliberately against canon because I like to draw them that way (Quincy being Very Buff for instance, in canon she’s more wirey).

Idk, i think about it often cuz like, i love the art other people make based on descriptions and some of it has affected how I draw them myself. Now that I’m designing more high-concept stuff for In Perpetuum (which is a lot more artistically minded and inspired, mostly by Dark Souls/Elden Ring and biblical art), I’m like ‘wow i can’t design things that are as intricate and dark as i imagine them’. I am very limited as an artist, the way that i learned has created an eye that leans towards more simplistic designs that are inspired by comics and animation. You can tell i learned from Avatar the Last Airbender, mangas, and X-men comics. My designs reflect that. So like… I see other people’s medieval art and I’m like “Wow i wish i could do that” but when i try they always end up simpler. Anyways, all this to say, in my head Laz and John are more gothic, more medieval, more dark souls. They’re more intricate. They have way more going on, filigree on everything. John is scarier. Idk. I’m going to keep trying to improve and make my designs match my mental image but it’s a process, it always is, always growing.

Just some thoughts!

[celandeline]

The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst

9.5k words (buckle up)

You were born at the end of a long summer’s day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightower’s children. 

The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. You’ve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable. 

Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. “I don’t understand why Helaena.” He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. “If I must marry at all, why not you?”

You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. “Our mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.” You say. 

Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. “As if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.” He jokes, quoting Alicent. “If it’s not to do with grasshoppers, it’s not to do with her.”

You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. She’s always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesn’t seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you. 

“Some could say the same about you, with wine and whores.” You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. “We all have our compulsions - some worse than others.”

“I only jest.” Aegon says, defensive. You can tell he’s getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder. 

“Hm.” You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. “Is it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?”

“Perhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.” Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. “You do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.”

You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegon’s game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, “No, you’ve always liked the ones who won’t fight back, haven’t you?”

The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.

“What’s funny?”

Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“We were just discussing Aegon’s betrothal.” You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. You’ve never understood Aegon’s disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. “Or rather,” You cast a joking look to Aegon. “Aegon was complaining about it.”

“‘Tis your duty.” Aemond says, ever so serious. 

Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. “Look at her.”

“Aegon-” You start.

“I would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.” Aemond retorts. 

Aegon flaps a hand. “The both of you.” He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. “I’m going to get more wine.” And with that, he’s gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries. 

You place a hand atop Aemond’s head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. “He can be such an ass, our brother.”

Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. “Mm.”

The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when you’d clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands. 

Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerys’ face is bloodied. 

You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laena’s daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less. 

You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost. 

You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. “It’ll be alright.” You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It won’t be. He’ll be scarred forever, he’ll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. It’ll take him years to recover fully. 

“I know.” He says, voice soft. Level. Even. 

And it’s his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another. 

Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. It’s true - the scar across Aemond’s face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already. 

He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but he’s getting better. “You’ll be able to come and go as you please again soon.” You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone. 

He scoffs. “I can’t stay a cripple forever.”

Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, “You’d do well to save your bitterness for someone who’s not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Apologies, sister.” He mumbles.

You sigh. “I only joke, Aemond.” Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming. 

His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance. 

“Not all of us are Aegon.” You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone. 

Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. “Jaenara. Come help me.”

“Your lack of manners is appalling.” You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. “What would mother say?”

Aegon just grins. “Meet me tonight.” He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesn’t have to say where - you’ve snuck out with him before. You know the route. “A traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.”

“Sunset?” You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist. 

“Mm.” He watches you work, still grinning. 

“Alright.” You say, stepping back. 

His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. “What fun we’ll have.”

The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they don’t trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesn’t know, and hasn’t ordered them to, so why do the extra work? 

You sway into Aegon’s shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune you’d been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone. 

You know he’s going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesn’t kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. It’s a chaste thing, only a moment before you’re both pulling back to look at each other. 

“As sweet as wine.” He whispers.

“Mm.” You bite your lip in a grin. “Goodnight, Aegon.”

“Good morning.” He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed. 

You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasn’t there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep. 

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes it’s you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.

“You were with Aegon.” It’s mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.

“Mm.” You don’t deny it, stroking a hand through Aemond’s hair. “And you were here. In my bed.” You press your nose to the top of his head. “What troubles you, Aemond?”

“My eye.” He says. “The pain. It’s more than just the skin, it… it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.”

“We will see the maesters in the morning.” You say, still gently stroking. “Perhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.”

He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. It’s quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think he’s drifted off, but then,

“Will you take me with you, once?”

“To Flea Bottom?”

“Mm.”

You pause for a moment. “If you wish. Perhaps when you’re a bit older.”

“How old?”

“At least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.”

“And how old was that?”

You smile into his hair. “Give it a year.”

“Mm. Alright.”

The quality of Aemond’s eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of King’s Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, it’s barely noticeable. 

He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You don’t blame him, it’s quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city. 

You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who can’t pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isn’t lost before following him inside. 

The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but it’s familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you. 

“This is a brothel.” He says.

“Aye.” You grin, glancing at Aegon. 

Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. “Tonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.”

Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyse’s eyes through the throngs of men. “I must take my leave.” You say, petting Aemond’s head. “But you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.”

“Alright.” Aemond says. He’s still unsure, clearly, but there’s no time for hesitation once Aegon’s swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. She’s barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder. 

“Princess.” She greets you with a sultry purr. 

“My lady.” You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. “I’ve missed you so.” 

She’s quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. It’s a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until you’re dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until you’re pushing her away. Then it’s your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. You’ve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, she’s confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own. 

“Well, I am no man.” You’d responded. 

It’s an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign she’s been with royalty. You’ve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock she’s ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears. 

Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that you’re completely bare. “What’s wrong?”

Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. He’s always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young. 

Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brother’s back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemond’s breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.

Gently, you break the silence. “Aemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.”

Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemond’s hair. “A pleasure to meet you, my prince.”

“You must tell him what you were telling me.” You say. “Oh, it’s hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.”

He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesn’t leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach. 

The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemond’s nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom. 

“Aemond.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. “Here.”

Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. “A sapphire.” He says. 

“For your eye.” You explain. “I had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.” Jokingly, you add, “And perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.”

He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. “Thank you Jaenara.”

You smile, reveling in the first laugh you’ve won from him in a very long time.

Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegon’s usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king. 

The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge. 

It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. “And what can I do for you, my lady?”

“I am looking for my brother.” You say. 

“He seems to be behind you-”

“My other brother. Aegon.” You clarify. “Was he here last night?”

“I’m afraid not.” She says. 

You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemond’s eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze. 

“Where else, then?” Cole asks. 

“I don’t know.” You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that you’ve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. “This was the last place I could think of.”

Cole swears under his breath. 

Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. “He must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.”

You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most. 

Meleys’ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragon’s maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaena’s arm and try to ignore how your hands shake. 

Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon. 

You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your mother’s womb tremble underneath your grasp. 

You wait, watching Aemond’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.

You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice. 

A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. You’re alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaena’s arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemond’s over her shoulder. 

Alive. Alive. Alive.

Something is happening. They’ve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Storm’s End. It’s been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than you’ve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or what’s being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man. 

Still, there is nothing to do but wait. 

So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemond’s bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems you’d found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerys’s saddlebag when you’d claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things he’d copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasn’t half bad, in your opinion. 

You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside. 

“I had them draw a bath.” You say. “I figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.”

He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. 

“Very thoughtful of you, sister.” He says, eye fluttering shut. 

“Mm.” You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that you’d draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isn’t submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. “What business kept you in council so long?”

A tension settles in his jaw. “Lucerys Velaryon was also at Storm’s End.”

“You failed to win their allegiance?” You ask, surprised. 

“No. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.” You brother opens his eye. “But Lucerys is dead, at my hand.”

You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things weren’t already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. “How?”

Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Vhagar.” He says, his voice cracking slightly. “I only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger… I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she would…” He swallows, collecting himself. “Our mother is less than pleased with me.”

“Our mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.” You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. “You cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.” You pause. “It is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.”

He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair. 

You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window. 

You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each other’s injuries. 

You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. It’s eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, you’re sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within. 

Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the children’s beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall. 

Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail. 

Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop. 

You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward. 

The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerys’ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide. 

“The fuck-” The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin. 

He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows he’s raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth. 

But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest. 

“Kill him!” You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. “Kill him!”

“Jaenara.” Aemond’s voice is low in your ear. “The maesters…”

You try to shake him off, but your brother doesn’t relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerys’ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision. 

“Helaena,” You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.

“With Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.” Aemond assures you. 

“They,” You say, working around the lump in your throat. “Put a knife. To her throat.” You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. “Here.”

“I’m sure she’s being tended to.” He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. “We must tend to you too.”

Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along. 

You watch little Jaehaerys’ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. She’s empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as you’re sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring. 

It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you. 

The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing. 

But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephew’s body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing. 

Helaena’s eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.

You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own. 

“Cole and I will cut them off entirely.” Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rook’s Rest. “And with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.”

You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. “A clever plan.” You agree. “And Aegon also approves?”

Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. “What does it matter?”

“He is the king.” You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. “It is his war that we fight.”

“He is a figurehead.” Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. “At the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.”

“He is our brother, and liege lord.” You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. “You speak treason, Aemond.”

“Mm.” Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. “I forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.”

“He is my brother.” You repeat. “And my Helaena is his wife.”

Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemond’s soft voice breaks through again. “Did you ever let him fuck you?”

The question takes you aback, and you laugh. “What?”

“In all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?” He asks again, unwavering. 

“No.” You say. “I have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.” Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasn’t - isn’t - the nature of your friendship. 

“Hm.” Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. “Vermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.” He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach. 

“Of course.” You agree, confused. 

It’s been too long since you last did this. 

Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight. 

Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when you’d brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears. 

“Princess.”

You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “My sweet lady, my own heart.” You croon. “It has been far too long.”

She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. “I did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.” She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. “Just like when you were younger.”

“Mm.” You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. “Wait, three? Is Aemond-?”

But it’s too late, you know it is as soon as Aegon’s raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face. 

You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who he’d been laying with. Winding Falyse’s hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. “Another time, my lady.”

“Of course.” She says, understanding flashing across her gaze. 

You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry. 

“Aemond.” You say, unsure how to broach the subject. 

“Jaenara.” He returns, icy.

A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. “Come back home with me.” You say. 

You think he’ll spurn you, hiss some insult that’s more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, “Fine.”

He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegon’s behalf in some way, but you don’t get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, “Come.”

You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and you’re pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you won’t reject him, cradling you into his arms. 

When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. “I’m going to kill him.”

It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemond’s eye leaves no room for doubt. “I’m sure you will.”

Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. “I’ll kill him,” He says, rushed between kisses. “And without an heir, I’ll take his place.” His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. “Make you my queen, as he had Helaena.” He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair. 

He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. “You’re betrothed to another.” You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress. 

“As are you.” He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. “Both empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.”

You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, you’re both naked, and he’s hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him. 

His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, “Will you let me?”

As if you really even have a choice in the matter. “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. It’s not the most pleasure you’ve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isn’t unpleasant. 

You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that he’d asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadn’t thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.

He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. “My Jaenara…” He moans. “Always so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.” He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. “Seeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth… my dragon.” He croons. 

You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. It’s gotten better under the maester’s care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemond’s hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple. 

He whimpers again, almost like he’s in pain. “I will put us on the Iron Throne.” He swears, voice breathy. “Our dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.” He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. “I swear it to you.”

“Aemond.” You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides. 

“Tell me that you are mine.” He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you. 

“I’m yours.” You swear. “I’m yours, Aemond.”

He whimpers, and it’s the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemond’s thrusts reach breakneck speed. 

“You’re mine.” He whispers in your ear. “Mine, mine-” He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin. 

You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. “Did you mean it? All that you said?” You ask softly, stroking his hair again. 

“Mm.” He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice. 

You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place. 

You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side. 

But does Aegon really deserve to die?

Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you won’t spurn his advances. You can’t say that you mind too much. 

Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rook’s Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemond’s breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room. 

“You will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rook’s Rest.” You say. 

“Hm.” Aemond’s hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. “The conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.” He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck. 

“Mm.” You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. There’s something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek. 

He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will. 

“You must tell Aegon of your plans.” You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you. 

“He will no doubt find out on his own.” Aemond says. “Either way, they don’t involve him. Rook’s Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.”

“And if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?” You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace. 

“When.” He corrects, almost growling. “When I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.”

“Yet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.” You say. You know he’s getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent. 

You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. “Our brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,” He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. “We will be much greater.”

It’s treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemond’s queen, you would have more power than any woman before you. 

“You sound so sure already.” You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs. 

“That is because I am.”

Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While he’s not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, it’s almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. He’s been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerys’ death. You can’t blame him, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t concerning. 

“They plot behind my back.” He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Aemond. My own hand - and our mother, she…” He trails off. “They mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannot…” He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. “My wine.”

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” You say, doing your best to be firm. 

He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning. 

It’s hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesn’t deserve to die, not after all he’s been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. You’ve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesn’t deserve to die because of a crown he never desired. 

But one cannot simply resign from the throne. 

You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. “Ah.”

“Aegon.” You groan. 

He flaps his hand. “Someone will clean it up. Someone always does.”

“Perhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.” You say, utterly annoyed at your brother’s actions. 

Aegon scoffs. “As if you weren’t also kept in the dark.” His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you don’t look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. “They told you? And not me, their king?”

“I cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.” You say. 

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. “You are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!” He cuts himself off. “But no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you you’re just like the rest of them.”

“Aegon,” You try, placating. “I meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-”

“No, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.” He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. There’s an anger in his eyes that you’ve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words. 

“Aegon-”

A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company. 

Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge. 

“Jaenara.”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. There’s an energy about him that you haven’t seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful. 

“What have you done?” You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice. 

“What I planned to do.” He says, taking you by the arm. “Are you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.”

“I…” You aren’t sure how you feel. Aegon isn’t dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he won’t be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemond’s ambition - isn’t elated at the downfall of the king. 

“Come.” Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegon’s behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake. 

You don’t realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. “My queen.” He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. “Have I pleased you?”

“Mm.” You hum, unable to say the words ‘yes, of course’. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. It’s more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle he’s just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face. 

“It will not be long now,” He says, breathy and rough. “Soon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?” He asks. “Will you give me more than one?”

“As many as you’d like.” You choke out. There isn’t another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As you’re sure he will. 

“We will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.” He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition. 

He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin. 

It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, though you’ve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you. 

“As I, you.” You return. 

What you can’t decide, is if you feel the same.

[sparklingchim]

lwh oc distracting jungkook while he’s working out or boxing 😋😗😉

word count: 1.1k

warnings: jelly n possessive koo 😋, spit !!, blowjob, titty fuck, dirty talk, boob-obsessed jk obv, cum play, cum eating, the initial necklace makes a comback !

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"20 minutes ago, you said you'd be done in five minutes."

Your huffed complaint barely reaches Jungkook's ears as he continues to throw punches at the heavy bag in front of him.

