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jejewonster · 2 days ago

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Tag, You're It.

he chased me and he wouldn't stop. tag, you're it 𖥔. ˖ ࣪𓂃

⊹ ִ۪ ֗ ּ ۫ ִ pairing: l.sm x f!reader ⊹ ִ۪ ֗ ּ ۫ ִ genre: smut, dubcon (MDNI 18+ only)

⊹ ִ۪ ֗ ּ ۫ ִ wc: 3,090

— seokmin abhors your clear distaste for him. and he’ll do just about anything to change that. ⊹ ִ۪ ֗ ּ ۫ ִ smut tags & warnings: DUBCON, somnophilia, deflowering, corruption kink, oral (reader), creampie, multiple positions, mating press. slightly yandere!seokmin, reader is a lightweight and gets drunk easily. narcisstic!seokmin, reader is 'drugged’ by seokmin, if i have missed any warnings please let me know. ⊹ ִ۪ ֗ ּ ۫ ִ a/n: read my guidelines. please do not take these warnings lightly. don't like, don't read, and feel free to block me if this isn't your cup of tea. thank u to @sunniques for beta-reading ♡.

seokmin has spent his life playing the good boy role, hiding behind the facade of someone well-liked, kind, and attentive. everyone knows him for his charming persona, everyone is in love with him.

except you.

he didn’t understand your clear disdain for him. you had always done everything in your power to avoid him. the more you ran away, the more it intrigued him.

the first time he laid his eyes on you, he wasn’t sure what to think. you were obviously attractive and a little shy, but your beauty was not something that could be described so simply.

the more he tried to interact with you, to get to know you the more you pushed him away. leaving group conversations mid-sentence, sitting on the opposite side of the lecture hall… you were too obvious.

seokmin hates when he cannot control how people perceive him. he needs to fulfill the expectations he had set: the perfect man. and if you didn’t fall for it, then he would just have to take matters into his own hands.

…

his plan is simple— or at least simple enough for him to execute without getting caught.

it’s the end of midterms, and your classmate somehow was able to convince you to join in on the group hangout. sat in the very corner of the booth, you looked around with eyes reminiscent of a newborn fawn. wide-eyed and just so lost.

seokmin can help with that.

“hey, anyone down to do a round of shots?” he asks the group, looking around to find everyone humming in agreement.

boring holes into your figure, he sees that you’re the only one who seems reluctant to take a drink. well, seokmin can’t have that.

you were quite the people pleaser, something he found out through his observations. it can’t be that hard to get you to at least take one shot.

“are you not drinking?” your only acquaintance out of the group asks.

turning to look at her, you shrug your shoulders.

you didn’t have a ride home tonight, but you didn’t live too far. if you somehow find a way to stay sober, it won’t be too hard to slip out without anyone noticing.

“i think i’ll pass, gotta walk home later,” your voice is meek, but your friend can’t help but frown.

she shakes your shoulder as if attempting to pull you out of a trance.

“c’mon! just one? we’re all here to celebrate!” she continues to push.

filled with uncertainty, you reluctantly agree to her demands. it might be the only way she shuts up.

sighing, you give in. “fine. just one. i’m too much of a lightweight though, so after that, i’m done.”

a cheer erupts from her mouth, satisfied in being able to convince you to “let loose” for once.

you don’t even know how you even got here in the first place. and you definitely didn’t think seokmin would be joining either. but now that you’re sitting there, in the corner of the booth, you know there’s no way to escape him now.

it’s not that you hated him. god, no. you just had a bad feeling about his persona. it was almost like he was too nice. you weren’t sure what had your intuition swaying the moment you laid your eyes on him, but you simply can’t shake the eerie feeling that he gives off.

“shots are here!” seokmin announces, handing everyone a glass. his charming smile practically blinds you, but anyone who isn’t entranced by him can see the dark energy behind his gaze.

the way his smile never reaches his eyes, no matter how hard he tries. it had shivers running down your spine. who is the real lee seokmin?

by the time there’s one shot remaining, your eyes meet. heartbeat drumming incessantly in your chest, you watch as his eyes piece through your very being.

“you gonna take it?” he asks you.

the breath in your throat is caught. this is probably the first time he’s ever spoken directly to you, and it has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

“u-uh sure? why not?” you chuckle nervously before grabbing the glass out of his hand.

placing the rim of the shot glass to your lips, you swallow the alcohol without a second thought. seokmin’s eyes burn into your soul as you swallow every last drop. you weren’t sure why he was observing you so intensely, but you tried your best not to think too much about it.

…

an hour passes and seokmin continues to keep his undivided attention on you. the shot glass he gave you was stronger than the rest, and he could only hope that’s all he needed to do to get you pliant for him.

your eyes are glossed over, staring into the distance. even in a drunken state you’re still so quiet. he can only wonder how loud you might get once he gets the chance to fuck you.

“you doing okay?” seokmin asks as he slips into the empty space beside you.

everyone else at your table is too drunk or too busy to even pay attention to either you or seokmin. he can’t help but congratulate himself inside his mind, everything always works out in his favour.

“yeah, just feeling tired. i-i think i should go home,” you mumble.

exiting through the other side of the booth, the side seokmin wasn’t sitting on, you tumble out of the cramped space with clumsy steps.

you’re on the verge of falling over, so seokmin quickly steadies you, grabbing your waist with lightning speed. the blush on your cheeks is obvious, both from embarrassment and the little alcohol you had taken.

his face inches towards yours, the same ominous smile on his lips.

“let me give you a ride. it’s not safe to walk alone this late at night.”

…

seokmin snatches the keys from your bag, your body slumped against his side as he unlocks your front door. with ragged breaths against his neck, his arm is wrapped tightly around your waist.

the alcohol is doing wonders.

you were practically in and out of consciousness. seokmin had no idea it would have this much of an effect on you. Even though you did seem like a lightweight, he was assuming you were able to take more than one shot. obviously, his assumptions were very wrong.

the effects of the alcohol should be wearing off soon, but that didn’t matter to seokmin anymore. he had you in his clutches and he has no plans to let you go.

without wasting another second, he makes his way to your bedroom. opening and closing each door until he’s found your safe space.

the last door down the hall by the bathroom. your room is cute, typical for someone of your age. several manga line the shelves of your bookcase, but he has no interest in indulging in your hobbies. not when you look absolutely ravishing under the moonlight that peeks through your curtains.

your eyes are closed as you snuggle into his side. he can feel you twitch every so often, breaths shallow and warm.

laying you onto your mattress, seokmin doesn’t waste any more of his time. his cock straining against his pants at the very thought of you taking him in every possible way that he’s been imagining.

you flip onto the bed, your brows furrowing from all the sudden movement, but your eyes stay shut despite all the commotion. seokmin is unbelievably hard now, to the point his cock pulses at the sight of you.

the sinister smile on his face intensifies, staring down at you as you stir in your drunken state. laying there, you stir in your vulnerability like a mere fawn waiting to be hunted like prey. everything had fallen into place so easily, it’s almost like you were destined to get your cunt fucked by him.

seokmin’s hands roam your body with deliberate fervour, squeezing your thighs till they quiver open ever so slightly. his nails imprint your skin with half-moon-shaped marks. how did he get so lucky?

the whimper you let out resonates in his eardrums, clearly the drink he gave you was just enough that you’re at least reacting to his touch.

“bet you taste like a fucking dream,” seokmin whispers.

whether you register his words at all doesn’t matter to him. he just wants you as his little cock sleeve. to fuck, to cum into, everything. seokmin fantasizes about a time when you’ve become so pliant to his wishes, bouncing on his cock and taking everything he gives you.

his nose trails along your inner thigh, inhaling your scent until he’s face to face with the wet patch staining the cloth of your lacy thong. only a complete slut would be turned on over something so simple. with a deep inhale, he gets one last whiff of your sweet nectar before he dives in.

tearing your panties with calculated movements, seokmin mouths at your pussy, making out with the folds of your delicious cunt till your slick drips from his chin. the juices that flow from your hole show just how much you truly are enjoying this. how could you not? seokmin is the perfect guy for you.

a little shove and you’ve fallen right into his trap.

there’s one hand gripping at your thigh, while the other starts to ascend to the peak between your legs. his fingers prod at your entrance, sticking two digits in before curling them inside you. seokmin groans against your skin, the squelches that emit from you cause his cock to twitch even more than before.

a few seconds pass until seokmin is satisfied with the defilement of your virgin hole. agile fingers crawl towards the notches in his belt, unbuckling the leather from his waist until his pants plop towards the hardwood.

as if on cue, your eyes snap open, although that's the least of seokmin’s worries. if anything, your sudden consciousness has turned his night into a great one.

“oh. you’re awake,” he grins down at your half-naked body, tongue shooting out to lick his lips.

“w-what are you doing here?” your voice wavers, eyes wide and filled with fear. your thighs clamp shut as you feel the cool breeze gust against your bare pussy.

seokmin chuckles, his figure brooding over your defenceless body, cock exposed, long and standing proud; ready for you to take without a complaint. one of his large palms grazes against your knees until they force your legs open again.

“you invited me here.”

“no? i would never…” you trail off, but the past few hours were all a blur.

as you try to recall this past night, your memory falls short. the last thing that arises from your mind is the cold rim of a shot glass brushing against your lips.

your worst nightmare doesn’t dare speak, waiting for you to finally realize that situation you’ve been put in. parallel to a debilitated sheep in the hands of a ravenous wolf, you’re left to die in his hands.

fuck everyone. fuck your classmate for peer pressuring you to drink that damn shot, and especially fuck seokmin for taking advantage of you.