You're sitting cross-legged next to him, pulling at his shorts to pull his attention towards you.

"Just five more minutes, baby." He casts a quick glance at you before focusing on his training again.

"I'm boored."

Your fingers trail to his drawstrings. You pull at them without Jungkook noticing. His black Calvin's peek out and your inital idea to just annoy him morphs into something more impish.

Your fingertips slowly brush over the front of his joggers.

Jungkook’s little grunts from above come to a halt when he peers down at you, brows pulled together in confusion. He tilts his head to the side when you meet his gaze with a mischievous smile.

“Baby.” Jungkook’s chest rises with every heavy breath, his skin shimmering with sweat. “What are you doing?”

“Relax for a bit, Koo,” you say softly. Hand cupping him through the fabric. “This is only making you angrier.” Batting your eyelashes you ask, “What’s got you so mad, hm?”

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, eyes closed as you squeeze him.

You can’t shake the feeling that Jungkook is still holding onto some tension from last night’s Christmas gathering. While having dinner with friends and hitting up a bar, you couldn’t ignore Jungkook’s upset pout on his face, the lingering glances with his doe eyes and his subtly possessive hands always reaching for you.

And all that just because he was jealous of Taehyung. It’s been ages since you last saw Taehyung, your former high school boyfriend, and there was a lot to catch up on. Jungkook pretended it didn’t bother him, but his façade crumbled easily – just like now, with his tense jaw and clenched hands in white wraps, still staunchly denying any reason for his anger.

“I’m a much better distraction than punching a stupid bag, don’t you think?” You pull his joggers and briefs down in one motion and crawl on your knees in front of him. Your mouth closes around his tip and Jungkook shudders.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You sure no one will come here?” you ask, stroking his cock with your hand.

“It’s been closed for hours.” Jungkook gathers your hair in his fist. “I wouldn’t let anyone see you like this. But we can go to the office if you don’t feel comfortable here.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter around his cock. You take him deeper into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his hard dick. Your eyes sting with tears when his tip reaches the back of your throat. Jungkook curses, holding your head in that position.

“So cute,” he mutters. His thumb brushes over the little tear in the corner of your eye. He moves his hips back a little before he pushes his cock further down your throat again. “Damn, baby. Taking my cock so well.”

You heave for air once he’s all the way out, hands unconsciously squeezing his muscular thighs. Jungkook strokes his cock in leisurely movements. You dip your head and gently suck on his balls. His head falls back, plush mouth parted to utter soft moans.

You feel Jungkook tugging on your pullover. “Lemme see your tits,” he urges.

Your tongue sweeps from his balls across his cock till you give him a little kiss on the tip. A lovestruck smile settles on his face, growing even bigger when he sees your naked tits.

He bends forward to squeeze the supple flesh in his hands, rolling them around in his palms. His tongue pokes his cheek, a hungry look creeping into his eyes.

“Wanna fuck them,” he says.

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, raising a little on your knees.

Jungkook spits down on his cock, rubbing it all over himself. He teases your puckered nipples with his tip, pulling a couple whines from you. You let a droplet of spit trail down on the valley between your tits and he catches it with his cock, rubbing spreading the bit of lubrication on your skin.

You press your boobs against his cock. A shaky breath slips Jungkook’s mouth and moves his hips in needy motions.

“Fuck, I love fucking your tits,” he rasps. His eyes travel over the dainty necklace around your throat, a sparkly J moving along his thrusts. “All mine.” He cups your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“You always want me, right? Always gonna be mine.”

“Uh-huh. Always.”

“Good girl.”

Your tummy tingles and you smile up at him.

Jungkook lubricates his cock with more saliva “Tits are so soft,” he whispers. “Gonna cum all over them.” His grunts turn louder as he gets closer to cumming.

He looks so pretty above you with his chiselled chest glistening, cheeks tinted in a rosy colour and his doe eyes looking down at you with lust and adoration.

“’m so close.” His hips stagger and you feel his cum shooting over your chest. Jungkook slows down, watching his cum paint over your boobs with drowsy eyes. “Fuck,” he moans, palming his cock and squeezing out the last bits.

“Feeling better now?” you ask, blinking up at him.

“So much better.” He runs the tip of his cock over his cum, smearing it across your tits. Gathering a bit of cum on his cock, he holds it in front of your mouth. You lick the cum off his tip and swallow it.

“Next time when we’re hanging out with Taehyung you don’t have to get jealous,” you tell Jungkook as you stand up.

His gaze is fixed on your cum-covered boobs before he casts his eyes up, an offended frown contorting his face.

“I wasn’t jealous!”

“No?” You raise your brows. “Your hands just naturally were all over me when I talked to Tae?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

You giggle. “Stop being silly.” You throw your arms around his neck, standing on your tip toes. “You’re the only one I want,” you whisper and give him a soft kiss.

“I know.” Jungkook’s fingers skim over your back. “Just need to hear it more often.” He plants another sweet kiss on your lips.

Jungkook’s phone starts ringing.

“Time to pick up Nabi!” you exclaim, eyes sparkling.

Jungkook grins, pulling up his sweatpants and briefs.

“Lemme get some tissues for you first.”

“You think Nabi was a bit mean to Namjoon again?” you ask.

“Oh, she loves annoying him.”

[goldfades]

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 / 𝐖𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎 ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | request! -> "paige with teammate!reader? it’d be soo cute i think" | you and paige were best friends on and off the court, and after an exhilarating win you spend the time together, relishing in the win (and each other)

─ word count | 2.7k

─ warnings | mention of drinking/partying, slightly suggestive, just idiots who are in love with one another, touchy paige (obvs), slightly oblivious reader, energy drink abuse 🤑, lots of teasing/banter, confession that turns into ... A SWEET KISS DUHHH

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @boiliatfu and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

─ ev's notes | i hope y'all enjoyed, this may a little too fast-paced but i would totally be down to writing a whole full-fleshed out fic on just this concept cus it's so cute! anyway, enjoy!

"THERE IS NO WAY we're gonna drink right now," Azzi yawned as she leaned back into the hotel bed.

You and Paige exchanged glances before laughing, your expressions both mirroring one another. You were both still high off of the win, you weren't sure how everyone was up right now screaming with excitement. But there was still some exhaustion lingering in Paige's expression ─ of course you didn't blame her, she'd played the entire time.

The whole team was downstairs celebrating right now but the three of you decided to take a short break and go back to Azzi's room to relax. That 'short' break turned into fifteen minutes and then now, it's been almost forty.

"I'm gonna go to bed," Azzi continued.

You groaned dramatically as you rolled your eyes. "Oh come on, Azzi."

Before Paige could join you, Azzi gave you both a pointed look. You realized that there was no way either of you could convince her to come back downstairs so you just sighed. You and Paige glanced at each other again before she gestured to get up and the both of you got up from Azzi's bed.

You got up and made your way to the door while Paige followed behind you. "So, we gonna go back downstairs or..."

"My room?" Paige's eyebrows raised as you gave her a grin and nodded. Paige's hand instinctively found a place on the small of your back as she began leading you to her room.

As she led you to her room, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement mixed with a tinge of nervousness. Sure, you and Paige had been close friends for years, but there was always an underlying tension between you, something unspoken yet very noticable.

Once inside Paige's room, she closed the door behind you with a soft click. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the bedside lamp casting a warm glow across the room.

Paige didn't waste any time, she crashed into the bed with a thud and an exhausted groan as you let out a small laugh. "I'm so sore," she groaned as you joined her on the bed.

She glanced up to meet your gaze with a smile. "How tired are you, from like... one to ten?"

"Maybe like... a six?" You responded as you leaned back on the headboard. "Why?"

"Just wanted to make sure you won't fall asleep, like last time." Paige teased as you rolled your eyes.

"That was one time!" You you protested with a playful swat at Paige's arm. "And I was exhausted from the bus ride, you can't blame me for dozing off."

Paige chuckled as she sat up and scooted closer to you. "Sure, sure. We'll just have to make sure tonight is more exciting than whatever boring movie we were watching last time."

"Yeah well, I don't think I'm falling asleep. I had like, three redbulls." You mention casually as Paige's jaw drops slightly.

"Dude, that's so bad for you." Paige's expression was filled with concern but she couldn't help the amusement in her tone. "Jeez, you're gonna have a heart attack right here, on my bed."

You shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "It's worth it for the win, don't you think?"

Paige chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah, but you love me anyway," you teased, nudging her playfully with your elbow.

Paige's laughter filled the room, warm and infectious. "Yeah, yeah, I guess I do," she admitted with a smile, her eyes softening as she looked at you.

You noticed how her gaze lingered on your features for far longer than any friend would have and you definitely didn't miss the way she wet her lips as she looked away. Your stomach flipped and you felt yourself begin to feel warm, you had no idea why little things like that made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.

Was it just the adrenaline from the game, or was there something more?

"Have you showered yet?" Paige asked, seemingly out of nowhere as you laughed at her randomness.

"Yeah, right after the game. Did you?"

Paige sighed as she leaned back into the bed, a yawn escaping her lips. "I did but only my body, I haven't washed my hair. I wanna shower but I also wanna stay here, with you."

"Well you can do both," you replied as Paige's smirk widened. You quickly rolled your eyes as a blush began to appear on your face. "Not like that, I meant you can shower and then I'll just hang out in your room."

"Or you can come in the bathroom with me," Paige got up from the bed. "So we can talk and stuff, just look away when I'm naked."

You couldn't help but laugh at Paige's suggestion, the blush on your cheeks deepening at the thought of being so close to her in such an intimate setting.

"Are you sure about that?" you teased, trying to hide your nerves behind a playful tone.

Paige shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not? It's not like we haven't seen each other naked before."

You chuckled nervously, you couldn't argue with that logic. Your cheeks flush at the memory of the countless times you and Paige had shared changing rooms or gone swimming together.

After years of friendship, there were few boundaries left between you and Paige. Still, the idea of being alone with her in the warm confines of the bathroom sent a rush of nervousness through you.

"Yeah, but this is different," you pointed out, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with nervousness at the prospect.

Paige's smile softened, and she reached out to gently squeeze your hand. "It's okay, I promise I won't make it weird. We're just two friends hanging out, right?"

"Fine, okay." You sighed as you let Paige pull you into the bathroom. You quickly faced the door as Paige ran the water to the hottest temperature.

As Paige stepped into the shower, you took a seat on the closed toilet lid, trying your best to keep your gaze averted as she began to lather up her hair. You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the door, trying to ignore the tantalizing temptation of stealing a glance at Paige. I mean, if she was in your situation, she definitely wouldn't have hid her ultimate glimpse.

Paige's voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present moment. "So, how's your shoulder feeling after the game?"

You blinked, grateful for the distraction. "Oh, it's not too bad," you replied. You had injured your shoulder at practice a couple weeks ago and it didn't hurt too bad anymore, Paige was just being over-protective.

Paige nodded, her movements becoming more relaxed. "That's good. I almost lost my shit when that girl hit your shoulder, I thought she hurt you or something."

You laughed as you shook your head. "I know, I could tell. It got us a foul shot, didn't it?"

Paige chuckled, a hint of relief evident in her voice. "I know, a win's a win. I'm glad it didn't hurt too bad, though. I would've killed her if she got you even more injured,"

You grinned at Paige's protective streak, appreciating the fierce loyalty she had always shown you. "I don't doubt it for a second,"

"Good cus I would've, trust me." Paige joked as she finished up her shower and stepped out, causing you to shut your eyes. Paige laughed as she rolled your eyes at your dramatics.

"Alright, drama queen," Paige teased, reaching for a towel to dry off. "You can open your eyes now."

You both made your way out of the bathroom, you got on the bed with a thud as Paige began to get dressed. You kept your eyes on the phone screen, ignoring Paige's laughter. After she'd gotten dressed, she put on her glasses on got into bed.

You felt the mattress shift as Paige settled in beside you, her warmth radiating against your side. You finally tore your gaze away from your phone screen, unable to resist the urge to sneak a glance at her. She looked effortlessly beautiful, her hair still slightly damp from the shower, her glasses perched on her nose.

"You played good tonight," Paige spoke as she smiled contently at you. This moment felt really intimate, the dimmed lights and the warmth of being so close to Paige. "And you looked so damn good," her tone was amused but you didn't miss the slightly serious undertone beneath her words.

"Thanks," your voice was soft as you returned her smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at her compliment. "You were amazing out there too but I'm sure you don't need me to tell you."

Paige's smile widened at your words, a hint of color rising to her cheeks. "Well, it wouldn't hurt," she joked as you let out a chuckle. "But seriously, though," she continued, her gaze locking with yours, "you looked incredible tonight. I couldn't take my eyes off you."

Your heart skipped a beat at Paige's words, it was rare for her to be so openly affectionate and genuine, and yet here she was, laying her feelings bare for you to see.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Paige continued. "I'm proud of you, genuinely. Tonight was just kind of like..." she paused, unsure of how to say it. "I don't know, but I just admire you a lot. In more ways than one."

"What do you mean?" Your voice came out quiet and slightly breathless as your heart raced.

Paige laughed nervously. "I don't know, I've always thought you were really pretty. And super funny, you always match my vibe. You took care of me when I was injured and even in my worst moments I never felt like you were against me. I like being around you and like... it's different than with KK or Ice or anyone else on the team, or anyone else I know."

"Am I... uh, making you uncomfortable?" Paige spoke after a pause.

You took a moment to process Paige's words, feeling a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. Her confession caught you off guard, but at the same time, it filled you with a sense of ease.

"No, God, no. Not at all," you reassured her quickly, your voice soft, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. "I'm just... I'm really glad you feel that way. Because I feel the same, you know? Being around you, it's like... it's like being home."

If this was any other moment or any other person, you'd be cringing at that. But that was the honest-to-God truth and the only way you could possibly explain how she makes you feel.

Paige's gaze softened, a hint of relief flickering in her eyes. "Really?"

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, really. You're one of the most incredible people I know, Paige. And... I'm just really grateful to have you in my life."

"I've been meaning to tell you that for a while now," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I was scared of how you'd react. I didn't want to ruin our friendship or make things weird between us, especially with the team and all."

"Me too, I don't know when I started liking you like that but when I realized it, I was like 'oh shit'." You joked as you let out a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

Paige's lips curled into a grin, laughing along with you. "Yeah, 'oh shit' pretty much sums it up,"

There was a moment of silence for a couple seconds as you glanced back at Paige, feeling the weight of the moment. You'd just confessed your feelings for the girl you'd liked since... well, since the moment you'd met her, basically.

"So, what now?" You whispered as you broke the silence, feeling her gaze on you.

Paige's gaze softened as she met your eyes, a tender smile playing at her lips. She took your hand in her lap, pulling you closer. You mirrored her smile as her hand moved up to cup your cheek, you felt your breath hitch as her gaze moved down to your lips.

In that moment, time seemed to slow down as Paige's touch sent a rush of warmth coursing through you. You couldn't tear your eyes away from hers, the intensity of the moment holding you captive.

"We take things one step at a time," Paige whispered, her voice barely above a murmur, yet it echoed in the quiet space between you. "And right now, I want to be here with you."