“fuck you,” you spit out, but your mind is still swimming. the alcohol had affected you more than you’d like.

the thought of even trying to defend yourself only leaves you feeling sick. dazed and confused, you lie beneath him in utter despair.

“you will, and just know i’ll make it worth your while,” seokmin leans down, lips sweeping over yours. “you’re quite the lightweight. couldn’t even take a second shot before you’re begging me to take you home.”

the pulse in your veins intensifies, the heartbeat drumming within your chest could probably pierce your flesh till blood splatters against your torso.

“be a good girl, yeah? your pussy is already soaking,” seokmin whispers in your ear, licking right underneath it sensually.

your breath hitches and he smiles against your neck. his hands grip your thighs once more, his tip prodding against your folds. your body is on fire, it shouldn’t feel this good.

“w-wait,” you whimper.

“i think i’ve waited long enough, you’re already prepped, i made sure.” seokmin grumbles before leaning back to sheath his hard cock inside you.

it all happens without a second to spare; you’re completely filled. the hilt of his dick presses against your pelvis, and seokmin groans into your ear. his eyes roll back as he becomes suffocated in your heat. rutting against you, he relishes in the way your walls squeeze him. nothing beats an untouched pussy waiting to be stuffed to the brim.

“you’re gonna cut my dick off, that’s how tight you are,” seokmin grunts.

the palms of his hands slide to the underside of your thighs, forcing your legs flush against your chest.

“p-please. i don’t want this,” you beg, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

seokmin doesn’t even acknowledge your useless pleas. instead, he continues to ram his length into you, and you can’t ignore the pleasure that comes along with his malicious undoing.

your stomach caves in as he trails kisses along your neck. this shouldn’t be happening, especially to you, but as he continues to fuck you, your mind begins to reel. this shouldn’t feel good, but there’s something about the way his balls smack against your ass that leaves you panting.

“s-seokmin, fuck, i can’t,” you purse your lips, but your attempts to stay silent fail.

“keep talking, baby, wanna hear you beg for it,” seokmin shudders. every time he speaks, your pussy clenches even harder. the juices that coat his dick and the snap of his hips fill his ears like a symphony.

“i don't want this, please,” but your moans say otherwise.

“pretending you don’t want me to fuck you just makes my cock harder,” he chuckles while releasing you from his hold.

he sits down on your bed before forcing you onto his lap. lining himself up with your entrance, he tightens his hold on your hips before bouncing you on his cock. you squeak at the new position, not prepared to have him force you into even more pleasure.

“i-i can’t,” you cry out, hiding your head in the dip of his shoulder.

“you talk a lot for someone who’s absolutely soaking,” he jeers, slapping your ass till your hole sucks him in entirely, “you’re dripping on me, too. tell me, are you secretly enjoying this?”

you choke out a pathetic ‘no’ but seokmin doesn’t believe it. instead, he lifts the sweater covering your chest until you’re completely naked. the sudden temperature change has your nipples pebbling over in seconds. letting go of your hips, he swallows your left tit, tongue swirling against the erect bud.

as he sucks on your left boob, he keeps his other hand in place, groping the meat of your ass till hand marks litter your skin.

your mind is still glazed over— from the alcohol or the sheer pleasure you’re receiving, you’re unsure at this point. but something deep within you forces you to continue bouncing on his lap. the tip of his cock poking at your cervix and the pain of his girth bruises your pussy, but the knot in your stomach is starting to unravel.

“seokmin, please, it’s too much,” you whimper once again, breath hot against his neck.

“you feeling tired, princess?” his tone is filled with faux concern.

seokmin is brimming with satisfaction. not only does he have you in his clutches, but you’re clearly succumbing to the undeniable spark of lust between you.

“just make the feeling go away, feels like ‘m gonna pee,” you cry, unsure of whether you should be embarrassed by how much you’re secretly enjoying the way his dick is piercing you or the fact that you can’t stop the unusual build-up in your stomach.

“you wanna cum for me, baby? it’s okay, just let it go,” unlatching from your tits, he smirks before capturing your lips into a zealous lip lock.

the bed creaks beneath the two of you, the mattress moving up and down as your hips continue to hump against his member.

“it feels good,” you sigh as you pull away from his plush lips.

there’s regret in your decision to unveil your true feelings, but it has become so hard to ignore.

seokmin is glowing with triumph, observing the way your lidded eyes exude with desire. pants leave your mouth, the redness from your cheeks trickling down to your neck. he can’t let go of you after this. he won't.

“the faster you go, the faster this is over,” he informs you, hoping it will coerce you into riding him like a bitch in heat.

“o-okay, i’ll try,” your voice wobbles, your hands moving to his shoulders to ground yourself.

lifting yourself up, you slam back down onto his cock. seokmin’s brows are strewn as he attempts to savour the feeling of your pussy rubbing against his length. then you speed up, speeding up your movements until the sounds of skin and skin echo within your bedroom.

“f-fuck, i’m gonna cum,” seokmin’s voice strains, his dick starts to twitch within your velvety cunt.

you moan out, your eyes screwed shut. the funny feeling in your stomach snaps like a strained rubber band. the abnormal sensation flows throughout your limbs, but it’s so satisfying at the same time.

then it comes, the spurt of semen filling your hole. he holds you tight against him as his hips stutter, the warm liquid hitting your walls until you're completely stuffed.

you’re panting against his muscular chest, breath ragged while sweat drips from your forehead. realization hits you seconds later and you’re jumping off seokmin’s lap.

“you need to go,” you mutter, not able to meet his eyes.

the clothes are scattered on the floor and you make haste as you pluck your sweater near the foot of your bed. it shouldn’t matter that it felt good to have him inside you, but the thought of him fucking you against can’t help cross your mind.

“i could go. but why should i? that pussy of yours is mine now,” seokmin shrugs nonchalantly before standing from the bed to dress himself.

a sense of dread wreaks havoc inside you, your heart plummeting to the floor. this whole situation has you feeling powerless, but you can’t deny the spark that seokmin had lit inside you.

“expect me to come over when i need my dick sucked, okay?”

#dovenet #dubcon #seokmin smut #seokmin x reader #seventeen smut #dokyeom smut #lee seokmin smut #lee dokyeom smut #dk smut #dk x reader #dokyeom x reader #tw: dubcon #dubious consent

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rivalsispunk · 2 days ago

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The Interview (Chapter 1 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Author’s note: Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! Please be kind but also let me know what you think! Proof read but probs still some mistakes. Not entirely canon, Declan still works for Corinium, Maud has disappeared to god knows where and the rest, well, you’ll have to read to find out :)

Chapter One: The Interview

You were going to positively kill Taggie once you returned to the Cotswolds. Only she, your closest friend since you relocated to the country after finishing your university degree six months ago, could convince you to cut your gap year short in favour of interviewing for a personal assistant job at Corinium. And, for her father, Declan O’Hara, no less.

“Oh, go on!” Taggie had pleaded with you over The Priory’s kitchen counter. “I know you’re getting bored out here. You can’t spend all of your days sitting around here, helping me peel the shite out of prawns for dinner parties.”

“Why not?” You plucked a grape from the fruit platter she’d just finished assembling for an event at Freddie and Valerie Jones’ that evening. “I happen to like spending all my time with you. Even if it does mean peeling shite out of crustaceans.” You eyed your friend with faux suspicion. “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“Of course not! I just think you’d be grand at it, that’s all, what with your journalism degree and all,” Taggie explained. “You’ve heard Daddy when he comes home. Always complaining about the sorts he’s had to interview. Plus, he already knows you. That’s ought to win you some points right there.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad,” you confessed, mulling the opportunity over as you chewed through another handful of grapes. It would look amazing on your resume and you’d have a foot in the door at one of the biggest TV networks in the United Kingdom. Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to have a front row seat to Declan in all his glory every single day. You would never mention it to Taggie, but you fancied her dad a rather handsome sod.

“Say you’ll do it. At the very least, for me?” Taggie bat her thick eyelashes at you.

“Fine,” you eventually relented, a smile cracking over your face at the new possibility. “I’ll go in for an interview, but no promises. And I don’t want you convincing him of me either! I want to get this job on my own merit, okay?”

“Convince Daddy of you? Please, he already adores you.” The sentiment spread fire through your chest. Tag rounded the kitchen bench and grabbed you by the hand. “Now let’s find you an outfit! Mummy ought to have left something halfway suitable behind.”

Taggie nor Declan had said much about their absentee matriarch Maud in the recent weeks since she fled the countryside after yet another explosive argument between her and her husband. You knew better than to ask, but you could tell by the way Taggie’s shoulders sagged at the sight of her mother’s partially empty closet that her absence had a somber affect on her.

You’d only been into the main bedroom of The Priory once before, when the room was overtaken by Maud’s florally perfumes and extravagant evening gowns. This time, however, the space was so intrinsically Declan; all heady cedarwood and whisky and smoke. Shirts with patterns of plaid and tartan as well as numerous odd, natural-coloured socks were peppered across armchairs and vanities, while a stack of memoirs sat on his bedside with a full ashtray perched atop. Your heart swelled, and sunk simultaneously, at the thought of Declan being sat up here alone at night, or early of a morning, thumbing through a book while taking slow drags of his cigarette as he let himself be consumed by a life far different to the one he was currently living.

“How about this?” Taggie’s voice ripped through your daydream, forcing you away from thoughts of her father. You peered at the oatmeal-coloured dress she had retrieved from the closet, surprised that Maud owned something so…brown. You’d always known her to wear jewel tones that complimented her flaming red hair. You shook your head, and thus began a cycle of Taggie suggesting an outfit and you shooting it down. Eventually, you agreed to Taggie swapping out your creature comfort jeans and Wham! T-shirt for an old black pencil skirt that you were convinced had given you hives from the way your legs hadn’t stopped itching since you put it on, as well as a silky fuchsia blouse that stretched a little too tight over your breasts. While your friend had done a good job at assuring you that you’d fit right in at the Corinium offices, you weren’t as convinced.