Paige's gaze flickered up to meet yours, her eyes dark with emotion. "Is this okay?

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "More than okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

Paige leaned in closer, her breath mingling with yours as she closed the distance between you. The touch of her lips against yours was soft and careful, it felt like time slowed down. She pulled you even closer as you let her explore your mouth, letting a pleased noise.

You melted into the kiss, feeling a surge of emotion swell within you as Paige's warmth enveloped you in a comforting embrace. It was as if everything you had ever felt for her, every longing and desire, was finally being realized in one single, perfect moment.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the kiss, the world around you fading away as you surrendered to the overwhelming rush of excitement coursing through you.

You were too enveloped in the kiss to hear the hotel room open, the only thing either you felt was the weight of one another.

"Oh shit!" KK's voice made you two pull away from each other as quickly as you could, your eyes wide as you caught your breath. Ice quickly followed behind her, looking confused until she took in the scene in front of her.

You and Paige scrambled to compose yourselves, cheeks flushed and hearts racing as you exchanged glances. KK stood in front of the bed, her eyes wide with surprise but her lips curved into a smirk, while Ice stared at the two of you with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

"You owe me 50$ dollars," Ice blurted as she looked back at KK, a smile on her face.

"Shit, yeah. I should've listened to you and Aubrey." KK rolled her eyes as you and Paige exchanged confused looks.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, a note of confusion in your voice.

"We made a bet on whether you two would finally admit your feelings for each other tonight," Ice explained, her tone amused. "KK said that you guys would confess to each other later but me and Aubrey could tell, tonight would be the night."

Paige's eyebrows shot up in surprise, her lips forming an 'o' of realization. "Wait, you guys were betting on us?" she exclaimed, annoyance in her tone.

KK chuckled, nodding. "Uh, yeah. It wasn't like you guys hid it very well."

"Paige had the worst case of heart eyes I've ever seen... like ever," Ice added, unable to suppress a smirk. "I mean, it was practically written all over her face every time she looked at you."

Paige's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she couldn't suppress a smirk at Ice's teasing. "Can you blame me? Have you seen her?"

Your cheeks flushed as you averted from their gaze, feeling a mix of embarrassment and flattery at Paige's words. You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth spread through you at her compliment, even as you tried to conceal your blush.

Ice and KK exchanged amused glances, their smiles widening at the banter between you and Paige. "Well, I think it's safe to say the feeling's mutual," KK remarked with a grin.

You glanced back at Paige, feeling a surge of affection for her as you met her gaze.

"I take either cash or Apple Pay, your choice." Ice glanced at KK as she groaned, taking out her wallet. But your gaze didn't falter from Paige as her hand found yours under the blanket, squeezing it.

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[satoruhour]

the racer toji smut won’t leave me alone so here is my additional brainrot bc my sister in christ we must suffer together <3

what about fem!reader who’s bf is a total ass bc he dragged her to the races but ignores her for the whole night bc he’s too busy showing off to the other guys and makes fun of her for not knowing shit about cars. she went to support him but he’s being so shitty and she goes to sulk alone near some quiet part.

a little boy comes to join her and he introduces himself as megumi, he hates crowds and loud noises so he sits with reader for a while, until his daddy comes along and his daddy is hot. toji introduces himself, asking what a pretty girl is doing alone in these parts and offers to show her his car but out from nowhere comes slimy bf who just embarrases himself trying to kiss toji’s ass and reader is like i need to break up with him

but ofc toji puts him in his place and tells him his gf is way out his league, and a real man would never leave his girl alone the entire night. it shuts him up fr and toji, megumi and reader leave to go check out some cars bc it’s nice to actually have someone tell you all about the cars instead of being made fun of for not knowing

the rest is obvs history bc megumi loves hanging out with reader and toji can’t keep his eyes off her. and vice versa hehe

a/n: jelly ur mind >>>>> also how did i write a whole FIC about this omfg im sick. i claim i dont like toji then write like this 💀💀 + can u tell how much i love making fun of incompetent men by the way i talk about reader’s shitty boyfriend cause youd be right. i hate men. ✶ / 2.2k

the stuffy parking lot had been a routine place for you at this point, taking the familiar route past shibuya 109 and into miyamasu-zaka avenue. you’re not entirely pumped to be in the car beside your boyfriend right now, who’s talking loudly and obnoxiously into his phone, but that isn’t what is irking you right now. you’re more worried when you reach there, sure to come face to face with his equally obnoxious friends who just can’t shut up about their cars.

it would be fine if they were being cocky and could back up their modifications and NOS with proper results from racing, but they were all losers, both figuratively and literally. you sigh for the umpteenth time when daisuke asks if you cancelled the dinner with your friends because he was going to celebrate his ‘sure’ win and you stifle the urge to laugh. sometimes you wonder why you’re still here.

“we’re here babe, c’mon, get out. i’ll go park the car and come back to get you,” as daisuke tells you this, he’s patting your thigh like you’re a dog, smiling his stupid smile and your brows knit together.

“can’t you just drive to wherever you’re parking?”

“ahh… no can do, baby — my parking’s somehow better when you’re not stressin’ me out in the passenger seat.” what were you doing dating a man who couldn’t even park? you groan into your hands, picking up your bag and exiting the vehicle, making sure to slam the door extra hard even if you’ll be getting a lecture later about harming his ‘baby’.

he’s perfectly fine watching your tantrum and doesn’t say anything except for continuing to smile, driving off without a care as he looks for a parking spot. thankfully you could save your face a little, since you were still early to the meet, a minimal amount of people lingering around the abandoned parking lot in their miniskirts and tights and tramp stamps — a look you definitely would’ve loved to try out if not for your boyfriend telling you you can’t show off your legs.

it’s like he has some personal vendetta against you, but really you think it’s just because he saved you from an unfavourable situation before and while at the time you expressed mutual feelings for him, he just might be holding you hostage with that favour he did for you, unconsciously feeling terrible if you were to leave him.

a few minutes pass, and then ten, and you’re waiting for a full fifteen minutes against a wall, all the while the classic crowd of tokyo is trickling into the car park, cars driving in slowly and you’re dreading every time someone enters, sure that you’re being judged for being daisuke’s significant other. and when the waiting time finally hits twenty, you’re taking matters into your own hands and turning the corner where he drove.

just to see him conversing with his loser friends who were already somehow there, showing off their own cars which they spent money on for nothing and laughing up a storm. you lug your body over, because while you were still somehow okay with daisuke, you couldn’t stand his friends.

“babe! ah, my bad, should’ve texted you that the boys were already here and that i was with ’em,” his affection was limited to just a hand on your waist, not wanting to look like a softie in front of them, “we were just talking about our updated NOS, or ‘nitrous oxide system’ for my cute baby who couldn’t remember it the first time.”

all you can do is burn in embarrassment as they laughed, ridiculing you for the mistake you made ages ago about the terminology of street racing that sometimes you couldn’t exactly grasp. you did your best each time, sometimes googling things about racing that you wouldn’t know otherwise, but because it was still pretty illegal in japan, it was difficult to find the specific terms they used. but with how much your boyfriend teaches you (as condescending as it was), you probably could’ve written an essay.

and it wasn’t a one-time thing either, from smacking your hand off the stick shift to pestering you about closing the car door more gently, you’re soon to reach your limit.

“yeah, i know what a NOS is, bitch.” you mumble under your breath, turning away from him as he continued joking with his boys before one of them shouted out someone else’s name, hiroshi, you heard and they all pile over each other like excited dogs, seeing his new and improved Mitsubishi Eclipse, a bright, striking green and your boyfriend follows them easily.

throughout the different races of the evening and the excitement, you’re left chasing after your boyfriend who can’t help but sidle up to different racers and their cars, and the dreaded situation you hoped wouldn’t arise, did. daisuke loved asking you questions with confusing numbers and letters, and then laughed in your face when you picked the wrong option.

so when he asked you whether a L72 or a 327 small-block was better for his sorry excuse of a Camaro from 1981, you answered that you knew they had used 327s for Yenko Camaros, but without the knowledge they had discontinued it since it wasn’t optimal performance for the car. “yeah, no, darlin’, they already stopped it and switched to big-blocks after ’69… i thought i taught you this!”

with lips pressed tightly together, you find that you hardly want to be here any longer, body turning hot with shame and tears prickling at your eyes. you don’t chase after daisuke when he walks off and nudges hiroshi about your limited knowledge about cars, hands clenching and unclenching into fists before you’re tugged gently on your jacket sleeve.

in front of you is a young boy, playing with his fingers shyly with a head full of messy black hair and strong features that scrunch up into an anxious expression and you’re squatting and wondering what business a young boy like him had in scenes like this before he’s explaining how he hates the loud music and noises of metal against metal and the sound of tires.

you frown, understanding him immediately as you ask if you can hold his hand to which he nods, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“fushiguro… megumi,” he mumbles, flinching when there’s an erupt of cheers from the concluding race.

“oh, honey, let’s go,” you squeeze his hand in solidarity, “let’s sit far away from the action, okay? you like music?”

megumi sniffles a little and nods again, calming down the further he is from all the cars, sitting down on the curb in an area where there’s fewer racers, it being a deadend for the route. soon, you’re fishing out your earphones to insert into his ears, playing a few favourites of yours at a softer volume to drown out the noise of the cars. you’re content to find someone as clueless as you in this whole thing, even if the other was a child, and you almost want to chastise his parents for leaving him so vulnerable in a place like this when said parent is looking left and right, jogging while looking for his son.

“that’s my dad…” megumi mumbles with hope in his voice as the man starts to call out for him, expression morphed into worry from the moment he looked down from his car to find megumi gone. the boy’s hands you back your earphones with a slight smile and a ‘thank you’ before running off, and you’re lunging forward just to make sure he’s safe, running a little behind him while he navigates his father’s voice. it seems like he doesn’t have much care for the loud noises when his dad is finally in view because he speeds immediately into his arms before a tall man comes into view, and you’re blessed with seeing this hot-ass dad in a baggy long-sleeved top.

“hey… thank you for lookin’ out for the kid. i’m fushiguro toji,” toji nods towards you in acknowledgement, looking past your face after appreciating it before glancing down to your figure. “what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

megumi who was propped up against his shoulder opts to cling to his father’s neck, hiding from the rest of the world while you walk slowly alongside the man, fingers thumbing the strap of your bag to keep your grounded. you were quick to explain that you were here because of your boyfriend, and you swear a glint of disappointment flashed in his eyes, but you don’t give it much thought because soon the man himself is running up to you with a renewed sense of confidence.

it was probably because toji was here; and sure, you knew about fushiguro toji and how much your boyfriend loved him, but you didn’t know how popular he could get, drawing countless pairs of eyes to your interaction. 

“hi! hi, fushiguro toji right?” and you’re already ready for the clownery to start when he opens his mouth, “i’m wakashita daisuke, big fan! any chance you’ll get back into racing?” daisuke is spouting so much shit you can’t even bear to look up but there’s one sentence that has got toji riled up, using just one hand to threaten your boyfriend who looks scared out of his mind. “you’d look so good with a Ford Mustang too, why don’t you sell off that old Corvette you’ve got—”

and soon toji is clutching onto the collar of his shirt, easily pulling him off the ground as the people surrounding you laugh and whoop. seems like you weren’t the only one who hated him.

“that Corvette means something to me, not like that piece of junk you call your Camaro. and at least i treat my car better than how you treat your girlfriend,” he spits the word like it’s venom, “who you can’t even respect as a person.”

daisuke is plopped onto the floor, but toji easily backs him up with a finger to his chest, “laughing like an idiot when she doesn’t know about engines and then saying you taught her — that would reflect your efforts as a teacher, wouldn’t it?” the man smirks when your boyfriend stutters out his answer, the crowd oooh-ing like it’s a free show.

“and then you leave her stranded for the whole night to hang with your boys, in a place where she’s uncomfortable and vulnerable. but you couldn’t give a shit, can’t you? you’re too busy sucking your friends’ cocks to notice.” there’s howls of laughter now (you can’t help but let out a giggle too) with how ruthless toji is being, all the while having a kid on his shoulder, but you imagine megumi is used to these types of altercations by now.

toji leans down to spit in his face, “you disrespect a woman in my eyes, you’re a joke to me.”

he just rolls your eyes, heading off from your stupid boyfriend and toji fully expects you to follow, beckoning you to go with him when you stay rooted. “c’mon, don’t mind him. he didn’t deserve you.” toji mutters, pressing a kiss to megumi’s temple as he leads you away from the scene silently, and you leap at the opportunity to thank him immediately.

“to be fair… i did all the research for my boyfriend,” toji interrupts with ex-, and you laugh, “yeah, ex-. but i’m not entirely opposed to learning about cars. they seem kinda cool.”

“is this your way of telling me you want me to teach you?” what’s a little flirting with a guy, anyway? even the other said it himself, daisuke didn’t deserve you. you nod with a sheepish smile, petting megumi’s head when he rouses from his dad’s shoulder, heart warming at how the young boy shoots you a gleaming smile.

toji shrugs with a little chuckle, “sure.” he’s keen on showing you his Chevrolet Corvette at the other end of the parking lot first, telling you about the specifications and the modifications he made for it to be suitable for drifting. he explains how his Corvette had to be converted to a rear-wheel-drive car, or a RWD to support the heavy stress on the back wheels to make a successful drift turn.

toji tells you the differences between a clutch kick and a shift lock and how to sustain a drift on a sharp turn, excited at finally finding someone who didn’t have a clue about racing. he even offers to show you, but you’re a little too intimidated by being in the passenger seat with him, especially when it’s going at high speeds.

“maybe another day,” you offer and toji picks up on your insinuation, trying to stifle at grin that maybe this attraction wasn’t one-sided. he liked the way you talked to megumi, he liked the way you intently listened about his love for cars, and he couldn’t wait to get you in his car with a hand to your thigh.

“i’ll hold you to your offer, darlin’.” the name sounded so much better coming from his mouth, an attractive smile lining his face before he offered his free arm for you to hang on, gasping silently when you felt how toned his arm was. oh, the late night thoughts you already knew you were gonna have…

“i’ll tell you about the other cars here, let’s go.”

thirsts and drabble requests are open!

[jayke0]

Sorry, Love

Summary: You and Steven had discussed the idea of somno, but never actually gotten round to doing it... until now.

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem reader

Rating: 18+ obvs, nsfw

Warnings/content: somno, desperate and pervy Steven, male masturbation, humping, mentions of using/being used, rubbing pussy with cock (idk what that's called), unprotected sex, p in v, creampie.

.................................

The idea of touching you in your sleep seemed somewhat alien to Steven. He couldn't grasp the thought that you'd want to be touched by him when you aren't even able to feel the pleasure yourself. However, the more he tossed the thought around in his head, the more excited he'd become with it. Of course, you explained the ins and outs of it to him (literally), and it's not like he's a novice at reading the signs from your body... hell, he's probably better at it than you on some occasions.