The receptionists, all in latest season fashion with not a hair out of place, had looked you up and down as soon as you stepped foot in the marble foyer, snickering behind your back about your fashion fauxpas once you’d checked in. Sarah Stratton wasn’t as covert with her judgement. As you sat outside Declan’s office, waiting to be called in, Sarah outwardly guffawed when she spotted you across the floor. You’d met her several times in passing at parties and Corinium events you’d previously attended as Taggie’s plus one, and for the most part, she’d kept her observations to herself. But now, as her red heels clip across the carpet, her gaze set right on you with her matching rouge lips upturned. “I would never have expected to see you here, darling!” she coos down at you, reaching for a strand of hair that has slipped in front of your shoulder. “And playing dress ups, no less!” Another laugh tinkers out of her as she twirls your hair around her finger. “Interviewing for the assistant job with Declan, hm?”

You nod with a taut smile and try not to let her comment about you looking god-awfully out of place get to you. Sarah’s eyes shift to Declan’s closed mahogany door and tuts. “Well, good luck, sweetheart. Seems like you’ll need it with the way the rest of those interviews have panned out.”

“Oh, hop off it, Sarah!” an unmistakingly Irish voice barks from your left. Sarah jolts upright and despite the embarrassment that tinges her cheeks pink, still manages throw a sultry smile in Declan’s direction. Your posture matches her pin-straight stature as you side-eye his office. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t inside, preparing for your interview the way you had been all morning. You’d crafted your pitch of yourself perfectly, complete with ideas and suggestions for potential guests for Declan’s show, anything to set you apart, make you seem even a fraction less useless that the interviewees that came before you. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s James?” he questions Sarah, alluding to the very common knowledge that she and her co-host James Vereker are having an affair. Declan makes a show of raking through his moustache - god, that moustache - then adds with a smirk, “James and better. Probably not two words that should be in the same sentence, eh?” Sarah’s smile plateaus at that, and that stiff upper-lip culture she was dying to marry into takes its place.

“I’m sure I can make myself busy, Declan. Got a show to prepare and all that. Ciao!” She doesn’t look at you again and you’re grateful that Declan starts to speak before you bumblefuck your way through the silence.

“Ciao,” he repeats once Sarah’s out of earshot . “Doubt that leech of a woman’s ever had a decent carbonara, let alone stepped foot in Italy.” he says, offering you the first genuine smile you’ve received all day. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He swings open his office door and holds an arm out. “After you, love.”

“Thanks.”

You shuffle into the room ahead of him, completely oblivious to the way Declan’s eyes are trained on your arse in a skirt that’s familiar to him, but he’s unsure how. Right now, however, he doesn’t care, because it fits your body so magnificently, as if it were made for you. He fights to ignore the dull throb beneath his trousers while he watches you sit, the black fabric pushed to its limits as it stretches across the globes of your arse.

God, has she always been so… womanly? Declan wonders, then immediately chastises himself for leering so openly at his daughter’s best friend. Yes, she was a few good years older than Taggie, and always a beautiful girl, but he was glad his middle child had finally made a friend amid the shitshow that was the move to the country and his crumbling marriage to Maud. He didn’t need to muddy the waters with pervacious thoughts about the young lass’ curves. If only she’d shown up to his office in her usual ripped jeans and George Michael-adorned tees.

“Everything okay, Mr O’Hara? Should I sit somewhere else?” you ask when you notice Declan frozen in the doorway with a furrow etched in his brow. You immediately start second-guessing yourself and wonder if this was a bad idea after all. You can only imagine everyone else who lost out on this job before you faced that same expression. He shakes his head at you, at himself, then busies himself with straightening his maroon tie as he moves to sit behind his desk. You shift in your seat, trying to thwart of the lingering itch Maud’s skirt has buried into the back of your thigh. You think if you can wriggle just so, you can ward it off for at least the main portion of the interview. While you think your subtle movements go unnoticed by Declan because he’s perusing your resume - impressive, he’d earlier noted in black pen beside details of your internship at The Times - he’s been clocked onto your behaviour since he’d laid eyes on you across the office. Scared shitless, and he doesn’t half know that Sarah’s sneaky comments only added to it, thanks to the way you’re fidgeting with that damned skirt mere metres away from him. If Declan had any less sense in him, any less dignity, he’d have half the mind to tear it straight from your body. Of course, he decides against it and tries a less barbaric approach to settle your nerves.

“No band t-shirt today?”

Now it’s your turn for your brows to knit together. “I’m sorry?” Declan nudges his head in the general direction of your chest and your chin dips in response to see what he’s referring to. There, your vision is flanked with fluorescent pink and a tinge of flesh where the silky material doesn’t quite stretch to cover your breasts between buttons, and you silently curse Taggie for allowing you to wear something so borderline revealing at her father’s workplace. Plus, you were surprised he’d even noticed your usual attire.

“I thought it was best I grow up a bit in the clothing department if I were to go for a job at Corinium,” you confess. Declan doesn’t miss the way the swell of your breasts arch against your shirt when you take a deep breath and fold your arms across yourself. “But now I’m thinking the bright pink was a mistake.”

You peer across the expansive wooden desk expectantly, and Declan pitches his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me! Fashion, clearly, is not my strong suit. All I know is, according to my girls, leaving the house with ladders in your tights is a big no-no unless you’re a gothic or Winona Ryder.”

You chuckle at that, even more so for knowing that his youngest daughter, Caitlin, would be all for half-shredded tights.

Declan looks coy as he sips from his tea. “But if it counts for anything, you look lovely.”

“Well, I should hope you think so. These are your wife’s clothes, after all.” Your confession elicits a splutter from the otherwise put together man in front of you. Tea spouts from his lips across the desk, marring your resume and any other papers with brown stains. You immediately spring into action, scanning the room for a towel, handkerchief, anything that could mop up the mess.

“Sorry, love,” Declan says quietly, thumping a fist against his chest. “Wrong pipe.”

That’s when you see it, a pocket square the same colour as his tie poking from his breast pocket. Without thinking, you lurch across Declan’s desk and pluck it from its resting place, and begin soaking up the liquid. Declan ought to help you, it’s his mess after all, but he’s frozen at the view you’ve awarded him as you lean over. Your cleavage fights against the V cut of Maud’s blouse and Declan can just make out the ripple of a black lace bra below the neckline. He can’t even imagine Maud in that outfit. Right now it’s all so you. His cock stirs at the sight and he can’t help the pained groan that bubbles up his throat.

“Stop,” he breathes in barely a whisper. You don’t, of course, you can’t hear him, and you keep wiping at the desk, your breasts bouncing with every swipe up and down.

“Christ, girl, stop it!” Declan explodes, bolting up from his chair. Thankfully, the height of his desk hides his growing bulge, but it doesn’t matter. The look of pure fear painting your face has the same effect as a cold shower. You sink back into your seat and begin spluttering apologies, that you shouldn’t have used his pocket square, that you were out of line and another dozen variations of sorry, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Declan mirrors you by returning to his chair, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he states eventually. “I don’t give a dying rats arse about the pocket square. It’s just… I’m a bloody fool just standing here while you clean up after me. I can’t have you doing that. You don’t even work for me.”

Despite the shock of Declan’s outburst, you manage to muster up a bit of cheek in response. “I don’t even work for you yet,” you correct him.

Your confidence juts Declan’s eyebrows to his curly hairline and a grin cracks across his face. “Cocky little thing, aren’t ya? Go on then.. tell me why I should hire you.”

You spend the next twenty minutes talking Declan through your university studies and experience, the tension from earlier already forgotten. When Declan mentions he once worked with your media law professor, the conversation detours into the pair of you sharing stories about your experiences with the man, far too senile and set in his ways to do the younger generation any good. The rest of the interview carries on like that, you and Declan laughing and exchanging anecdotes like two friends in the pub rather than an employer vetting a potential employee. You’re about to pitch the idea of getting Farah Fawcett on Declan’s show when the office door thumps open to reveal Corinium’s managing director, Tony Baddingham, at its entryway.

“O’Hara! If you’re done with giggling like a little schoolgirl down here, we’ve got a production meeting to get to,” he bites, barely glancing in your direction. You don’t miss the roll of Declan’s tawny eyes as he waves Tony off.

“Alright, Tony. Give me five, I’m just finishing up here,” he says before introducing you by name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Baddingham,” you tell him, standing to shake his hand. He doesn’t properly look at you until your palms meet, and your spine stiffens when his beady eyes rake over you.

“One of Declan’s assistant candidates, I presume?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re far prettier than some of the other trolls we’ve had roll through here recently.”

“Tony,” Declan warns. The last thing he wants is another man leering at you like you’re a rite of passage for them.

“Right, well, lovely to meet you,” Tony clasps his other hand over the top of yours, careening his neck so he’s at your eye level. “Hope to see you around here. You’ll definitely be a much-appreciated addition.”

Offering a tight-lipped smile, you reserve the urge bawk in his face. You’ve worked with enough Tony Baddinghams to know his interest in you has nothing to do with your professional ability and everything to do with aesthetics. Fucking men.

For the most part, they sickened you and Declan all the same, but for the latter, he was mainly sickened with himself for wanting to pummel Baddingham for the way he was eye-fucking you. But who was he to talk? He’d been doing the exact same thing just minutes earlier.

When Tony leaves the office, he leaves the door ajar, a reminder that Declan is expected elsewhere. You’re about to ask Declan if Tony is always so…Tony, but he’s already got his briefcase in hand and is ushering you towards the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Taggie said you wanted to interview for this position, with you being on a gap year and all,” he confessed as you strolled out onto the office floor. “But you know your stuff. You’re bloody intelligent. Passionate. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you, Mr O’Hara.”

“Please, call me Declan. Here, and at The Priory. Just Declan,” he smiles and you return it.

“Alright, then. Declan.”

“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll let you know about the job. There’s a couple more interviews on the books in the next few days, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

Declan gives you a curt nod, and you start for the elevator, but you barely make it five steps before he calls you back.

“For what it’s worth, I’d be lucky to have ya here. And like I said, you look great, but I prefer the jeans and t-shirts. They’re much more…you.”

His admission sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage, and red creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr O’Ha- Declan,” you correct yourself. “Thank you, Declan. See you around.” You turn on your patent black heel, leaving Declan standing there with an image that’s bound to haunt him for nights to come: you in that fucking skirt.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this, and if you’re feeling generous, a lil’ reblog won’t go astray <3

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befallenstars-archive · 3 days ago

Text

This'll be the first time that I read one of your works, Ze! Hope you don't mind me yapping. It's recently become a small routine/habit of mine🫂

Spoilers and lots of yapping under the cut!

I wanna start off with the tags. My reaction was pretty normal until I read the "(ajax licks) blood and tears". Was I deterred? No, I was invested. Oh, my...all enemies and no lovers??? Tension only??? I just know this'll be good.

Brb, I'll listen to the song first...

Huh, I'd definitely trust your music taste.

The snow falls thick and fast, yet the village continues to burn. Screams and shouts of villagers, mixed with the clashing of metal, rise above the roar of devouring flames of blue.

Okay! We're diving straight into this. Love that actually.

Those who fail to meet the fae’s standards are left alone, shivering and watching in the cold.

I GOT GOOSEBUMPS.

The way you write scratches my brain just right. Even better that your style of writing genuinely matches the overall dark vibe you're going for. I can literally feel it in my bones.

Gently grabbing your shoulders before shaking you bc I fell in love at first work with your writing. I need to read more of your works, Ze! Omg, why did it take so long before my dash gifted me with it? I should've looked for it myself!

Sorry, just not-so casually a sucker for your writing style.

It is the most luxurious piece of clothing you own; a beautiful dark green cloth lined with fur, decorated by unfinished hand-embroidered leaves and flowers and bunnies—a project you’ve been chipping away at this winter.

I already noticed this with the way you described the horses but there's truly just something about the way you do it. Like I can oh so easily imagine whatever it is you are narrating

I LOVE THE TINY DETAILS

Snowflakes continue to fall, decorating your hair and eyelashes with diamonds, while the shoulders of your cloak become dusted in sugar.

Is it bad to say that I wanna eat your fics? (affectionately(?))

The snow dances around you and you can’t help but indulge in a spin, cloak sweeping out around you in a swirl of deep green. Your huff of laughter is stolen by the wind, but the delight within you remains.

I think I fell in love—

You have a writing style that gives me fairy tale kind of vibes. Even if it's dark. It would be so fun reading this out loud with theatrics and some drama.

In my head? I'm doing just that. It is so good.

...

All of this is so good that I can't pick one line and yap about.

You know he is fae right away by his unnatural beauty. His hair glimmers a coppery orange under the light of the full moon, all windswept and dusted in snow. His eyes seem to glow as they scan you from head to toe, a blue just a shade darker than that of the flames destroying the village. Ears taper into a fine point and from his left one dangles a deep red crystal that only makes you think of blood. He smiles, then, as you observe him. His canines are sharp and long, like that of a fox, and you are frozen with wide, shining eyes of a bunny.

GODS

WHAT I WOULDN'T GIVE TO HAVE THE ABILITY TO WRITE A SCENE THE WAY YOU DO—

IT'S JUST SO???? I CANT EVEN DO JUSTICE TO DESCRIBE IT. I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE.

You don’t think he’s talking solely about the snow.

I am so deeply immersed in this fic that I physically swallowed when I read this.

He laughs, throwing his head back as the sound erupts from his throat. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his breath beading in the winter air.

...For the love of— I have thoughts but I shan’t say them out loud for propriety's sake.

He had not intended to take you back to the fae realm, but then you had to go and run.

THAT WAS FOUL

“Ouch,” the fae calls after you. His voice is loud and clear, and you know he’s only getting closer. “Don’t hurt yourself too much trying to escape, okay?”

🙂💢

I dunno, there was something about this that just got on my nerves.

...

It was not in 2025 bingo card to find myself having a tiny crush on this man AGAIN.

What in the sadomasochism...

Nope. No. Bye—

“Are you done?” he asks, amusement coloring his tone. “If not, I can do this all night.”

I just want to be slightly violent. Just a bit.

...and you realize you are at this fae’s mercy, pinned like a prized butterfly in a collection; all pretty and helpless, on display for him to study.

Mnh...yes...I am...slightly dysfunctional.

Sitting in my chair with my back slightly hunched and a hand over my lips as I question myself.

“Try that again, I dare you.” His voice is rough and yet it doesn’t sound like a threat.

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

Zipping my mouth closed.

...the sensation of your nails digging into his abdomen is not one he’ll forget anytime soon.

What if I actually lose it?

Mnh? Ze? Will you take accountability?!

He tastes the lie and grins. “That’s not true now, is it?”

Okay, I am brought by to sanity by the genuine question of what the hell does a lie taste like?

Ajax is enchanted. Has he ever seen a human so beautiful?

And I am back to the edge of my sanity. Lovely.

His groan of delight is overlapped by your whimper, the cut on your cheek stinging as fear flows through your veins.

...slamming my head on the table right now.

What— no, I?? This is...am I really? No...what? Hahaha. That's not...maybe?

Ajax grins, taking in the vision before him. “You’re perfect.”

I'm going insane.

Okay, the note was really cute tho??? I'm sorry but I imagine it in a chibi kind of style where Targtaglia's standing by the door while reader collects their stuff. Maybe doggo will betray the reader by being nice to Tartraglia, who absolutely eats it up when the reader glares at both him and the dog.

EASY ON THE EYES, EASIER TO HATE. tartaglia x reader ✧ 2.7k words

when the fae raid your village to take humans into their realm, you think you’ll be safe in the woods. but you run into a fae who introduces himself as tartaglia and realize it might have been safer for you to stay at home.

tags and warnings ✧ fae!tartaglia, gender neutral reader (no pronouns used), reader sews and tailors clothes for a living, the fae are pretty brutal, mentions of violence, (ajax licks) blood and tears, chasing (predator prey dynamic), manhandling, all enemies and no lovers (only tension oops). note ✧ this is a darker fic compared to most of my writing; please let me know if I need to tag anything else! title inspired by the song "psycho" by taylor acorn. a gift for @cruel-hiraeth for teahouse's secret santa! happy new year, kae! i hope this fic helps you start off the year right by loving hating tartaglia >u< this was lots of fun to write hehe and got a little long because the au ran away from me... i hope you enjoy! love you lots <3

The snow falls thick and fast, yet the village continues to burn. Screams and shouts of villagers, mixed with the clashing of metal, rise above the roar of devouring flames of blue.

The fae are here.

They pull people out of their beds, pushing them into the streets. Turn their faces toward the light of a burning house—looking for the beautiful humans, still young and nimble. Or searching for evidence of skill in the arts; a pretty face matters little if one can produce beautiful things in ways that the fae cannot. Those who fail to meet the fae’s standards are left alone, shivering and watching in the cold.

The humans the fae deem acceptable meet a much worse fate. They are picked up and thrown in the back of carts, drawn by horses with ears too long and manes too wild, their coats unusually glossy and vibrant. The chosen who try to escape are bound with rope that cruelly digs into skin. Those who try to fight are taken down brutally, then laughed at as they writhe on the ground—though the fae make sure no permanent damage is done, for that would defeat the purpose of the raid.

A fae bearing a torch of blue flames brings it up to the walls of each house of those who have been chosen. The blue catches on the wood unnaturally quickly, spreading with a voracious hunger despite the wind and snow. Within the hour, nothing will remain besides a pile of ash.

But by then, the fae and the chosen villagers will be long gone.

You are lucky that sleep is so elusive tonight.

Earlier, after tossing and turning in bed for ages, you give up on trying to fall asleep. It is hard to leave your dog who has curled up beside you in a ball of white fluff, but you press a kiss between her ears before changing into some warmer layers. You sweep a thick winter cloak over your shoulders. It is the most luxurious piece of clothing you own; a beautiful dark green cloth lined with fur, decorated by unfinished hand-embroidered leaves and flowers and bunnies—a project you’ve been chipping away at this winter. Putting on boots that have long since been molded to the shape of your feet, you leave your house to catch some fresh air and possibly tire yourself out along the way.

The blanket of pure white is beautiful. The full moon makes everything glitter as snow stretches from the outskirts of the village into the forests beyond. Snowflakes continue to fall, decorating your hair and eyelashes with diamonds, while the shoulders of your cloak become dusted in sugar.

It is so quiet out here. The whistling of the wind and the thoughts in your head are the only sounds you hear. You are used to this, though. Every day you sew and tailor clothes in the back of the village’s clothing store, often alone for hours on end with nothing but your thoughts for company.

A strong gust of wind rocks you on your feet. Clutching your cloak tighter and tossing the fur-lined hood up over your head, you turn your back on the forest to face the trail of footsteps you’ve made through the snow. You should head home.

Still, you take your time approaching the village. The snow dances around you and you can’t help but indulge in a spin, cloak sweeping out around you in a swirl of deep green. Your huff of laughter is stolen by the wind, but the delight within you remains.