One night, after a considerable serving of vegan lasagna, you fall asleep on the couch with your head resting in Steven's lap, and that's when he's reminded of your conversation. His cock stirs under your head while he gently plays with your hair, his tongue darting out to lick his lips in hesitation. Carefully, his hand glides over his joggers and grips the outline of his cock to squeeze lightly and get himself hard; which isn't difficult. His other fingers trace your facial features, feather light touches contrasting with the grip he has around his buldge.

She's so pretty when she sleeps. He thinks to himself, a soft pant leaving his lips as he simultaneously runs his thumb over your bottom lip and the tip of his cock. Sliding his hand into his joggers, he pulls his cock out finally and gives himself a few harsh tugs. Your face is just centimetres away from his cock while he pumps his fist around himself, staring at your beautiful features. His thumb swipes over the tip again and that's when he lets out a soft moan of your name, his teeth latching onto his bottom lip in an attempt to not wake you with his noises.

It feels really good doing this, perversely good, he continues to think to himself, she has no bloody idea, not a clue in the world-

His hand starts moving faster, the intervals in which he teases the tip of his cock now becoming shorter.

I wanna cum all over her face- shit- I'm gonna cum on her.

His chest heaves, and just as quickly as he'd gotten hard, he cums over his hand and your face with strained moans, making sure to get it on your lips. The sight in itself would be enough to make him hard again, but he doesn't want to push his luck, or run the risk of freaking you out.

A few days later, he divulges what he did to your face, and much to his surprise (even after the discussion about it), you're not mad at him.

"Steven, i told you that it's ok, it's... hot" you say, chuckling a little bit as you finish your pancakes he'd lovingly made for you.

"God, are you sure? Please tell me if it made you uncomfortable, i mean yeah it was a good wank but i wouldn't want it to be at the expense of your comfor-"

"Steven! Shut up" you say as your hands land on his face, stroking his cheeks with your fingers which soothes him, "i like it, ok?"

"Right- yeah of course, sorry, Love." Steven presses his nose into the palm of your hand, closing his eyes to enjoy your touch.

"You can do more than that, too" you add and gently move your hands down his toned arms to his hands, which are still fidgetting in his lap "i wouldn't mind it if you wanted to touch me, y'know, in all the places you like." You bring his hands up to touch your chest while your eyes linger on his, the gesture making his body falter and his shoulders drop a little in submission.

"You know how to touch me, Steven, so do it, use me."

Those words make steven visibly shiver, you always know how to loosen him up and get him comfortable, and that's one of the things he loves the most about you.

Even so, after a week of waiting, Steven still hasn't taken the opportunity to indulge in his fantasies... even after multiple occasions where you've made yourself fall asleep before him with nothing but a baggy t-shirt on in hopes you'd wake up with his cock burried inside you.

As you get ready for bed and pull that same old baggy shirt on, you notice something is up with steven, almost like he's feeling on edge or ansty; but you know that look, the way his eyes rake over your body and his tongue laps at his lips, he wants you, and bad.

You take that as an opportunity as your tummy fills with butterflies; maybe if you leave him like this, he'll finally act on his impulses and fuck you awake, so that's exactly what you do. Walking right past him, you get into bed and snuggle under the sheets, though the way your body is already reacting with excitement makes it hard for you to drift off, but eventually you do.

Many thoughts roam around Steven's psyche, ranging from she wants this, she's told me she's ok with it, to oh god what if she doesn't though and i misinterpreted it. Despite his doubts, however, the urge has grown too strong, and once he carefully removes the covers from your body, he's reassured by the position you've chosen to fall asleep in.

With no underwear on and your right leg coming up to your belly, your ass is perfectly exposed to him, and he can see the way your slick glistens in the dim light of the moon. The sight makes his half hard cock twitch in his joggers, and slowly he crawls over to you, wrapping his whole body around you.

Now usually, that'd be the perfect position for steven to fall asleep in, because loves cuddling you more than anything in the world, but the way he can feel your ass pressing against his crotch makes that difficult for him. His breathing becomes laboured as he starts tentatively rolling his hips against you, the fabric rubbing against the tip of his cock in a way that he knows will stain them with his precum, but that's the last thing he cares about right now. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, and if you were awake you'd be able to feel his muscles constricting you in the best way, holding you in place while he uses you to get off.

His forehead rests on the back of your head, his fingers sliding over your skin and up to your chest where you cups one of your boobs; admittedly one of his favourite parts of your body. He circles your nipples with his index finger in the way that's been proven to work on you in the past, and even now, as your brain sleeps, your body pushes back on him, rocking your hips in time with his.

That gesture simply urges Steven on, and his worries soon melt away, leaving him with pure desire to use your body. His face burries in your neck before he starts talking quietly to himself... and maybe you, or at least your sleeping brain.

"Shit love, you have no idea how much i love this," he reaches down and takes his cock out of his joggers, sliding it between your thighs thanks to your arousal from just thinking about this scenario earlier. "Seems like you like it too... this what you wanted? Is this why you've been wearing nothing but this cute shirt?" He pants softly and his hips rock a little less haphazardly now, fucking your thighs like he does with your cunt. "God i wanna do this to you every night" he groans "i know how deep you sleep... wonder if you'd even wake up if i put it inside you.." he thinks outloud.

You stir a little, but not enough to wake, so Steven continues what he's doing and holds his cock to your hole "i wanna fuck you awake, love" he mumbles, though it's more of a whimper as he pushes in carefully but surprisingly easily "bloody hell, you really do like this, don't you?"

He pulls out slowly and pauses for a second before thrusting back into you again...

..And that's when you wake up.

Steven's whole body freezes against you when you tilt your head towards him, fear gripping his nerves as if he'd been caught robbing a bank.

"Fucking hell baby, finally" you groan sleepily to him, the tone of your voice a mixture of lust and sleepiness. "Been waiting for you to fuck me awake all week, Steven." You gaze at him with passion while your hand wraps around his wrist "keep fucking me baby, please."

That's all Steven needs before he starts thrusting into you again, his hips setting a desperate and fast pace as if he'd been holding back just for you. "Been wanting to fuck you like this all week, love" he mumbles, though it's more of a whimper "it's all I've been able to.. to think about." His groans are loud and breathy, so he buries his face in your neck in an attempt to hide it.

"You should've done it sooner-" your head rests back against his while moans fall from your own lips "I've touched myself thinking about this so many times baby" you add, which warrants a particularly loud moan from the man.

Sliding his hand down your tummy, he wiggles his fingers between your thighs to find that bundle of nerves, and when he does you buck your hips against his hand "fuck! Steven that's it- that's good.. shit you fuck me so well!-" Your grip becomes tighter on his wrist as your orgasm builds blindingly fast now; faster than you can tell him, but that's ok, he knows your body better than you.

"I can feel you, dove, please- ah- please cum for me, cum on my cock, darling-" it all comes out strained as steven holds back his own orgasm, his hips stuttering and holding on just long enough to feel you tighten around his cock. Your moans fill the room while your body convulses on him, his cock still mercilessly fucking you through your orgasm till you're shaking.

" 'm gonna cum love- shit!" Steven fills you with his arousal, your contracting cunt milking him fucking dry until he's twitching and whimpering with overstimulation.

You both stay still for a long time, calming down from your collective orgasms, and part of you wishes that you could just go back to sleep in his arms now.

Steven's the first to break the comfortable silence. "That really was great, darling" he mumbles softly with a yawn "are you ok?" He kisses your cheek and you turn to face him with a massive grin "more than ok, baby" you reply.

"Let's do that more often."

.

Tagging people: @red-hydra @steven-grants-world @automnepoet @the-king-87 @lokisremainingsanity @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[uhohdad]

cries i don't think my ask went thru i don't know how to tell when ur doing requests or whatever anyways. i love bullying soft!könig i imagine it's hard to break him down at first but he's got some weaknesses? right?. ?? i had this idea.

do you think he's into masochism. so used to pain on the battlefield and a lack of pleasure seeking back at the base its because its still work, what does he even have to do on breaks?? on leave?? is he used to the loneliness?? has he accepted it or does a piece of him still crave??? does he feel like he deserves it and it creates this twisted perversion upon himself to love how he hates the way he loves.

what if you met him at a hole-in-the-wall bar. they serve dinner and drinks and there's always someone on the stage singing a song. you go there to eat the delicious food and listen to the local artists and occasionally a drink, but you're alone most of the time.

then this mountain of a man comes in, hunched like he's trying to make himself shrink out of existence, tentatively walk up to the bar. he's obv not local. his eyes darting around nervously, orders something you can't understand, but you're feeling thirsty and the waiter hasn't come around for 30 minutes.

you saunter up to the bar and order yourself dessert and look at the stranger. he makes fleeting eye contact, maybe you smile. something draws you in. "You new to town?" you might say. he nods. you talk a little, order him a drink. maybe he's a lightweight, or you just made him feel less crazy, because now you're both back at your booth sharing the dessert you ordered, talking about how weird other people are and how it's nice to talk to someone down to earth. it's so strange and it's so nice and the night goes on, and somehow, still, you find yourself falling for This Stranger, and so at some point, one of you takes the other by the hand, you're scooting closer. some silly sense of connection makes you feel comfortable enough to let your hand sit on his thigh. he's got blue eyes. drinking you in. you start touching him under the table. rubbing his thigh thru his cargo pants, gripping your nails through and letting him lean in with bourbon-cholocate lingering in his breath and something else, something desperate. you're letting your hand slip down his pants (at some point the belt was off. and it wasn't by your doing) and palming at his swollen cock. you can feel it throb. blue eyes. you can feel his breath on your neck as he leans in, trying to hide all this under the premise of vulnerability, a hug, but you know it's more. he wants something.

you let your nails graze his balls and feel them tighten. he's hot to the touch but his fingers are cold as they hover above your hand. he guides you back up to hold his cock. keep going, he urges. he doesn't have to even say it.

you're raking your nails down his pelvis to then grasp and pull his cock. pumping it with a slick hand and thumbing the tip with your thumbnail. he's trembling. his breath pitches in your ear like a barely concealed whine. don't stop. don't stop even when it hurts. you jerk him off til he cums with a shuddering exhale and his knees hitting the underside of the table. you don't stop. you squeeze and pump him with his new slick, moving faster, there's sweat on his forehead and your shirt and he's barely keeping composure as you rake red lines down his shaft as he thrusts pathetically up into your hand, overstimulated and shaking at the realization he loves it, he loves this.

do you think he's into masochism.

you come onto my blog, sweet anon, you gift me the most delicious, scrumptious, beautiful concept and smut?? you upstage me on my own blog, sweet anon??

if i wasn’t into it before, i sure am now baby 😍😍😍

this is gold top to bottom but that second paragraph is ARTTTTTT

[ridestomars]

GIRL U WANT – S. HARRINGTON

𖥻 summary: steve harrington is in love with his coworker, y/n, and max mayfield can't stand how annoying a lovesick steve is.  𖥻 pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader 𖥻 warnings: y/n is used!! it's kinda told from max's point of view. idiots in love (obv), max and steve have a little sister-older brother relationship. bad grammar ig. not proofread (yk the deal). 3k-ish words.

💭 liv's thoughts: look at me rewriting my wip list works. this is another one that has been sitting on my docs page for ages, and i finally got the courage to fulfill it. i hope you guys like it! 

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU'RE UNDER SIXTEEN.

“Look at you with your mouth watering, look at you with your mind spinnin'. Why don't we just admit it's all over? She's just the girl you want”. 

People say patience is a virtue, but Maxine Mayfield begs to differ. 

She doesn't believe in that "good things come for those who wait" crap, because nothing nice ever came her way for just standing there until something happened. The only thing she got from waiting around was a terrible yearning sensation of what could have been if she wasn't such a wimp. That is why Max doesn't exercise the righteous quality of patience, preferring her natural impulsiveness instead. Her restlessness is just too precious not to be used – Seventeen magazine insists on telling her that it's just a thing Aries girls do. 

Her effort usually pays off, but when it doesn't, there is nothing better than a "fuck you" to tend the wounds. Rejection is always a possibility, but being disappointed because of it isn't, and with time, you learn how to deal with the negative responses… despite that, Max likes to consider herself too persuasive to ever be declined.

But she has to admit that her intrinsic sense of fearlessness can make her a little insensitive when it comes to people's fear of rejection because, to her, it's just all so simple. Though she tries to be understanding, others' stupidity can become a bit too much for her to handle, and she almost always finds herself on the verge of scolding them for their inability to be bold. It was like when she first started dating Lucas: she had a very serious talk with him about his embarrassment to complain about his wrong orders to the servers because he fears being met with a rude attitude – she still walks up to the workers to point out that his order came with pickles when he didn't want any, but just because it's him. 

For some time now, Max found herself in an annoying situation. Over her boring vacation evenings, she began visiting Family Video a lot, and began picking up on something that grew to be infuriating: Steve's and Y/N's constant bullshit. Their (initial) quiet pining was cute, at first, because it made her feel like she was watching a real-life rom-com, with an exciting "will they or won't they?" plot line… reminiscent of the late-nights where she would pretend to be asleep on the living room couch to catch the new Cheers episode, to see if Diane and Sam would finally get together. Yet, as the days passed and their never-ending coyness appeared to only grow stronger, her hopes started to falter. In fact, the situation began to get so obvious that it started to get on her nerves. Big time.

She was an observer, and easily noticed the lingering looks as they talked, one getting distracted by the other's lips, or the way their brows furrowed when attempting to flirt. Or the jealous blush that dusted over Steve's cheeks whenever he saw you talking to a good-looking customer. And then, whenever you weren't at work, she hears his grumpy huffs that turn into infatuated sighs as soon as you walk through the door, apologizing for being late. It wasn't hard to miss your affectionate words about him when he wasn't around, as if talking about your co-worker would make his absence more tolerable. 

What was sweet, quickly turned into tiresome when the instances of you two almost kissing turn into a daily thing. She can't count the times when she caught Steve leaning his face closer to yours, taking the courage to make his move, but right at the last second… the plan totally backfires. You either bump heads (Max physically cringes whenever she remembers the scene) or too distracted, ended up turning away from the other. Either option brought a burning ache to the chest. 

The blatant crush you have on each other followed Max everywhere she goes as if she was doomed to hear about it until the end of times. Steve was never necessarily reserved about his infatuation – although it seemed like everyone knew about it, except the one person that should –, and since he gives her rides everywhere, she found herself listening to him babble about the gorgeous gleam in your eyes and your shiny hair. The guy sees you as something sacred, and yet… he never admits that he actually likes you, despite the fact that you are all he ever talks about. 

To him, you are a piece of heaven on Earth, the person who understands him the most and makes him feel good about himself, among other incredibly elaborate platonic compliments.

Max knows Steve is pretty much the most idiotic guy to ever exist, but he isn't stupid. It's obvious that he just doesn't want to admit his feelings because, if he does, he will have to do something about it, and being blind to the fact that you feel the same, he doesn't want to risk it. If things went wrong, his heart wouldn't be able to take it. 

The only question roaming Max's head is: he is secure, but at what price? 

It all makes days like today even more unbearable. 