Then the first scream rips through the night.

You freeze. Scanning the houses on the outskirts of the village reveals no dangers.

Another cry follows the first and you know something must be terribly wrong.

You start running toward the village, kicking up snow as your mind races. Perhaps someone is getting robbed—but no one in town would dare. Or based on the growing amount of cries and shouts, maybe something happened that has injured a lot of people. A fire?

As you make it to the buildings, you see that you are right. Fire engulfs one of the homes on the far side of town, the flames reaching for the sky. A shudder runs through you at the sight, for the flames are unnaturally blue, and though this is the first time you’ve seen such a thing, you have heard of the stories and warnings about the cyan fire and those that accompany it.

You will not let the fae take you.

Whirling around, you sprint for the woods. The screams of the other villagers ring in your ears, but you know it is impossible for you to take on a single fae, let alone an army of them. They are here to steal humans away. For what, you’re not sure, but it can’t be for anything good. Though you doubt they would choose to take you, the best way to make sure you can see the sunrise tomorrow is to hide in the woods and avoid them all.

Reaching the treeline seems to take ages. You keep looking over your shoulder as you run, half expecting to have been spotted, but you only see more and more flames of blue burning houses to the ground.

Your heart skips a beat at the thought of your home being set ablaze—your dog!—but then you remember the fae only burn the houses of the humans they take and relief washes over you.

With your thoughts consumed by the safety of your dog, you don’t notice that you have slowed, trying to catch your breath in the midst of the trees. Nor do you notice that you aren’t alone anymore, until the newcomer starts speaking.

“My, my. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Dread sinks like a stone in your stomach. You spin, eyes wide as they land on the source of those playful and teasing words, leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed.

He hums and tilts his head. It is then that you remember he asked a question, and your throat works to find your voice to answer him. “I was out for a stroll,” you manage to say, words somehow steady despite your fluttering pulse.

It’s a half-truth, but half-truths are half-lies, and there’s the slightest hint of bitterness in the back of Ajax’s throat that always accompanies humans’ lies. “Oh, really? And was that before or after we made our presence known?”

“Before, actually,” you tell him honestly. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to take a walk. The snow is beautiful and the moon is bright—it’s pretty, is it not?” If you talk enough, maybe he’ll lose interest so you can make a run for it. You don’t know much about fae, but with the way he’s dressed in nicer clothing than what most men in your village wear, surely he won’t care for running through the snowy forest.

He smiles. “It is pretty.” His eyes refuse to leave your frame, and a shiver runs through you. You don’t think he’s talking solely about the snow.

Pushing off the tree, he takes a few steps forward, nearly silent despite the boots he wears. He stops when you stiffen, clutching your cloak tighter in your hands. “Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Tartaglia,” he says, picking one of his many names to give you. “And you are?”

You press your lips together and force a smile. Even you know not to give the fae your name, no matter how much of a gentleman he is pretending to be. Your stomach rolls, unease making your heart rate pick up again. “I’m-” You see the way he perks up in interest, expecting a name. “I’m leaving,” you spit out, turn on your heels, and run.

Ajax watches you leave, the green of your cloak billowing out behind you like a rabbit’s tail inviting him to chase. He laughs, throwing his head back as the sound erupts from his throat. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his breath beading in the winter air.

He had not intended to take you back to the fae realm, but then you had to go and run. And he wouldn’t dare to let all your hard work go to waste—so he’ll participate in the delightful hunt you’ve set up for him.

The ground is uneven beneath your feet. It is hard to tell where the tree roots are under the thick layer of snow and each breath of air feels like tiny needles stabbing your lungs. But you push on, feet pounding as quickly as you can force yourself to go.

You want to be as far away from that fae as you can get. He had not looked like he was going to chase you when you last saw him, laughing as you ran away, but there was a look in his eyes that pushed you to keep running.

When you toss a quick glance over your shoulder, your breath hitches and terror rushes through you.

He’s there. In the distance, but you can see him, weaving through the trees at an inhuman pace, his long legs carrying him far. He is gaining on you and you fear what he will do when he catches you.

You push yourself to run even harder, but your legs burn and your throat feels tight. In your haste, you fail to see the lower hanging branches of a nearby tree. A cry tears from your lips as a thin branch slices through the skin of your cheek, but you barely feel the pain with your face nearly frozen from the cold.

“Ouch,” the fae calls after you. His voice is loud and clear, and you know he’s only getting closer. “Don’t hurt yourself too much trying to escape, okay?”

Through your huffs for air, you manage to shout back at him. “Piss off! Leave me alone!”

Ajax grins, closing the distance. “I don’t think I will,” he says.

He lunges forward and grabs a fistful of your cloak. You stumble from the pull, tripping over your feet. He uses the momentum to spin you around, pushing you backward until you hit a tree, forcing the air from your lungs. His body presses against yours right after, caging you in with one leg wedged between your own.

“Let go of me!” you shout, slamming your fists into his chest. You try shoving all of your weight into him but he simply presses back harder until his chest is flush against yours.

He laughs—laughs!—as you struggle against him, kicking and yelling and throwing your weight from side to side. He does not budge at all under the onslaught. You do everything you can, but only wear yourself out, leaning back against the tree to catch your breath.

“Are you done?” he asks, amusement coloring his tone. “If not, I can do this all night.”

His reaction makes your blood boil, most of your fear buried beneath anger. You glare down past his arm that still grips your cloak and catch sight of a sliver of pale skin peeking through the folds of his clothes. Moving your gaze back up to his face, you spit out, “I hope you die.”

And then you dig your nails into the exposed skin of his stomach, sink your teeth into the arm holding onto your cloak, and shove with all your might.

Ajax stumbles backward.

You rip yourself out of his hold, twist your body to the side, taking one step forward, free-

Arms wrap around your waist and throw you back toward the tree. Your feet catch on his boot, making you lose your balance, perfect for Ajax to maneuver your body as he wills. This time, he pins your hands above your head, one large hand grasping your wrists, while his other arm presses as an immovable bar across your collarbones. One leg forces its way between your own, and you realize you are at this fae’s mercy, pinned like a prized butterfly in a collection; all pretty and helpless, on display for him to study.

You look down. You don’t want to see the anger on his face before he retaliates for your actions.

The arm across your chest shifts and you flinch as gloved fingers grab your chin, firm but not painful as he tilts your head, forcing you to look at him. You’re taken aback by the grin on his face, canines bared and bloodthirsty, but his eyes are amused.

“Try that again, I dare you.” His voice is rough and yet it doesn’t sound like a threat.

Your eyes grow wide. This kind of a creature is not one you will be able to escape, at least not now—unarmed except for your teeth and nails.

Ajax lets go of your chin, pulling back slightly. He’s delighted by the fire within you. When he first saw you, running toward the woods, he simply thought you a pretty coward. But oh you dared to fight back, using what little defenses humans naturally have, and you even broke skin. Though his fae blood allows him to rapidly heal, the sensation of your nails digging into his abdomen is not one he’ll forget anytime soon.

As he looks away from your face to take you all in, now that you’re not struggling to escape, his gaze catches on your cloak. His eyes light up, tracing over the exquisitely stitched leaves and plants of various green threads, mixed occasionally with lively bunnies of soft browns. There’s a rabbit still unfinished, just a cute head and perked ears, awaiting its body to bring it to life.

“Did you make this?” Ajax asks, thumb brushing over the embroidery.

“No,” you gasp, heart sinking.

He tastes the lie and grins. “That’s not true now, is it?”

It’s over. Now that he knows you are skilled at sewing, he has all the reasons he needs to bring you into his realm. Despair is a heavy weight, mixed with frustration and anger. Tears well in your eyes and slide down the curves of your face. A few droplets spread into the cut on your left cheek, mixing with the beading blood that stains your skin.

Ajax is enchanted. Has he ever seen a human so beautiful?

He can’t stop himself from leaning in even closer until his nose nearly presses against your ear. There’s a moment where you hear him inhale. Then his tongue swipes up your cheek, lapping up tears and blood. His groan of delight is overlapped by your whimper, the cut on your cheek stinging as fear flows through your veins.

His fingers grip your chin again and he turns your head to the other side. Warmth travels up your cheek as he licks your tears, before pulling away with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

As you gasp for breath, he takes in the sight of more tears streaming down your face, shed in mourning for the loss of your life in the human world. Shudders run through you until your tears slow, giving time for your heart to harden. Slowly, you open your eyes to meet his gaze, yours now blazing with fury and hatred.

Ajax grins, taking in the vision before him. “You’re perfect.”

note ✧ ajax makes you point out your home and he gets to dig through your stuff as you collect a few things to take with you. don't worry, doggo gets to come with and is treated very well (fae like animals more than humans, usually).

this is not quite the type of thing i usually write, but i hope it was still an enjoyable read! i'd love to hear what you think c:

#this was such a great fic to read #urghhh #this could be a whole trilogy and i would be invested in buying every copy to binge it #chef's kiss #mwah!#ack—#childe x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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strang3lov3 · 21 hours ago

Text

The First Taste

Roman offers you money if you just let him put the tip in. Just the tip, that's all (it's not all).

Tags - smut, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, virginity kink, big dick roman roy, dare i call that cock gargantuan, ludicrously capacious, even? Unprotected piv, fingering, blow jobs, cunnilingus, hand jobs, nipple stim, just the tip (it’s never just the tip) dubcon, manipulation, deception, coercion, betrayal, Roman solicits sex from reader and is also insensitive about stds, pay him no mind. I made myself soaking wet every day while writing this so. Do what you will with that information. 5.8k words. A/N - This is just...smut. Beginning to end. I’m gonna be working on stepdaddy after this, probably write a stepdaddy sick fic cuz I feel kinda like shit. Kisses to all yall sluts 😘

Finally, some fucking quiet. For now.

The couple in the hotel room next to yours has been going at it all night, a marathon of fucking. Endless moans, rhythmic squeaking of the bed becoming louder and faster, then quieter and slower. This couple makes you wonder if their room is the honeymoon suite or something, the way they’re fucking like a couple of newly-wed bunnies. You rest against the plush headboard, closing your stinging eyes momentarily.

You dipped from the wedding an hour or so ago, maybe closer to two hours at this point. It’s about midnight now. You’re alone in your room, crinkling the once neatly made bedding as you play a dumb little game on your phone. Your mind wanders as you mindlessly tap the screen, thinking about what the couple next door is doing. What he’s doing to her, what she’s doing to him. How good it all feels, probably. You wonder what it’s like.

Knock. Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock knock–

Roman. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to know it’s him. Nobody else knocks like that, and nobody else would show up at your door at this particular hour. You sigh as you get out of bed, taking heavy steps toward the door before opening it.

“Evening, sexpot. You have something of mine and I’d like it back, please and thank you.”

Roman’s still wearing the outfit he wore during the wedding, though missing his suit jacket and tie. The sleeves of his white button down shirt are rolled above his elbows, there’s an extra button undone. Once neatly slicked back, his hair is now disheveled, a few loose strands falling over his eyebrows. His eyes are half-lidded, lips curled into that smug, casual, infuriatingly handsome smirk he always wears. He looks gorgeous.

“I do?” you ask, thinking before remembering quickly. “Oh, shit. Yeah, I do.” You open the door wider and make space to allow him to follow behind you, Roman first closing the door. You unplug his charger from the wall outlet and wrap the cord in a figure-eight around your fingers, some habit you’re not sure where or when you picked up. Roman holds out his hand and you place the charger in his palm. “So is the wedding finally over?”

“Mhm. You vanished on me, though, Cinderella. I thought I’d get at least a dance out of you but you stood me up, you heartbreaker, you. Felt like a virgin on prom night,” Roman laments with a dramatic flair, no real hurt in his tone. “But I’ll live. Me and some bridesmaid-chick totally dry humped on the dance floor, so it all worked out.”

You know he’s teasing, probably lying. Embellishing the truth. But it makes you squirm just the same, and you’re not totally sure why. You could be a little jealous, maybe. But there’s another reason, too.

“Anyway, uh. Thanks. I’ll leave you to it,” Roman says, toying with the charger cord.

“No, thank you. Came in hand–”

“Oh, fuck, like that. Just like that, harder, harder, fuck, ohhhh!”

You’re interrupted by the sounds of your temporary neighbor’s moans that you’ve become very well-acquainted with. “Oh my god,” you mumble, rolling your eyes.

Roman’s lips curl into an even wider smile, his eyes lighting up as he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, nice!” he says, giggling, “Man. That’s awesome. Lucky you, with your front row seat to the show. Maybe there’s a hole in the wall behind this mirror or something. You should see if you can watch.”

“They’ve been going at it for hours,” you deadpan.

Roman nods in approval, that big, stupid smile still on his lips. “Awh, fuck yeah. Good for them. You should ask to join. We both could, actually. Let’s go knock.”

Your cheeks heat up at the idea, even knowing Roman’s not serious. Probably not serious, at least. Roman notices this, takes mental notes of your flustered expression, how you look anywhere but at him. The shifting of your feet, the unnecessary movements your body makes as you squirm. “Ahh, too shy. I get it,” Roman says. “So you’re just - you’re…what, jerking off to it in here, all by your lonesome? Fuck, did I interrupt? How rude, let me get out–”

“No!”

“No? You want me to stay?”

“No - you - I–” you huff, closing your eyes as you inhale and exhale a deep breath. “I meant that I’m not…you know. Doing that.”

Roman’s eyes sparkle. “It’s okay, you can admit it. I know you ladies are more, you know - audio than visual.” He wiggles his fingers by his ears as he paces slowly around the room, inspecting the slice of cake you brought back with you from the wedding, swiping a bit of frosting off the plate with his finger before sucking on it.

“Stop it, Roman.”

“I think I’m gonna stay a while, if you don’t mind. Listen to the music.”

“Whatever, knock yourself out. I’m not sleeping as long as they’re still doing it.”

True to his word, Roman listens intently to the sounds of the couple fucking. You wouldn’t expect anything else from him. He makes little faces of intrigue or surprise at the noises, the extra loud moans or the occasional smack. You regret allowing him to stay. This is so fucking awkward, so you distract yourself by tidying up your already-pristine hotel room. Rearranging some glasses that haven’t been touched, then pouring yourself another glass of water even though you’re not actually thirsty. Roman notices all of this, too. At some point his attention shifts from the muffled noises coming from the other side of the wall to you, how you nervously flit around the room. He decides to up the tension, to make it all worse for you.

“We should fuck,” he says plainly. “You know, louder than them. Establish our dominance. There’s a bed right there.”

It takes you a second to reply. “Funny,” is all you say, your voice coming out quietly and not very confident. Fuck.

“You’re very shy about it, you know that?”

“Shy about what?”

“Oh, fucking - c’mon. You know what,” he deadpans. “Sex! Coitus. Fornicating. Love mak–”

“No, yeah. I got it–”

“Fucking,” Roman interrupts. “So why are you all shy about it?”

“I’m not - I’m not shy,” you stutter.

“But you are. Because you don’t talk about it, ever. You like, clam up, get all fuckin’ weird and quiet,” Roman says, gesturing to you. “And like right now, you won’t even look at me. It’s almost like you’re nervous or something. Are you?” he pauses, “Nervous, that is?”

You’re feeling defensive now, cornered, as Roman’s wedged himself deep under your skin. “No, I just - what does it matter, Roman?” you snap. Sighing, you sit on the edge of the bed and cross your arms.

“I just wanna know, that’s all. Just curious,” he replies, tempering his tone to be much less pointed, less mocking. “You know me. No judgement here.”

“I just…don’t feel the need to talk about it, I guess.”

“You can’t even say it,” Roman digs, crossing his arms. “Are you a prude? Is that it?”

“No, Roman, I’m not a prude. It’s just a very personal thing for some people.”

“Naturally.”

“Not that you’d understand,” you bite.

Roman presses a hand against his chest, pretending you’ve just shot him. “Ouch. But yeah, no, I get it.” Roman pauses, then joins you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Is it herpes?” he whispers. “It’s herpes, isn’t it? You know, there’s no shame in it. I’ve actually created new strains of STDs myself in the course of all of my sexcapades. And look at me, I’m not ashamed,” he smiles, stifling a giggle at his own joke.

“If that’s true, Roman, you really should be. And don’t be facetious. That’s not something to laugh about.”

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he concedes, the apology devoid of any sincerity at all. “So are you saving it for marriage, then? Gonna give Mr. Right your most precious gift?”

You freeze then. Roman’s getting warmer, burning hot. It’s not the truth, but it’s not…not…the truth. An inch away from uncovering your big secret, that you’re a virgin. Never had sex, not once.

It must be written all over your face in big, bolded letters or something, because Roman’s face twists in realization. His eyes are sparkling, jaw dropped in an open, wry smile. “Holy fuck,” he scoffs. “You’re shitting me. Virgin?! You’re a virgin? Oh my god, gross. Ew,” he laughs, turning your cheek to force you to look at him.

It makes you feel bad inside. Insecure. Your bottom lip quivers a little as tears well up in your eyes, that awful feeling of embarrassment taking over every one of your senses. Face hot, ears pounding, the walls closing in. “Roman,” you whisper, tilting your chin down to hide yourself.

“Hey - heyyy. Don’t fuckin’...don’t be like that,” he says, tilting your face back up. Roman laughs, then makes a sympathetic expression as he pulls you close, wrapping his strong arms around you in a tight hug. Some of your tears soak the collar of his shirt as he presses your face into his shoulder. “I’m very sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I took it too far, that’s on me. I’m sorry. Hey–” Roman nuzzles your hair, “I mean it. I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything. You’re too pissed to speak but even if you weren’t, you’re not sure that you could conjure up any sort of response to…whatever the fuck just happened.

“It’s not so terrible, being a virgin.” Roman offers, rubbing your back soothingly as he kisses the top of your head. “There’s worse things to be.”

“Yeah? Like what?” you ask, voice muffled as you mumble into his shirt.

“Like…fuckin’ dead, I guess.” Roman thinks for a second, “Or ugly. And you’re not that, so…”

“Thanks, Rome,” you reply flatly.

“And guys like virgins,” he adds. “Like, do you know how much some creeps would pay to fuck virgin pussy?”

“Uhh…”

“Millions. They’d pay millions,” Roman says, taking note of how your ears perk up at the statement, the incredulous look you give him. “Yeah, now that’s interesting to you, isn’t it? Shit, I’d pay you for it. Let’s skip the middleman, huh?”

“What? No.” You pull away from Roman’s arms.

“Yes. Why not?”

Why not? Just the littlest amount of pushback from Roman and you’re already questioning the lines you’ve drawn in the sand for yourself. For a moment, you contemplate the idea of having sex with Roman, and you’re tempted - his naked body on yours, pleasuring you in a way you’ve never felt at the hands of someone else before, his attention all on you. His perfect, soft lips on yours as he swallows your moans, loving you the way you deserve. But ultimately you decide no, it’s not happening. It can’t happen. Not like how he’s suggesting. He doesn’t have the capacity to handle something like this with any amount of respect or tact.