They have been sitting inside Steve's burgundy BMW for almost five minutes now, with the clear window closed, the A/C turned up to maximum speed, and Madonna's 'True Blue' playing on the radio. After their arrival at Family Video's parking lot, Max had asked for a minute, just one fucking minute, to fix her shoelaces and Steve used it as an opportunity to daydream as he stared out the windshield. His eyes were set ahead, and she didn't need to look to know who he was staring at. 

This was starting to get depressing. 

"Steve," Max calls, as harsh as ever. "Stop". 

As if he had just been electrocuted, Steve turns his head to stare at the fifteen-year-old. Eyebrows furrowed and nostrils flared, he defends himself, "But I'm not doing anything". 

"Exactly, you moron," she grumbles. "You gotta tell her". 

'No more sadness, I kiss it goodbye. The sun is burs-', Max interrupts Madonna by turning off the radio, stopping any possible distractions.

It's clear that Steve doesn't like where this is going, because his face contorts into that sour annoyed look that makes her take a deep breath. This is going to be difficult.

"Tell what to who?" pretending to be clueless, he purses his lips, but his eyes don't lie, quickly drifting back to Y/N's figure. There was no escape now, not with Max's sharp gaze bearing down on him.

"You're so full of shit".

"Hey! Language, Maxine," he reprimands, "I honestly don't know what you're talking about". 

"You're in love with her," she motions to his co-worker who was still blissfully unaware of the car parked outside. 

And her words rang as an absurdity to him.  

"Max, for the love of-," his protest is interrupted by the girl and the know-it-all tone he hates so much.

"Steve, you're so into her it's ridiculous," her blue eyes narrow at him, hardening her expression. He scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks in the other direction, trying not to give too much away.

They stay like that for a few seconds, with him staring out the window, refusing to take part in the discussion, and Max glaring at his blushing, conflicted face. 

But then, he breaks. 

"Fine," Steve breathes out, "I mean, I'd make out with her… like, platonically, you know?"

The word comes out as if he had just remembered it existed, and Max doesn't buy it for a second, "You can't make out with someone platonically, Steve".

He takes her harsh delivery with a contemplating face, letting it all sink in. It wasn't groundbreaking, but it did break his argument, and he finds himself agreeing with what she had said… and he gets a grip. 

"Why am I listening to a thirteen-year-old?" he mutters, in disbelief. Huffing, Steve turns back at her, already gripping the door handle, "You know what, smarty-pants? I gotta work".

"I'm fifteen, Harrington! And we're not done!"

Max trails behind him as he gets out of the car in a hurry, stepping heavily into the pavement. As Steve bursts through the glass door with the girl in tow, they catch the attention of everyone inside Family Video. He gives you and Robin an embarrassed smile, stepping onto a random aisle, trying to hide from the curious stares. 

From the corner of his eye, Steve realizes that he still hasn't gotten rid of the stubborn girl, so he gathers the cluttered tapes and organizes them, in a failed attempt to avoid Max's inquisitive look. Moving the Pretty in Pink tapes around, the redhead crosses her arms, still staring. 

"You should learn a thing or two about that movie, you know?" she says with a quiet voice.

"What are you talking about, Mayfield?" he asks with a defeated sigh, clearly getting annoyed by her.

"Duckie didn't do anything about his crush on Andie, and had to settle for being her best friend in the end," she spells it out for him, "While she got to make out with Andrew McCarthy. Arguably more good-looking and charming than Jon Cryer". 

Steve rolls his eyes, but the situation does ring out an alarm at the back of his mind. What if… no, let's not go there. "What are you trying to say, wise-ass?"

"I'm saying," she continues, not willing to let him take a breath, "Are you truly willing to miss your shot? Stop being such a coward and go for it!".

"You talk as if I actually have a chance".

There it is. 

This was what she wanted to hear. 

"Steve, the girl is almost putting up a bright sign saying 'Go for it! Ask me out, you idiot!'". 

Drifting his eyes away from the tapes he was organizing, Steve watches as you laugh at something Robin had said. His gaze softens as he contemplates the scene, his hesitancy quavering every time the sound of your laughter reached his ears. This time, seeing the longing look in his eyes made a gentle, sympathetic feeling grow inside Max's chest, so different than the impatient annoyance she was so used to. 

"Look, Steve," her green eyes droop with friendly warmth. Though she might say that this is such a rare sight, that is what he sees every day when he talks to her. "I'm just saying what I noticed, and even if I'm wrong, which I'm not, by the way, you gotta take this off your chest. This is your chance!".

Staring down at her, he can only blink. Her encouraging words are settling in his mind, screeching as they do so, and he wonders… the gears inside his head spinning out of control, smoking everything so bad he almost can't see anything. Steve feels a bit out of breath.

But, impatient as always, Max keeps going as if she hasn't just collapsed all of his plans to stay in your friendship's comfort zone. With the wisdom that few possess, she continues, "I know you're still hung up on your Nancy-heartbreak and everything, but you're standing in your own way on this one, Steve. I can't tell you what the future holds, but I'm sure that you'll feel a lot better after you tell her about it". 

His intentions to continue ignoring it all are crumbling to dust inside him right now and her words make him feel defenseless, too vulnerable to continue disregarding his own fear of possible rejection. 

"That doesn't make sense," he scoffs, though his voice is soft and quiet, "Why would I want to do something like that if I don't know what the outcome is? She might just turn me down, and I don't think I could…"

Eyes drifting back to your breathtaking figure behind the counter, he stops himself before finishing the sentence. His face lit up with an astonishing expression of realization. Steve lets out another defeated sigh… maybe Max was right. 

With a knowing smile, she tells him, "Because you know she's worth it". 

xxx

Steve has had his head in the clouds ever since his little chat with Max earlier and could barely concentrate on having any work done throughout the rest of his shift. It didn't help that he also couldn't escape the sight of you from any corner of Family Video, and had to take several breaks until closing hours to avoid his head from exploding. 

Pacing back and forth inside the employee's break room instead of helping you put everything away (not exactly the top priority on his list right now), Steve tries to muster up even the slightest string of courage to talk to you about his feelings.

Now, on top of being an absolute wimp, he can also add useless when thinking to his list. 

He takes a big breath as he replays what Max had said, and almost unconsciously, snippets of Billy Joel's 'Tell Her About It' start echoing with it. The combination was able to help him make an outline of everything he'd like to say to you. 

"I like you. I don't want the chance to slip away. It's okay if you don't feel the same. I just wanted to say something before it's too late", he mutters to himself, still walking in circles. "If yes, then, ba-ba-bam, charm her up. If heartbreak, retreat. I'll be fine. Fine. Just fine. A-okay". 

Steve feels the same rush as he felt before going to his High School basketball matches, and he can only hope that the results will be far more positive. He takes another deep breath, shaking his arms before he walks over to the door. His fingers touch the door handle, cool under his fingertips. This is his chance. The store was closing, there were no customers around, and Robin had left early for band practice. 

Let's do it, he thinks to himself.

Determined and possessed by a sense of overconfidence, Steve snaps the door open, letting it hit the wall with a loud noise. The sudden movement turns your attention on him, and he can feel his cheeks burning bright under your gaze, his faux bravado trembling below the warmth of your eyes. The quizzical look you gave made him question his own ability for the dramatics. 

"It, uh, got stuck", he offers an embarrassed smile.

Good. Already starting with a lie.

"Yeah," your expression turns into amusement, "it gets jammed all the time". 

The kindness in your voice makes him feel a little better about himself, maybe he wasn't being such a fool in front of you. His heart started to thump inside his chest, blood pumping in his ears like thunder as he walked closer to where you stood, just behind the big counter. With an intense gaze set on your face, he watched as your eyebrows furrow in his direction again. 

"Is there something on my face?" you lift your hand up to your cheek, wiping it off in a hurry.

"No! It's just-," he interrupts himself, suddenly realizing that this script wasn't supposed to go this way. What is he meant to say now? Under your expectant gaze, it's not like he can think of anything intelligible. "It's not that". 

"Oh, okay," breathing out, seeming relieved by the information, you bring your hand down. With a voice that dripped with curiosity, you ask, "Why we-were you staring, then?"

Steve feels so stupid now that he can only blink down at you, his head getting fuzzy by that cute look in your eyes and the way your lips quirked up, stifling a smile. Yeah, he's a goner.

Before he could actually think about what he was saying, he hears the sound of his voice echoing through the empty video rental store, "I don't wanna be a Duckie". 

"What are you talking about?" you laugh out loud, though it's clear that you're not laughing at him. His words took you both by surprise, and he couldn't expect any other reaction. 

"Sorry," Steve apologizes, chuckling along, "I didn't mean to say that. What I wanted to say was… well, by the look on your face I think you already know". 

Again, he just blurted it out without reflecting on it first. But it was justified. 

For the first time, he saw something different in the way you looked up at him. Maybe it was just him being impacted by Max's words, but Steve swears that he has never seen that mellow tenderness gleaming in the color of your eyes before… or at least, he had never noticed it like this. He feels like an even bigger idiot now for not realizing it sooner. 

"Know what?" your question comes as a sign of your unawareness of his new understanding, and it makes a sweet smile grow on his face.

"I like you". 

The three words come out in a far more relaxed way than he had originally imagined his confession to be. Clearly, his realization made a wave of true confidence wash over his body, putting him back in his element of ease. And to say it out loud was a relief like no other.

But when he was met with no answer, just that shocked look on your face, his smile faltered.

"It's alright if you don't feel the same," he reassures, "I just… I didn't want to keep waiting around, wasting more opportunities by never telling you how I feel, because if you feel the same, I really don't want you to get away just like that. And uh- I don't want to be just your friend, but it's fine if you-"

"I like you too", you talk a bit louder than him, interrupting his train of thought, without any remorse. "I, uh- never said anything because I thought you didn't like me back". 

He is still, like a statue in front of you, processing the information. 

And it seems like an eternity before he cups your face, the palms of his hands resting warmly over your cheeks. His long fingers graze against your temples, and just the feeling is enough to ease your hammering heart, but as he leans closer to your face, you can feel your own breath ricocheting against his lips.

Steve stares at you through half-lidded eyes, as if he is waiting for your go-ahead. And it's only when you softly nod up at him that he presses his mouth against yours, letting his lips wrap around your bottom lip in a soft, loving peck. His mind was misty with increasing thoughts of you, your candy-flavored lips, and the smooth texture of your cheeks, along with the feel of the roots of your hair on his fingertips. You were breathing in each other in your kiss, and your breath came faltering against the other cheek. It was truly world-shattering, something you had never felt before in your life. 

As you slowly, and almost reluctantly so, pull apart, Steve feels a small chuckle bubbling up in his throat. Seeing your amused expression, he smiles. 

"We have so much time to make up for". 

LIKES, REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED! steve masterlist | main masterlist | navigation ── hey! wanna talk? leave me a message after the beep. currently accepting requests for steve and eddie. 

𖤐 taglist: @oncasette if you want to be added to my taglist, just click here.

[gooppoo]

Can i pls get a hooooo yneyyyyyyyyy, lmao anyways i love ur work, and ur writing is straight up bomb. Can u pls write abt mean dads bsf jake? Like reader is innocent and quite young (over 18 obv)then jake.

dilf content? i may not be interpreting this right but uhm we need more dilf content on this blog.

Part 2

Daddy's best friend.

Requests Closed!

mdni.

warnings: age gap, dilf jakeeeee, use of daddy, he's being a little meanie, making out and getting touchy feely

"Are you crying right now?"

Sniffling, you quickly smeared away your tears.

"What could you possibly be crying about? Hm? Because you can't fucking aim right?"

"S-stop!" you wanted to fall to your knees and weep. Looking him in the eye made your stomach churn.

He groaned and stomped over, "Pick up your bow- pick it-" he grabbed the weapon from the ground and shoved it in your hands, "Quit it. Now."

There was a hard cutoff in his demeanor, the aura around him. His lengthy index finger fell under your pitiful chin and delicately shifted it upwards toward him. You noticed the way his brows were still dipped with frustration contrasting the empathy deep in his gaze.

"Honey..." he sighed and shook his head, "Let's get it together, I want you to know how to do this right. Do it right or do it twice, yeah?" Out of spite you avoided his ominous gaze until you couldn't hold yourself back anymore.

A wobbly, "Okay..." tumbled past your lips, and he was patting your shoulder assuringly with a rueful smile.

"Good, now c'mon."

Now your lesson had to essentially restart. You had to track another animal to hunt, wait long enough for Jake to give his spiel, and miss the shot again. It wasn't a mystery your patience and self-esteem were running thin. If you threw a big enough fit, you may just be able to aggravate Jake enough to send you back to your father where you could rub in his face how incompetent Jake really was as a Na'vi.

So you drug your feet, purposefully stepped on twigs and rustled leaves, even sneezed. Jake - not wanting to add more noise - would shoot threatening looks to warn you to stay silent. You didn't listen. And somehow you were crouched down in some tall grass with your bow drawn at an innocent creature.

"Tight-" Jake tapped your stomach, "Hold your breath if you need to," he whispered.

Gaging your line of sight, he brought his face to the mirroring side of your bow and stared down the end of your arrow.

He nodded, "'K, now!"

The creature's head popped up and swiveled to search it's surroundings. It's next breath was its last. This time you had purposefully planned to miss this shot, your resentment toward Jake greater than actually learning the skill, but the sound of the arrow lodging into the creature's body pierced through the painfully silent air.

Jake laughed dryly, relieved you had made your first kill, he pulled you to your feet. "Just like that baby," he tapped your underside and walked over to the animal.

But your body was stiff. Skin suddenly trickling with sweat. A foreign sensation swirling between your thighs that excited a part of you, you didn't know could be alive. A trace of Jake's hot fingers lingered obviously on your skin.

At your hunt, he ripped the arrow from the animal, "Get over here, you're not done yet." His orderly nature present in his tone.

It wasn't you dragging your feet toward Jake, though somehow you ended up next to him on the ground. In your peripherals a blur formed, giving you intense tunnel vision on Jake's mature fingers. The way he ran his fingers across the wood of the arrow, or caressed the carcass of your hunt, pointing out different aspect you were supposed to be paying attention to. Your hearing returned when those very fingers snapped in front of your eyes.

"Hey - you listening? Your dad wants you to know this stuff and I do too."

At this point, this had to be a joke. All the pieces were finally put together right here in this very moment and you realized Jake just wasn't a mentor or your dad's dumb friend. You recalled his flirty compliments and lingering hugs where his hand would dance up the length of your back, whispering about how much he cared about you - sometimes even kissing your cheek for way too long. He knew. Jake knew this was a prime opportunity to get you alone and see how far he could get before you were leaping at him. Smacking your ass was his sly way of saying it was all real.

When you didn't respond to his snapping or loose threats, he went as far as to grip your cheeks with his strong hands and force your stares together, "Listen to me. Look-" he pushed your face toward the animal.

But no amount of bitterness and sternness could cut through to you right now. It was time to confront the situation, so you smacked away his hand and watched him with doe-like eyes, an innocent and longing twinkle reflecting in the sun. His character clearly reflected shock.