“I don’t know, Roman. I guess that I always envisioned my first time having sex being with someone that I love. Or trust, at the very least.”

“And you don’t trust me?”

You scoff “Fuck, no.”

“Yeah, that’s smart,” Roman nods. “Okay, fine. I won’t pressure you. You save that special little gift of yours for someone who deserves it.”

You nod as you look down at the floor, tracing the pattern in the carpet with your eyes, gasping when you feel Roman touch your bare knee. “Or…” he murmurs.

“Or?”

Roman’s had the idea of screwing you in his head for a while now, and by his own admission, is especially turned on at the prospect of being the first one to fuck you. It fills him with a primal sort of feeling, knowing that at least for a moment, you’d be his. Your first lover’s name you’d moan would be his, your first orgasm at the hands of another will belong to him only, forever. There’s something about taking your virginity that fills him with a sickening, all-consuming sort of need. He’ll do it, too. By any means necessary.

“Just the tip,” he whispers, his warm hand sliding up your thigh to toy with the edge of your pajama shorts. He wriggles them even higher, not stopping even when you hold your breath and grab his wrist to keep him from traveling further. “Chill. I’m not doing anything,” Roman mumbles, sliding his hand out from under yours to take your hand and put it flat on the bed. He holds your thigh again and speaks slowly, quietly, “You just let me put the tip in and I’ll pay you the same. Whatever - whatever fuckin’ number you want, alright? Put however many zeroes at the end, and it’s yours…if you just let me put the tip in. Sounds easy enough, right?”

“Just the tip,” you repeat quietly, thinking…thinking that it sounds like bullshit, and yet, you’re kind of falling for it anyway. He makes you feel stupid, even when he’s not insulting you.

Roman speaks again before you can talk yourself out of it. “Just the tip,” he lies. “So long as I don’t - you know, fully penetrate you - technically, you’d still be a virgin by the end of our little thing.”

“You’re saying it wouldn’t count?”

Roman nods his head. “Wouldn’t count at all. It’s…a loophole of sorts,” he says, tracing his fingertips up and down your thigh, inching closer and closer to where he wants to feel you the most. “Virginity stays intact. C’mon,” he urges.

You’re fighting yourself. Roman can see the temptation and the self-preservation fighting each other in your mind, and he can’t let the smarter, safer side of you win this.

“You’ve got nothing to lose,” he adds. And he’d get to satisfy a curiosity, but that’s not something he needs to tell you.

“I don’t know, Rome. It - something about it makes me nervous.”

“I know. But I’ll be gentle with you, alright? I’ll take it nice and fuckin’ slow, walk you through the whole thing. No surprises.” Roman shifts a little and reaches into his pocket for his wallet, then pulls out a stack of bills, all hundreds, and places them on your nightstand. “There. Call it a fuckin’...deposit or whatever, I don’t know. Now do we have a deal or not, virgin?”

You bite your lip as you think - or do something resembling thinking, rather. You can’t think clearly, not with Roman’s hands now on your waist. He doesn’t have to touch you anywhere private or sensitive - just his hands on your body is enough to make your brain fucking melt, you poor thing. Don’t even know how badly you need it, need him. Roman will make it all better. Fix you.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. He presses a couple of kisses against the side of your neck, feeling your pulse beneath his tongue as he licks you there. You let out a broken moan in response, nodding urgently. Roman smiles against your skin in satisfaction. “Attagirl,” he murmurs, then pulls away from you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted. Perfect.

He dims the lamps around the room and turns off the overhead lights, casting the room in a warm, orange glow before joining you on the bed again. “Let’s fuckin’ do this thing. You ready?”

“I don’t - I don’t -”

Roman calms you down before you spiral. “Shh, relax. Relax. We’re going slow, like I said,” he reminds you. “God, you’re so fuckin’...c’mere.”

Roman puts both of his strong hands on your face, thumbs on your jaw, the rest of his fingers firmly pressing into your neck. He pulls you close and kisses you, and his lips feel even better than they look. You let out a little noise that Roman doesn’t acknowledge; he only continues to move his lips tenderly against yours, deepening the kiss when you begin to reciprocate.

He’s an excellent kisser. The way he uses his tongue makes you feel dizzy and sets your whole body on fire, and you feel his hands everywhere. Your face, your neck, your waist, digging his fingers into you and squeezing you like he loves you. “Gimme these.” Roman takes your hands in his own and puts them on his own shoulders, his silent way of showing you how it all should be done as he inches closer to you.

He’s warm, warmer than you imagined. Warm in a comforting way. He smells so…him. Slightly sweaty, but not in a bad way, with his cologne worn down to its base notes. He tastes good, but you couldn’t even begin to describe. You’d be content with just this tonight, really.

Roman deepens the kiss and lays you down gently, caging you in with his body. You’re still feeling out of your depth, unsure of where or how or if you should even touch him, though Roman doesn’t seem to mind. Of course he doesn’t mind. He’s got only one thing on his brain, and that’s ruining you. Touch him however you like or don’t touch him, he doesn’t give a fuck.

His fingers crawl beneath your shirt, climbing up your body until he’s squeezing gently at the flesh of your breasts. You gasp when he rubs his thumb in circles over your nipple, feeling it harden with his touch. “Rome-” you breathe, clutching his bicep.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, repeating the action with your other nipple, causing you to writhe beneath him. “I gotta get you ready for it, sweetheart.”

Roman pushes your shirt up as high as it’ll go, and kisses your neck, dragging his tongue down your skin. He uses the muscle to tease one of your nipples, putting to use his lips and teeth as well. His hands travel down your body, fingers passing over the neat little bow at the front of your pajama bottoms as they slide down towards your center.

You gasp when you feel him touch you there, just over the fabric. Roman groans as he rubs his fingers, feeling how you’ve soaked yourself. “Yeah, you weren’t fuckin’ lying, were you? Made a goddamn mess down here,” he mumbles, pressing little kisses against your neck.

“Lying about what?” you breathe.

Roman has to stifle his laugh so as not to embarrass you, but you are such a cliche, absolutely drenched from a bit of kissing. Too easy. “Shh, nothing,” he says. “Nothing. You’re fine.” Roman pulls your panties and shorts to the side, exposing your cunt to himself. “Has anyone ever touched you here before?”

You shake your head. “Mm-mm.”

Roman only nods as pulls your thighs apart, and your heart pounds hard. He traces your lips only momentarily before diving between your folds, feeling the pool of arousal he’s caused.

“Fuck,” you moan, eyes squeezing shut as you arch into his touch. “R-Roman, Roman…”

“Ohh, man, you’re sensitive,” Roman laughs quietly, rubbing lazy circles over your clit. “Holy fuck. That feel good? Huh, virgin?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, squeezing his forearm and bicep with your hands as if to anchor yourself or something. You feel like you’re gonna break. Everything feels heightened, but sort of sharp and fuzzy at the same time. Your head spins, and you can’t keep track of your thoughts.

You whine when Roman pushes his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out slowly. “How does that feel?” he asks.

“Good, kinda - uh…kind - kind of hurts.”

“You gotta relax,” he tells you, “ It’s okay.”

Roman shifts a little and smiles at you before curling his fingers, stroking that special, sensitive little place deep inside your cunt you’ve probably never found on your own before. By the way your eyes roll back into your head and how you squeeze your legs shut around his arm, Roman guesses he’s right. “Oh my - fuck, Rome, that - you–” Your voice comes out in broken, breathy moans and you don’t bother finishing your sentence. All you can do is bury your face into his neck and try not to shatter into a million pieces.

Roman fingers you like that for a minute or two longer, listening to those wet noises your cunt makes for him, then slows down his movements before pulling away. “You’re ready for it,” he tells you.

“I am?”

“Absolutely.”

Roman leans back and sits you up, then pulls off your shirt without saying so much as a single word. He does the same to your shorts and panties, tossing them into a crumpled pile on the carpet. The way you squirm and hide yourself makes Roman smile. “Don’t be shy. I need to be able to see what I’m working with, right?”

“Yeah, no. That makes sense.”

“Hold on.” Roman unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, pulling off his undershirt too. His bulge is sizable in his black slacks, and when he unbuckles his belt and pulls the rest of his clothes off, his hard cock slapping against his tummy, your eyes widen. His dick is massive. The tip reaches his belly button, and it’s curved beautifully, slightly to the right. Roman wraps his fingers around it and squeezes, knuckles whitening a little.

“Y-you’re fucking huge,” you stutter.

“I know, right? It’s Roman Roy’s best kept secret.” He smiles wide, pleased with himself as he winks at you. “Alright. Spread those legs and let’s fuckin’ party.” Roman reaches for your ankles and pulls them apart, eyebrows raising when you fight to keep them closed.

“No! No, don’t.”

“...No?” Roman drops your ankles and sits back, eyeing you. “Scared?”

“Very.”

He chuckles. “You’ve never even felt a cock before, have you?” Roman asks, stroking his cock slowly. You shake your head and he nods in understanding. “Wow, it really is all new to you. That’s my bad, sweetheart.”

Roman lays down next to you again, this time flat on his back. He shifts a little and grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock. “Get to know it a little. Just touch it, however you want,” he instructs. Roman waits for you to touch him, but you’re frozen. He raises an eyebrow, “It’s not gonna bite you.”

“I know, I just don’t know…don’t know what to do.”

Roman says nothing, only presses your fingertips against the large, blunt head of his cock. “Like this,” he says, dragging your fingers down his shaft. He wraps your fingers around his length, then lets you go. Your turn.

You slide your palm up and down his dick, just…taking it all in. His cock feels heavy in your hand which doesn’t surprise you, but you’re struck by his warmth, the heat radiating from him. You trace his veins, then squeeze him slightly in your fist, feeling him throb a little.