You used the element of surprise and let your hands discover his chest. Your pupils shifted upward through your lashes to watch his demeanor contort, finding a sick power in this. Next you grabbed the arrow from his hand and tossed it aside, shifting him away from your kill to settle in his lap. Not once did he protest, and no signs of anger tickled his features. In fact, his hands settled onto your waist and he sunk his fingertips into your muscles.

"Oh..." he began to smile, "Is this why you've been giving me a hard time?" He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip and jerked you further up his lap, then cocked his head to the side and said, "'Cuz you shoulda said something sooner."

All the air in your chest felt like it was forced from your lungs and your throat closed to keep anymore out. Unconsciously, you wet your lips and let the natural magnetism between your beings draw you closer.

Just before your lips collided, Jake breathed, "Go easy on me sweetness, I'm not as young as you think I am."

Then there was a riot. Steam billowed from your ears and your face rose to one hundred degrees. Below your belly button arousal started as a low simmer and suddenly launched into a full boil. Your thighs clenched against Jake's waist and you eased him back against the ground. But this didn't last for long, because Jake had hold of both of your wrists and your back slamming against the ground faster than you could breathe.

His lips and tongue strayed from your own to explore your jaw and throat, "Nice try baby girl, maybe next time." A wet, steamy trail was traced from below your ear to your collar bone, and even then didn't stop until the garment covering your breasts forced him to stop.

Though he wanted to pause and spend time with your pretty, little tits, he couldn't ignore your squirming hips crying for friction.

A forceful hand crashed against your hip and kept it settled in the soil, "You're just dyin' for it, aren't ya?" an overly amused chuckle vibrated your skin, "Patience doll, I know how long you've been waiting.

Daddy will take care of it."

[abiiors]

three's a party 🍸// george daniel x reader x ross macdonald

a/n: hi. thank you so much to my darlings @bookish-strawberry and @ughgoaway for helping me with some of the scenes!!! this is quite tame compared to some of the others i read for "research" but it is still quite...porny. this note is so long, but i'm just rambling because i'm nervous!!! anyway, here, have this unholy piece of writing with barely any plot

cw: threesome (obv), "good girl" and other feminine words/pronouns, uhhhh...yeah, just. general nastiness.

wc: 3.6k

the pub lights are dim, ambient. people chatter around you in low volume, a friendly humdrum of couples out on date nights and old friends catching up, it’s nice—this place. the food is good, the alcohol is even better; the playlist is just the right mix of sensual and exciting. absolutely perfect for a casual first date.

except for the man in front of you who drones on and on and on about one thing or the other—none of which you have given two shits about in your entire existence. but now you have to sit there and pretend that the local football team—the bulls or the foxes or some other inane animal—are the most riveting conversation you’ve ever had. 

you also have to pretend like you haven’t been checking out other people sitting at the bar, laughing and joking and having way more fun than you in general—the group of drunk girls out on a friday night, couples on dates, two men sat at the edge of the bar who haven't stopped glancing your way since you first walked in.

a blond and a brunet, one with a sharp, clean-shaven face, the other with a softer face and a thick, dark beard. one with close-cropped and buzzed hair, the other with long hair tied up. two ends of the spectrum, yet they both have the same aura of je ne sais quoi about them. it’s tempting, distracting. and certainly a million times better than whatever’s happening in front of you. 

every time one of them looks over at you, you lower your eyes coyly, pretend to be engrossed in a conversation with your date—nodding along to whatever he’s saying and laughing when he pauses expectantly. it’s truly a testament to his intelligence that he hasn’t caught up to your little game yet. 

the blond man looks at you again, intense eyes and a full pink mouth. his eyes linger, lazily staring you from head to toe in your tight black first-date dress. then out the corner of your eye, you watch him mumble something to his friend. 

he’s a bit subtle, turning only slightly and checking you out from the corner of his eyes, making sure he doesn’t get caught every time you look over in their general direction. 

your date clears his throat. 

“so i was thinking we could get one more drink and…take this back to my place?” 

well… shit

“i had a lot of fun…” you begin, trying to hide the wince in your words but your date’s face falls as realisation finally dawns. “but i don’t—”

“so you’ve wasted my time then,” he cuts you off, nostrils flaring in anger as he clutches his beer pint harder than necessary. 

“excuse me?”

“bitch,” he spits under his breath yet you hear it clearly. 

all you can do is roll your eyes at his petulance. the glasses clatter as he stands up abruptly, gathering the attention of a few people nearby. you’re beyond feeling any sort of embarrassment; and why should you? it’s not you making a scene. 

“classy,” you mutter, taking a leisurely sip of your aperol spritz.

it’s great, no reason for you to ruin a perfectly good evening for a little bitch baby. in your peripheral vision, the two men snicker. the rational part of your brain knows they’re laughing at an inside joke; nothing to do with you. but your delusional brain can’t stop imagining the two of them listening in on your conversation, smirking at your date’s little temper tantrum. you take your own sweet time finishing your drink after he leaves. he’s already out of your mind before he’s even halfway across the pub. you can finally indulge in your other pursuits after all.

“well, that was a pathetic date."

it's after fifteen minutes when you've sought solace in the first floor balcony of the pub. a few people loiter in the nooks and corners, making out and sneaking quick puffs of cigarettes, some wait for their turn to use the loo. some linger in search of peace.

you focus your attention on the stranger.

his voice is deep, deeper than you would have imagined. there’s a gravelly and rough edge to it that makes his words skitter down your bones. even just the way he walks towards you, slow and leisurely, has you hypnotised and transfixed on him. but you won’t be swayed so easily. 

“are you always this straightforward with strangers?” 

he comes to a stop a few inches away from you and leans against the railing; his body mirroring yours. his spicy cologne permeates the air around you. it's a struggle to not inhale sharply and get a lungful of it. even in your heels, you’re a good few inches shorter than him. 

“no,” he shrugs and the movement makes his arm brush against yours ever so slightly, “i guess you caught my eye.”

you attribute the goosebumps on your arms to the chilly night air even as a small voice in your head reminds you that it’s august. 

“george,” he extends a hand. it’s big, rough-looking with callouses all over his palms. either he’s a gym rat with pretty show muscles, or… you can’t exactly place the or. but it leads to quite a few interesting theories. 

“your…friend didn’t come out with you?” 

the man—george—raises an eyebrow, either at the way you leave his hand hanging in mid-air or at the mention of his friend but he does a rather good job of hiding his surprise. if he even felt any, to begin with.

“why? you’re more interested in my friend?”

a small part of you almost purrs in delight at the tinge of jealousy in his tone. good, possessive men know how to make nights like these into memorable ones. his fingers curl slightly, ready to put the extended hand down. the nicotine stains on them should have put you off a long time ago. instead, you find yourself looking at those fingers; imagining things you really shouldn’t. 

“you always answer questions with more questions?” you bite your bottom lip, letting just the hint of a smile ghost over your mouth. let him work to figure out your tone. your intentions.  

george chuckles deeply, sucking air between his teeth, and about to say something when you hear the second set of footsteps. these are imperceptibly heavier, almost like you know who it is…

a smirk curls up your mouth as george turns around to look at—

“ross…” he says quietly. 

possessive men know how to have wild nights.

possessive men are also…incredibly easy to predict.

george is behind you, pressed up against your naked ass, hard and thick. the only thing that separates you are his cotton brief. it only took you fifteen minutes to decide to take both the men home with you. and judging from the minimum resistance you got from either of them, one thing is clear—this isn’t their first rodeo.

“you feel this, darling?,” george whispers, mouth brushing over the shell of your ear while rolling your nipple softly between his fingers. 

it’s a lot of stimulation. it’s the good kind of stimulation, the kind that has your toes curling and your thighs shaking. and if it weren’t for the other man kneeling between your legs, holding you up with his hand on your hips, you would have fallen to your knees a long time ago. 

“mm–yes, fuck, it feels good,” you moan, head rolling back to rest against george’s chest. your fingers are tangled up in ross’ hair, long graceful fingers twisting and turning traces of his soft hair between them, guiding him as he licks and sucks your clit until you’re nothing but a wet trembling mess. 

ross won’t be outdone so easily. he hums against you, sending vibrations that shoot through your entire body at lightning speed. “is he making you feel better than i am, baby?” he pouts, stopping entirely. 

his beard glistens in the ambient lights of the room as he stares at you with intense, blown-out eyes. a whine escapes you, your fingers tighten in his hair—tugging at it harshly and making him groan. it’s so close to your cunt, enough for you feel it but not close enough. you writhe against george, trying to thrust your hips back into ross’ face, trying to get him to continue. but george tsks. 

“not before you answer him, baby.” his fingers are back to pinching your nipples; pain and pleasure blending in together in a heady mix. “don’t we deserve to know?”

his voice is gruffer than before, barely restrained—a man so used to commanding people that it rolls off his tongue effortlessly. 

ross smirks when you mumble something incoherently, ready to finish what he started but george is not satisfied. “use your words, darling.”

it sends a spark of desperate annoyance through you, clearing the fog in your brain. “ross is better,” you grit out, guiding the man back between your legs smirking at the way george tenses behind you. 

for someone who seems so calm and composed he certainly has a competitive streak…

ross grazes his teeth against you, licking it after—almost like a reward for declaring him the winner. you throw a leg over his shoulder, hissing at the way his tongue has better access now, crying out when he swipes his fingers against your folds almost lazily. 

you suck in a sharp breath, ready to cry out again but the scream dies in your throat. rather, it’s strangled—literally—by george wrapping his free hand around it, applying pressure to the sides. 

“you want to be a brat?” he tsks again, “she wants to be a brat, ross.” 

ross laughs breathlessly, letting go of you for just a second, “you’re just a sore loser.” he smirks, eyes alight with mirth. there’s a hint of danger in them, not the kind you sense in george—one that comes with a touch of sadism. ross’ brand of danger feels more arrogant. someone who knows what effect he has on people, on women. he’s not a taker. he’s a giver. and right now, he looks at you like he’d give anything to watch you fall apart with his name on your lips. 

the almost lack of oxygen has your head spinning, combined with the knot pulled taut in your stomach—it’s almost impossible to stand up, to make your legs hold you up. but that’s what george is here for. 

his fingers adapt a rougher pace, pinching and flicking your nipples, matching ross’s movements. your mind feels like it’s torn both ways, fighting hard to keep track of two sensations, two feelings. it’s too much.

a string of curses fall from your lips. “gonna cum,” you plead, struggling against ross, desperately trying to get more and more and so much more. “can i cum, please. please–fuck.”

“what should we do, george?” ross hums, ignoring you entirely. his nails dig into your ass, feeling up the curves and the firm muscles. you are nothing but a toy in his hands, for him to use and control. all your bossiness from before melts away as soon as george snakes a hand around your waist, stroking ross’ head and guiding it the way he wants to. 

ross doesn’t resist, he only chuckles, making you cry out pleas once again. 

“have you earned it, sweetheart?” george asks, whispery rough voice burrowing on the insides of your skull. 

have you? 

you nod, or try to at least. it’s hard when your head rests limply on his chest, throat gripped between his hands. 

“please, yes. i’ll do what you want, pl–fuck, fuck.”

“whatever we want?” 

“whatever yo–you want.”

“go on then,” george pinches your nipple, twisting it between his fingers, “give him a taste.”

he’s barely halfway through the sentence when you scream out incoherently, falling apart as waves after waves of pleasure hit you all at once. everything goes white for a split second, all that remains is intoxicating pleasure. you have no sense of time, of self. only that one man holds you up as the other laps at your folds greedily, licking away every last drop of what you have to offer. 

“want a taste?” ross smirks. his voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere under water. you’re unsure if you can stand up on your own just yet. vestiges of the orgasm course through you, heady and hot. “she’s fucking sweet, george, like honey.”

ross stands up, right in front of you, tall and imposing. and for the first time, you’re between both of them, feeling their sweaty skin on yours, inhaling them greedily.

“open your mouth,” he commands, fingers taking hold of your chin and roughly tilting it up. you know what’s coming as you watch the sinister half-smile on his face. and oh how delightlfully right you are. 

the moment you open your mouth for him, ross spits in it; saliva mixed with your slick still coating his tongue. 

“good girl,” he whispers, turning your face to george who captures your mouth in a rough kiss. his tongue flicks on the insides of your mouth, searching, tasting you and ross together. he moans, satisfied. “now about that promise…”

“be a good girl and get on all fours” 

it’s a shock to you how ross takes charge when he wants to. george doesn’t contradict him, he only watches with vague amusement as you try holding yourself up on shaking arms and legs, drenched in sweat and thighs sticky with your own slick. 

your entire body buzzes with adrenaline, shivers racking down your spine, still needy for more and more, still wanting to please the men who have been pleasing you for… what feels like hours now. 

“now,” george says, walking up to you and stopping just in front of you, “you can take both of us, can’t you?”

you peer up at george, tall and imposing george who looks at you with such blatant lust that it makes a tiny moan slip out of you. you can, you have been dying to do just that. now you look at him through your eyelashes and through the sweaty hair sticking to your forehead, falling in your eyes. 

“yes,” you nod eagerly, “please, yes.” 

the men smile, all teeth and hardness and intensity—it’s intoxicating. almost hypnotising, you get on your knees, hand drifting between your legs one more time just to feel the friction again but ross is quicker. 

“ah–ah!” he quickly catches your wrist, before it’s even reached past your navel. “that’s our job, darling. all you need to do is get on all fours and look pretty.”

“but she already is so pretty,” george tsks, palming himself through his briefs. his cock is a stark, thick outline that stands out, making you drool. if he already looks so big and delicious then how good would it be to feel him on your tongue and stretching out your mouth?

the moment stretches on—you on all fours, on trembling, shaky limbs, waiting there like a good little slut for either one of these men to fill you up. 

george continues to play with himself, fingers dipping in and out of the waistband of his underwear, touching and teasing. until finally he pulls his boxers down. you watch, transfixed as george shamelessly pumps himself in front of you, head thrown back, throaty moans echoing in the room as he slides his fist around his cock. you stare, eager and waiting, almost leaning forward. 

behind you, ross is silent. you can almost imagine him staring at the scene in front of him in awe and lust. you try to imagine it from his perspective. your dripping swollen cunt right in front of him growing wetter still the more you watch george. 

“don’t tease,” you almost whine, unable to take more of this. you need to know what he tastes like. and you need it now. 

“eager, are we?” george asks, walking up to you. “are you not pleasing her enough, ross?” he tuts and ross chuckles; throaty and distracted. 

you get little warning before you feel ross sliding a finger up your slit, lazily collecting your wetness and then the tell-tale sound of his tongue lapping it up from his fingers. it’s filthy and disgusting, it makes you arch your back and drives you almost crazy with want. 

“i could do better than your hand.” your grin matches george’s who comes to a stop in front of you. 

“guess she likes me better, ross.”

ross huffs, “we’ll see.”

before you have the chance to respond, ross draws a hiss of pleasure out of you. his length drags against your cunt, almost between your ass cheeks, sliding just the tip in. no further. red, hot need spears through you. if the men are determined to tease and taunt you then it’s for you to take matters into your own hands. 

before george can registers it, you cup a hand around his ass, pulling him forward until his cock practically rests on your face. 

a thick vein runs along the side, pulsating, practically inviting you to trace it with your sharp fingernail. you let your tongue swirl over his slit, humming at the salty taste of his precum. george moans as the vibrations of your hum hit. ross moves his hips slowly, almost pulling out before slamming into you fully. the force of it has you choking on george, gagging around him, drooling messily. 

“breathe,” he commands softly, stroking your hair. you do as he tells you, relaxing your throat more and letting his weight rest on your tongue. 

the sides of your mouth burn from the stretch, black, glittery mascara tears stain your face. and yet all you care about is this, here, now. it’s fullness like you’ve never experienced before, delicious and thick, drawing out gasps and moans from you that mix with his grunts.

“such a perfect girl,” he coos, “isn’t she ross? doesn’t she feel fucking great?” 

ross hums behind you, thrusting into you again at a steady pace. shameless need and lust pools in your belly, bleeds through your veins as you trace along george’s cock with your tongue. his fingers remain tangled in your hair, guiding you, commanding you to please him as he wishes.

you hollow our your cheeks, licking and sucking until his hips move in much the same pace as ross’ do. 

ross’ hand snakes up your waist, between your legs again, finding your clit again to rub and pinch, to make you whine. each one of his flicks makes you moan around george, sending small hums of pleasure right up his spine. he looks blissed out, head rolling and eyes half-lidded. a surge of pride runs through you at the sight. 

ross’ fingers dig into your hips, bruising the soft flesh. twinges of pain intertwine with sparks of pleasure as he pushes in, stretching you out and filling you in. 

“taking me so well, sweetheart,” he praises. the term of endearment from his mouth makes your knees weak and your legs tremble but ross holds you up, slamming into you until he bottoms out again and again. 

flesh slaps against flesh—rhythmic sounds punctuated by guttural grunts. the position you’re in allows ross to thrust deeper each time, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. if your mouth weren’t otherwise occupied, he would have had you mewling by now. but that doesn’t mean you don’t let out the occasional whimpers as you continue to bob your head up and down george’s dick. 

the man is close, you can tell. his cock twitches and spasms in your mouth. he has lost some of his rhythm, hips bucking wildly as he chases his pleasure. you can’t help but caress the base of his cock with your hand, moving it lower to softly squeeze his balls. 

“shit–shit,” he curses loudly, “do that again.”

so you oblige, letting your nails graze on the sensitive skin. within seconds, you feel his hold tightening in your hair. george fucks your mouth with wild abandon, careless thrusts—he couldn't care less about the drool dribbling down your chin, about your tear-stained face. the burn around your lips.

“gonna cum, darling, doing so well,” he grounds out. your own body mirrors the feelings as ross continues to thrust faster and faster. 

the knot in your stomach tightens, blood pumps through your veins, infused with lightning until the bitter-salty taste of cum fills your mouth. george cums, groaning loudly and shooting spurts of his release down your throat that you lap up hungrily. some of it dribbles down the side of your chin but you don’t swallow just yet. instead, you open your mouth wide open for him to have a look. 

“you’re killing me,” he swears, trying to get a grip on himself. only then do you swallow, whining loudly when ross pinches your clit, kneading the bundle of nerves in rough circles. 

“go on,” he commands, “cum for us. wanna feel you around me before i fill you up.”

it only takes one more thrust from ross before you’re almost falling down face first from the force of the orgasm that hits you. vaguely you’re aware of ross cumming inside you, of it spilling down your thighs, mixing with your own release. vaguely you’re aware of george falling to his knees in front of you, legs still spasming as he watches you fall apart again and again. 

you cry out something unintelligent—perhaps their names, perhaps something else. the world blacks out, until slow, blurred images creep back into your line of sight. 

the beginning of the night, the pathetic date is long gone from your mind. right now all you can think of is ecstacy.

and then perhaps a round two.

lemme know what you think <3

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @beachesgetpeaches, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855

add yourself to the taglist

[captjprice]

Hi Angel🖤

can i gst a nsfw piece with Dbf!Price or Ex-Husband!Price x chubby f!reader;

How he doesn't let the lack of titles stop him from considering the reader 𝙝𝙞𝙨 and is enthusiastic to spread the agenda around in any way possible.

Including always giving the idea him and reader are together, chasing away anyone with possible interest in reader and most importantly constantly getting in her personal space to cause so much confusion because despite everything she 'protests' ,she actually is 𝙝𝙞𝙨 and Price getting too close or saying something just for her to hear makes her malfunction for a second.

When he gets his opportunity to slip up her skirt, his breeding kink with intention to procreate comes out to play except hers matches his and now they're both fighting for their lives in every position possible to make sure they both get what they want like.

thank you, adieu 💋

ExHusband!John Price x Chubby!F!reader

You'll always be his, despite everything.

a/n: no because these requests ONG yall are eating this up 😭😭😭 ive also been so busy with school so if you put in a request i will def get to it this week/next week!!!

mentions: light dubcon, smut obv, fingering, exhibitionism, domprice, subreader

• He's soo clingy, even after the divorce— He just can't seem to keep his hands off of you whenever he sees you. Always a hand on your plush waist, or a finger hooked in your belt-loop. You two might not have a title anymore, but you're still his.

• John still persuades you to let him help you, with groceries for example. But it's all just an excuse for him to make sure nobody's coming to steal you away.

• He's just as sweet as he was before the divorce, like all of the fights never happened. Giving you those sweet smiles and caresses.

• But it only gets worse when he joins you at the neighbourhood bbq, lingering behind you the whole time with his hand on your shoulder, showing others that you were off-limits. Whenever someone strikes up a conversation, he'll shut it down by dragging you along to the kitchen, complaining he's thirsty. You're such a cute little thing after all, he needs to keep you away from the rest.

• You know what he's doing, and even though it stirs something in your belly you know it's not right.

• But you find it hard to protest as he pushes you up against the counter, reaching behind you to grab a cup. He's smiling down at you, acting like nothing's wrong.

"You need to stop, John. It's not.." You trail off, knowing he gets what you're saying. He seems unfazed, looking you up and down, admiring your outfit. "Lovely dress, sweetheart. Is it new?" John asks lowly, then takes a sip of his drink. You give a glare, and cross your arms. "You're still so pretty, y'know?" He continues, reaching out to caress your hips. Fuck, he loved your figure. Some might argue you're too big, but it's just right for him. Tits and ass to die for, but most importantly your thighs. You shift in your stance, but don't push him away. He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. "I'd give anything to fuck that pretty little cunt one more time."

• His words make you take in a breath and your cheeks burn, causing you to excuse yourself to the bathroom and hurry off. What the fuck was he playing at?!

• As you lock the bathroom door, you really can't deny the ache between your legs— It's so wrong, because you're divorced, for gods sake. You press your thighs together to attempt to relieve the tension.

• When you're positive your blush has disappeared you step out, finding John in conversation with a couple. His eyes light up when he sees you, and he gestures you over.

"There's my girl," He cooes softly.

• His words make you nudge his side, and his hand wraps around your waist again to pull you snug to his side.

• You listen as he talks, and to the way he makes no effort to disclose the fact that you're divorced— No, quite the opposite. He boasts about you, calls you his girl.

• It makes you even angrier, causing you to mutter something when the couple leaves back to the backyard.

"Not your girl, John."

• Your words tick him off, causing him to flip you around with your back to him against the counter. He presses closer to you, making an effort to press his bulge against your ass.

"What, sweetheart?" He grumbles, both his hands holding onto your hips to keep you in place. You sputter out another reply, although flustered. "I-.. We're not together anymore, John.. This.." He gives another glance to the door and then back at you, his hand moving lower to cup your ass. You stifle a noise. "What are you doing, this-.. Anyone could walk in!" He snickers at your concern, pushing your dress up. "Better be quiet then." John grunts, squeezing your plush ass. "Fuck, i've missed this."

• He doesn't seem to care if anyone comes in as he pushes your panties aside and plunges two fingers inside of you, causing you to mewl and grip onto the counter. You keep telling him to stop, but it just turns into incoherent babbles. Your pussy makes obscene noises as he moves back in and out, dripping onto your legs and panties.

• He can't even keep going until you're cumming, the mess you're making on his fingers has already got him so fucking hard. He fucking needs you, now.

• He isn't as gentle as he was before as he drags you to the upstairs bedroom— Probably belonging to the poor barbeque organiser. John shoves you onto the bed, undoing his belt.

"Fuuuck, yeah. Finally gonna breed you again, yeah? You want that?" He asks, and you know there's no point in denying him anymore. You nod lazily, laying on your back and spreading your legs.

Your pretty pussy glistens for him, and he lets out a long moan as he finally pulls himself out of his pants, pumping his cock a few times. John crawls onto the bed, his hand coming up to rub your clit a few times. "You want me to make you a mommy this time, love?" He positions his head at your entrance. "Gonna really make you mine, this time. Gonna get you nice and pregnant, that's how good i'll fuck you." You whine out again as he slowly pushes into you, a milky white ring already forming on his dick.

• He pushes your knees to your chest to fuck as deep into you as he can, and the noises you make are so loud he has to shut you up, his hand covering your mouth.

• John's sloppy and quick, more focused on pumping you full instead of taking it slow and intimate. He's groaning— Almost growling at the thought of getting you full of him, showing everyone he owns you.

• When John cums inside, he keeps himself in for a few more minutes, brushing your hair aside and whispering how good you were from him.

"Lovie, you did so well f'me, yeah?" He muses, caressing your cheeks. "You're always so good for me." John pants, looking down at where his cock is nestled inside of you. Despite keeping himself in, you've still managed to drip onto the bed and make a mess of his thighs.

• When he pulls out it leaves you feeling oh so empty, but he soothes you with a quick peck to the lips. His fingers push whatever's left of his seed back into you with a shameful squelch.

• The shame is evident in your expression as you get dressed again, especially after fucking on someone else's bed.

• But John seems to relish in it as he zips up his jeans and helps you stand.

"Think you should rethink that divorce yet, sweetheart?" He says teasingly, squeezing your waist as he takes you back downstairs.

• The excuse he makes for you is so stupid, but somehow the neighbours believe it, and John drives you back home with a tight grip on your thigh.

• You're not done with him for the day.

[uravitypng]

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄

kinktober day five: corruption

pairing: megumi fushiguro x reader

word count: 850

a/n: okay i know this is shorter than my other kinktober posts, and it's also like 8 days late but its better than nothing. i like this quite a lot tbh, it's under 1k words shorter than i normally write and it's not explicit but it's still good ‧₊˚✩‧₊˚♡‧₊˚

warnings: corruption kink (obvs), trusting reader, friend!megumi, suggestive, reader is shy, drinking(only a bit though), praise, one mention of megumi being taller than reader but older megumi is real tall so he'll always be taller +18 mdni

Megumi overhears you talking to Maki that you haven't had your first kiss yet and he thinks his brain short circuits. He knows you keep to yourself most of the time, you're not exactly an outgoing person, that's what drew him to you, neither of you engage with your other friends antics. He hates to admit is but he's so intrigued, it's not like you remove yourself from conversations about sex with Nobara and Yuji you always stay with them and listen, even when he's had enough and leaves.

He's never really thought of you more than a friend, he knows you're pretty and he understands while Nobara makes the odd flirty comment at you but he's never thought of you more than that. At least until now. There is something so desirable about how innocent you are. He's not the most experienced person in the world himself, but hearing you talk made him want to take that innocence away, he could teach you.

Megumi tries to not to think about it, he shouldn't think of you like that, it's wrong. But he likes the idea of it wrong. He wants to kiss you, to touch you, to ruin you. He wants to take away your innocence. He aches for you and he's decided that he's going to act on his desire.

Some people have met up to go out for the night, it's so rare to get everyone's schedules free nowadays. After a few drinks it was a general good night, with Megumi's buzz he was less irritated when Yuji insisted to sing karaoke at the top of his voice. Megumi isn't the biggest drinker in the world and neither are you, typically because you get drunk quickly and can't handle alcohol. Both of you are a little tipsy while walking back home and Megumi takes his chance to see how shy you'll act when he pushes the boundary of your friendship, even in the slightest.

Megumi brushes his hand against yours nearly holding your hand, then carries on like nothing has happened. Most people would brush it off and ignore it, it could of been seen as an accident, but in the corner of his eye he knew that it affected you more than it would someone else. You looked so cute, with a flush creeping across your cheeks, all wide eyed, bashful, and not looking at him. So so so cute. He has to see you underneath him, he has to see what you'd look like.

Lucky for him he lives near you so you can walk back together, while everyone else walks away, it must be a sign.

The walk back is too short in his opinion, it's mostly in silence and sometimes a little comment here or there but he's reached your door before he knows it. He sees you saying goodbye but he can't hear it over his thoughts, to busy thinking. Megumi decides he needs to do something while he has the chance, he steps closer to you.

Megumi can't contain his smile when you cock your head to side looking confused. He reaches you and fixes your collar, his hands momentarily lingering on the neck. A shiver runs down your spine as you freeze and can't speak. "Your collar was up" Megumi says, making direct eye contact with you, making you even more fluttery. "Can i come in baby?" the new nickname filled your stomach full of butterflies and you become speechless. Nodding shyly, you guide him inside.

He keeps his composure as you lead him in, all he wants to do is grab you and take you but he knows he has to take it slow. You look out of place and don't really know what to do, he decides to take pity on you and lend you a helping hand. "Should we have a cup of tea?" You look up at him and he realises how small you are in comparison to him, making him get hard, hoping that you don't notice. He's taller than nearly everyone he knows, he towers over you and it does something to him.

After you've both had something to drink you've relaxed and felt less overwhelmed, you're thankful that Megumi is so kind to you and always puts you at ease.

You show Megumi to your room but stood at the entrance, figuring out how to go about this. You know you want this. You're scared you will let him down, you're a virgin and has never done anything like this before, what if you do it wrong? Luckily Megumi takes charge and moves you onto the bed, slowly unbuttoning your shirt and greedily taking you in. He tells you how cute you are and how you're doing so good for him, you become giddy at the comments and lay down on the bed, you know Megumi will look after you.

Megumi is going to have a good night.

[forgottenroisin]

Edmund x Rosie + kid

a note on the bg here!

ok, so obv he could've been born after ~everything if edmund and rosie end up working things out, which is def possible, but for the drama, im saying smth else entirely! alksdjflksdjafdsf now, obv things will probs change etc esp if/when edmund tells her abt what really happened to her dad re: his own involvement etc, BUT! as things currently stand bc i can guess but not really ~know how she'll react till we get there, imma say mr fiachna (which ~also means raven btw so he's named after both his dad and his granddad <3) was conceived like...probs right abt now, actually, or maybe at or right before the ball, in the timeline, since i think its probs safe to say that would've been ~before the big reveal situation haha (also not sure abt surname bc if there was some sort of ~secret marriage -- which ~does feel ~v rosie ngl but idk if it feels edmund or not hahaha -- or whatever, he'd be varmont, but if not ig malconaire, or if there's a bastard name in this world...that hahaha not me like 'what if, if there are regional bastard names, 'macdara' aka 'son of oak' is the malconaire bastard name' oops ;DDD jk jk) anyway, since we've plotted the witch!reveal situation (that awk moment where in this au roderick unwittingly almost burned his unborn grandson oops), imma say he was born while rosie was on the run etc so!! that was doubtless suuuuch a fun time! lkjasdkfjlksdjf

Name: Fiachna Varmont Malconaire ????

Gender: Male

General Appearance: it is a strange thing that, although not particularly tall, fiachna's bearing gives the impression of height. born hunted and on the run, fiachna learned early the value of the appearance of strength and confidence at his mother's knee as she, herself, was learning these lessons. fiachna tends to wear a bit of a mask when with strangers, never quite trusting due to the lessons of his past, but when he does smile, it lights up the room. tho the shade of his eyes are his mother's, their shape, and indeed, that of his upper face is owing entirely to his father from his cheekbones to the top of his head and well as his aquiline nose. his jaw and chin are far more a reflection of his malconaire roots (hehe, see what i did there? ;D), however, echoing rosie's own, so that he can readily be said to take after both parents.

Personality: fiachna's early childhood was a serious and dangerous affair, a fact which forever marked his psyche much to his mother's great grief, who only ever wanted joy for her chilren. always intent upon being helpful, fiachna is a deeply deliberate person, carefully considering his moves before he makes them and thus somewhat balancing rosie's much more impulsive nature. still, amongst those he knows well, he is quick to joy and laughter, and even displays a streak of rashness all his own. for all the fear fiachna knew growing up, after all, he never wanted for love, and he knows how to give it in spades to those who earn it. still, there is an undeniable well of anger inside him, and fiachna harbors a secret deep-seated fear that some dark echo of his grandfather lingers deep inside his blood, unable to break free so long as he tamps stridently down upon it...

Special Talents: fiachna inherited his father's wits, and is nigh unbeatable in any games of strategy, but he also learned early on the extreme significance to mobility and speed in a life on the run, and is thus a well practiced runner and horserider, preferring swiftness and flexibility over strength.

Who they like better: rosie (i think he just...knows her better, frankly, and probs projects some of his varmont-related fears onto edmund probs, since he grew up being hunted by roderick and yeahh fun)

Who they take after more: edmund

Personal Head canon: (note: he's another calainon-malconaire kid so another seer candidate which is fun bc roderick's rolling in his grave at the thought of ~his grandson~ a witch!!!! lkajsdfkljlsjf but who knows!! anyway!!!) he loves, loves, loooooves bad jokes like...really really terrible puns and like utter stupidisms! which is weird bc generally he's v witty/snarky but!! then w ppl he cares abt he'll just throw down like theee worst not even dad joke but full on granddad joke you've ever heard, the ultimate in bad jokes and giggle like so stupidly hard till even tho it was NOT funny you're laughing too bc he's in tears and this whole situation is totally ridiculous. like...we're talking such a bad joke ~i wouldnt even find it funny, and we all know i love dumb puns. its the worst. and you love it. bc of the way he tells it! these are the moments you really see his mom in him, when he's just unleashing full dorky silliness

Face Claim: Harry Collett

bonus image of a modern au involving some kind of time traveling shenanigans also since theyre like the same age here ;D (also if this aint a classic rosie expression <3):

[rain-ghoul-appreciator]

ok ive the brain was braining and i have ended up with headcannons on how the ghouls died and all the lovely shit

(tagging @ominousposting cause our ideas r so similar its kinda scary) ((super telepathy magic right here kids)) (((cause im like 98% sure ive never seen they're ghoul lore posts before this so i dont really wanna say i got inspo from them but yea its cool we're cool everything is cool 🫶🫶)))

under the cut and obv tw for death, murder, overdose, disease, drowning, fire, suicide, car accidents and poison (wow thats a lot)

phantom

died in 2010 from a car crash

will not get in a car no matter how empty the roads are

was only 17 when he died

youngest ghoul in the band (death year wise)

has all the humor from the 2000s still and it drives everyone absolutely nuts (inspired this post)

aurora

died in 1925 from accidental poisoning

was one of the flapper girls and was from a fairly wealthy family

was 24 when she was accidentally poisoned by a drink that was meant for someone else

3rd oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

still absolutely loves 1920s fashion and experiments with it by adding current trends and basically becoming the fashionista of all time

cumulus

murdered in 1953 by her husband

queen in the kitchen then, queen in the kitchen now (like seriously she can make anything and everything and its kinda scary cause how tf does she do it)

was 33 when she died cause her husband thought that she was to old and not good enough for him anymore (fuck this random guy)

4th oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

found some of her old cook books from before she died and makes nice little homecooked meals for all the ghouls every sunday because it makes her happy seeing all of them happy

rain

died in 2003 from suicide

emo kid emo kid emo kid (that kid was mcr's second fan) ((frank iero was the first obviously)) (((but he was second)))

was 15 when he killed himself, his parents were devastated

2nd youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

was absolutely stoked to find out that mcr was one of the biggest emo bands and influenced so many other bands (he almost passed out listening to music again for the first time)

mountain

died in his sleep from a disease in 1979

was the kindest guy ever but when he got sick everyone kinda avoided him cause they didn't want to get sick and felt bad seeing him like that

was 27 when he died and his whole neighborhood wished they could have done something more

5th oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

was really excited when he was introduced to the greenhouse for the first time because his room was always filled with plants before he died and it felt like his own little piece of home

sunshine

died 1995 from breast cancer

was very lonely because she spent most of her prime socializing years in a hospital bed

eventually died at 29 and was happy when she did

3rd youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

purposefully grows out her hair really long so she can cut it and donate it to make wigs for people with cancer cause she wants to help ppl be more confident with themselves and not end up like she did

dewdrop

died in 1991 from drowning

never really learned how to swim because he lived in the middle of a desert where there was no water so he felt like he didn't have to worry

was 25 when a friend pushed him off a boat as a joke and he was never able to get back up

4th youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

even though the element switch hurt like a bitch and ripped a whole piece of himself out, he felt somewhat relieved because the lingering fear of water was no longer plaguing his mind

aether

died in 1864 from a house fire

had 2 kids and a wife and they lived out in the country side in the middle of no where

was 38 when the house caught fire and he died saving his family from the flames

2nd oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

was still so incredibly british when he was summoned that dew had a heart attack when he started talking

cirrus

died in 1798 after being murdered by an angry mob

was a major activist for womens rights and had her own little rebellion against all the stupid expectations set for women back then

was 32 when an angry mov finally snuffed her out and killed her along with the rest of her little rebellion

oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

is still a hige advocate for women's rights and has to try not to laugh when someone says that she looks like/acts like herself before death (cause they obv dont know thats her lmao she cracks up everytime)

swiss

died in 1981 from a drug overdose

was an addict and wanted to stop but he couldn't afford getting help and his family didn't want to be associated with him so he was kinda on his own

overdosed at age 35 because he couldn't live like this anymore so death was the only option that he believed was available

5th youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

refuses to do any other drug than weed because he is still so extremely paranoid about becoming an addict again or accidentally overdosing

[good-beanswrites]

hi! may i request some mikoto + amane (platonic obvs) … anything? they are very dear to me 😭

Yes!!! Thank you so much for the request -- they really are such a good pair ;-; (The thing is, I had so many nice scenes in mind about how they parallel each other, but they wouldn't know or reveal that about each other so I kept restarting...) Anyway, here's something right after Mikoto's first trial/verdict!

Mikoto could pick up on someone’s bad mood from a mile away, though the skill was unnecessary when the other party very clearly and calmly informed him, “I’m in a bad mood.”

After refusing his offer, Amane turned back to a thick textbook she’d been taking notes on. Didn’t kids usually complain that school was already a prison? She must have wanted the full experience. He'd worked nonstop at his studies as well, but this was a new level. Amane often reminded him of his little sister, though she always took the extra step like this. His sister would have jumped at this opportunity to play a few rounds of their favorite card game.

“It’ll be fun!”

He flashed a smile, but it had no effect on her severe expression. “I know you’re just trying to comfort me about our verdicts. I refuse to be pitied.”

“Comfort and pity are two very different things. But anyway, it wasn’t either of those things.” He gave an easy shrug “To be honest, I’m just a little bored. It’s weird not having any work to do during the day.” 

Mikoto couldn’t remember the last time in his life he’d had so many hours to himself. A lot of the others were fun to play games with. A few of the sportier prisoners helped him stay active. He enjoyed smoking breaks with the other men. Still, he was left to his own devices for the majority of his time. It was maddening. He’d recently requested some more art supplies, having used up the last batch, but they had yet to come in. Now with the verdict announcement, he wasn’t sure they’d ever arrive.

“That is your own problem. I already have something to do.” Her eyes lingered on the cards for the briefest of moments before returning to the book. “I told you, I’m not in the mood for it.”

Regardless of her hostility, he took a seat beside her. He leaned his arms out on the table. “We don’t have to play the same game.” The last time they'd played as a big group, several prisoners pulling the tables together to fit everyone. Amane had kept very quiet, eyes darting around at the cards as she tried to keep up with the rules. Not many of the others noticed the frustration clear in her face. Mikoto wasn’t the type to let her win out of pity, though he had begun to mutter the rules and strategies to himself a bit more as the night went on… 

“Is there a game you liked to play at home?”

 “No. There was no time for games in the house.” 

“All work and no play… hah… I know what that’s like.” He slumped his cheek onto his arm, lazily shuffling the cards around. He felt bad for bothering the girl if she truly was upset. He thought it was the bad experience that made her reject him, he hadn’t realized there were also family issues attached. Usually he could read people well; maybe he was losing his touch. He seemed to be losing touch with a lot of things, these days.

He readied a game of solitaire. 

“Mikoto?” Amane kept her face turned away. “There was… one game.”

“Yeah?” Mikoto shuffled the cards back together. He slid them over to her. “You should teach me!” 

She didn’t touch them. “You probably already know it.”

“Nah, I only know a few games. I’m better with tarot cards, though those aren’t really the gaming type. Come on, what is it?”

She told him the name of the game, insisting it wouldn’t be worth playing. She kept her attention on the textbook, but her eyes weren’t reading any of it. 

“Ahh, I’ve heard of that one! We start with four cards, right?” He started dealing them out.

“No, five –” she pointed to the deck, urging him to add two more. 

“Right, right.” He laughed lightly. “And the goal is to get pairs, and put them in a pile, uhh, here.”

Amane shook her head. She shifted her body slightly towards him. “You must be thinking of a different game. There’s actually three piles for pairs. One here, one here, and when it’s your opponent’s turn…” 

Her eyes gleamed as she explained the rules. She pointed to various cards, telling him exact moves and point values. “And to win, you need to –” Her expression shifted. “You… you already knew all this.”

“Of course not!” He put on his most convincing smile. 

She deflated. “You’re not a very good liar.”

“Tch, tell that to the warden.”

His shoulders sagged along with her. If Amane could see right through him, why was the rest of Milgram still coming up with stories about what he did and didn’t do? “Well, I might already know the rules, but it’s been a long time since I’ve played. You can still give me a hand. Plus, if you really are in such a bad mood, it’ll be good to take a break from your studies. You should always take a break when things get too overwhelming, yeah?”

She gave him a withering stare.

“Eh? What’s that face for?”

“Alright, let’s play. You can go first.”

“I mean it, what was that look? Aw, come on…”

[vacantgodling]

holds microphone up to u

may i hear about tmc

gimme your thoughts

WELL <3 since you asked so nicely <3 (jkjk but thank you eeeee)

so-- surprisingly atm i'm trying to figure out The Plot. i wasn't sure if i was ever going to make ?? a proper plot for tmc just because like. i love tmc and the kiddos so much but bc i know i want it to be a webcomic style thing that's just scared me off from working on it. basically bc art hard. But i should do it because i want to have fun and i had a few like. lingering dream-thoughts about some things so i thought i'd try and push it more.

rn i'm toying with the idea of expanding what's going on with society. because right now basically, there's the "city thing" that chidori and co live in which is dominated by trains. but i don't think anyone knows the kinda Back Drop for tmc?? cuz i never talk about it?? but basically this is a futuristic wip where humanity had to adapt to earth's sea levels rising WAAAAY up (in a way that is totally improbable but like i'm not hard worldbuilding this world at all bc this is supposed to feel shonen anime like PFFFF. basically anything goes cuz i said so energy). so they use train rails and special train types to get around. tm.

this is old art from an old ask but this is the gist basically LMAO im sorry its so shit PFF

i was originally thinking of making wholly different societies that have something different instead of train masters BUT TBH, i think everywhere has train masters like its a global thing but chidori's city is just a big ass city and governments are still different like how bangkok, nyc, and paris all have different currency pff. basically my scope of the world is just expanding.

anyway tho, chidori's city has the largest population and by virtue of that its the one most prone to diseases, struggling, and economic stagnation. rich people gotta rich so they hate this.

my thought for the plot is actually around the strength of the sturgeon dollar. tl;dr the money in chidori's city is called "sturgeons" like the fish (and is colored similarly) but its actually got a poor exchange rate with the other cities. this is something that is concerning to the herme family who bellamy is the youngest child of. (bellamy below--the diamond prince and one of the s-rank train masters tm)

bellamy is technically the "odd one out" of the herme family and is treated very poorly behind closed doorsaside from his illustrious and beloved image by the public. his family is full of law makers and politicians, but they also have heavy ties with crime (which is what i'm kinda developing now) and they have links to crime various other syndicates across the flooded world. the problem is, because the sturgeon dollar is so weak it puts them at a disadvantage when it comes to negotiations with other politicians and syndicates. so with the under-the-table go ahead from the government, they have begun operations to start working towards destabilizing pretty much every city society (at the expense of civilians obvs) to try and either make the sturgeon dollar stronger, or to introduce an entirely new method of currency only for the elites.

me playing with the idea of yagmur being a double agent has to do with the fact that yagmur is a secret train master branch basically akin to the fbi or z-rank. they're covert ops. he's technically been assigned to work for the government of chidori's city to help with whatever tf this plan is but at the same time, he and bellamy are in a not-so-secret secret relationship and despite coming from money, bellamy hates his family. so yagmur is loyal to bellamy before anything else. but at the same time, bellamy isn't necessarily concerned with citizens--he's concerned with revenge and tearing down his family. so if i were to classify things as they currently are:

chidori and his main friend group (amehana, solange, bev, folami, and markis) are on the side of their city and protecting it from like everything.

bellamy and yagmur on their own side trying to take down the herme family.

the herme family and government (and some other entities) are on their own side trying to sabotage other cities to strengthen thier own dollar and since yagmur works for the government he's also kind of involved in this too.

so that'sssss currently where i'm at. i still need to figure out how the train academy works, what's up with these semi-magical weapons, redesigning folami (AGAIN but thankfully i think i have a good idea this time) and just other stuff to uhhhh make this make sense. maybe figure out the city situations as well?? just a lot tbh LOL