Roman patiently lets you explore, despite it being an excruciating tease, groaning softly as he tilts his head back. “Now when you do this for real, with your Mr. Right or whoever,” Roman says, “Don’t just tease him like this. You’ll piss him off,” he warns.

“I will?”

“Oh yeah. No, you’re even pissing me off a little bit. Like, if this weren’t a teaching moment, I’d fuck you in two for this shit.” Roman words scare you a bit, and you stop touching him. “Relax, will you? It’s not gonna happen. You’re in good hands.”

“Okay.”

“Let me show you what to do instead.” Roman takes your hand again, this time spitting in it. “You grab it like you mean it,” he says, wrapping your fingers tightly around his cock, tighter than you would have done yourself. “And–” Roman slides your palm up and down his length, helping you to maintain that firm pressure, “You go all the way up, all the way down. Like - fuck - yeah, like that. You’re a fuckin’ natural, virgin, look at you.”

Roman lets you work him on your own, simply enjoying the feel of your hand on his cock. He thinks it’s cute when you circle his tip with your fingers - it’s not something he taught you to do, but he doesn’t mind it.

“Does this feel like, good?”

“Feels awesome. But,” Roman purrs, “You know what’d feel even better?”

“What?”

“You gotta be brave, sweetheart. Do you want to be brave for me?”

You’re not feeling very brave or adventurous but you nod a little anyway, and Roman jumps at the opportunity. He moves you down the bed, sitting you down between his thighs that are spread wide. “You’re gonna suck my dick,” he tells you, grabbing your face with one of his hands. “Don’t freak out, okay? You’re gonna be fine. Open your mouth.”

Roman holds his thick cock between his thumb, middle, and forefingers. He taps the head against your bottom lip, encouraging you to open wider. When you open your mouth more, Roman lowers your head and fits himself between your lips, simply letting you get used to the feeling of him there. It takes a lot of patience on his part, to not fuck your mouth here and now.

You’re not sure what to do, and Roman knows this. Tangling his fingers in your hair, he bounces your head just a little on his cock, your tongue sliding over his weeping slit. The taste of his precome surprises you - it’s a salty, warm, masculine sort of flavor that you don’t really mind. You’re pleased by how soft his skin feels, how he smells. Gaining confidence, you take him deeper into your mouth.

If Roman were a better man, he’d stop you - he’d warn you that you’re going to choke on his cock, that it’s gonna be too much too quickly. But that’s not Roman, not by a long shot. He inches you further down his cock with each bob of your head, grinning at the way you gurgle and sputter a little. “Little more,” he says. “Keep going.”

Cock in mouth, drool dripping down your chin, you look at Roman, searching for some sort of approval or encouragement. “You got it. And use your tongue, sweetheart. You can make a mess on me. You should, actually.”

You move your tongue in inconsistent patterns, swirling it around his length as Roman moves your head. “Breathe through your nose,” he instructs. “You’re doing so well.”

He lets out soft little groans and his eyes shut for a moment, lips parted. Saliva is running down his cock and your jaw is beginning to ache from his girth, but Roman ignores your noises of discomfort and the tears in your eyes. He fucks himself deeply into your mouth, pushing you far past the point he should. Then suddenly, you gag and cough harshly, pulling yourself off of him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck,” you spit.

Roman rubs your back and stretches across the bed, reaching for your glass of water. “You’re good, you’re alright,” he says, pressing the glass against your lips. “Have some water. You’re not supposed to take me all at once, virgin. That’s how you choke,” he taunts.

After finishing the water, Roman takes your glass and sets it back on the nightstand. “Alright. Back to you, sweetheart. Lie back and spread your legs for me.”

You tremble a little as you lie down, parting your legs only a little. You feel the bed shift with Roman’s moving weight and close your eyes, nervously anticipating the inevitable.

Roman pushes your knees toward your chest and lowers himself, smirking at how tense you look with your short breaths, your fingers fidgeting with the comforter. He could warn you of what’s to come with a couple of kisses pressed against your inner thighs, but it’ll be more fun to surprise you.

He licks your sex from bottom to top with a flat tongue, dragging it slowly through your folds. “Roman,” you gasp, hands darting for his head. You tangle your fingers in the sleek strands of his hair, tugging on them tightly. “You - you’re–”

“Shh,” he interrupts. His stubble scratches your inner thighs as he teases you, tongue circling your clit. Roman buries himself in that softest and most private place on your body, rubbing the tip of his perfect nose against your clit as he tastes you. He circles your entrance a couple of times before dipping inside, tasting your arousal right from the hole it trickles from.

You’re babbling incoherently, whimpering his name as he then drags his tongue up and down your folds. He circles your clit once, then twice, then pulls the hood back and laves over the sensitive bud repeatedly, forcing you to lie still with a strong hand holding you down. He savors you like this, how you shudder and shake, muscles tensing as you fight to close your legs, not used to a feeling so intense. Roman fucks you with his tongue, guiding you through the first orgasm you’ve ever shared with another as you gush into his mouth, clit throbbing under his tongue.

When Roman pulls away, you feel like you could cry. You bite your bottom lip to keep it from wobbling and try to will away that pressure building behind your eyes, but it’s hard. You wonder if Roman notices.

“Now you’re really fuckin’ ready,” he tells you.

“Okay,” you breathe, voice shaking. “Just the tip?”

“Mhm. Just the tip,” Roman confirms. He hovers over you and reaches between your legs to gather your arousal on his fingertips, then coats his cock in your slick. When he presses the thick head of his dick against your pussy, your heart races. You can’t conjure the words to tell him what you need, and urgently take his free hand in yours.

“You wanna hold my hand?” Roman smirks and laces his fingers between yours, pinning your hand against the bed. “We can hold hands, sweetheart.” And then, in one swift, brutal motion, Roman fully buries his cock fully inside you.

It sends you reeling. He’s so huge, it feels like he’s splitting you in two. You feel betrayed and try to squirm away, but Roman forces you to stay down with a hand on your ribcage. Forces you to take it, to feel it all. “Shhh, shh. You’re - hey - you’re fine.” Roman catches the free hand you use to try and shove him backwards and pins it to the bed with the other.

“Y-you–” you sob, unable to form a sentence.

“Ohhh, I know, I know, I know,” Roman coos mockingly. “I played a dirty trick on you, huh? Wasn’t very nice of me, was it?”

You look at Roman and cry, tears falling down your temples and into your hair. With his hand still clutching yours, he uses your own knuckles to wipe some tears away. “Poor thing. You’ll get used to it.”

“But you said–”

“I know what I said,” Roman interrupts. “It’s never just the tip, baby, you know that. Or–” Roman pauses, thrusting into you deeply, “Maybe you really don’t know that. But this is real life, sweetheart. It’s a cruel fuckin’ world out there.”

Roman sets a pace then, drawing in and out of you. Not particularly harshly or quickly, because the penetration alone hurts enough. He rocks his hips, pulling out of you and filling you up all the way with every stroke.

“Roman, stop–”

“No. Fucking take it.”

Roman ignores your sounds of discomfort, going so far as to cover your mouth instead. Your sobs are muffled under his palm, skin dampening with tears and saliva. Roman builds the tempo, lips curled into that awful, lopsided smile. “Listen to yourself. You’re fuckin’ soaked, do you hear that?” he taunts through a strained breath.

The pain is utterly blinding, until it isn’t. You almost resent the way the hurt is replaced with pleasure now, because the betrayal is still there. Betrayal by Roman, and now by your own body. This…this isn’t what you were promised. You trusted Roman and he exploited that, but you’re fucking enjoying it.

Roman’s palm tastes salty over your mouth. When he removes it, a moan slips past your lips, and Roman grins. “Yeah, there it is. Not so terrible, huh, baby?”

You free your hands from his grip and wrap your arms around his shoulders, which is the only thing that feels right. You don’t entirely know why, you just know that you need him close. Roman pulls back a little to watch you, his greenish, hazel eyes darkened with something primal as he pulls out of you and pushes into you, again and again and again. You bury your face in his neck as he fucks you, and one of his hands slide up your torso to grope your breast and tease your nipple.

“Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good,” Roman grunts, rutting his hips into you. He’s in love with all of this, in truth. Addicted. How soft your body is for him, for his hands to squeeze and his fingers to dig into. He could fucking eat you.

He fits his hand between your bodies, the heel of his palm pressing into your pubic bone. He rubs your clit in circles, thrusting into you harder, faster, deeper. “Look at me. Right here” he pants, using his free hand to hold your face. “Come on my cock. Come for me, sweetheart.”

He pulls your orgasm from you effortlessly. Roman’s name spills from your lips in choking sobs as you come on his cock, feeling impossibly full as your cunt pulses around him. It’s the heaviest, most overwhelming feeling, washing over you in waves, muscles spasming and twitching. Roman’s thrusts turn frenzied and frantic, and there it is - he’s coming too. Milking himself inside you, spurting thick, hot ropes of his come, and you take all of it.

Roman pulls out of you then, and uses two fingers to push his escaped spend back inside your poor, raw, throbbing cunt. This time, you do cry. “Ohh, come here,” Roman says softly. He scoops you up into his arms and holds you tightly, stroking your hair. “You okay?”

“No,” you sniffle.

“No?” Roman repeats, momentarily moving you to lean over the bed. He reaches for his pants and grabs his phone out of the pocket, then takes his place next to you again, pulling you into his side tightly. “You’ll get over it. Watch,” he murmurs, unlocking his phone and opening Venmo. He pulls up your profile and shows you the screen, the little blue cursor blinking. You type in a number, then give the phone back to Roman, who adds an extra zero before tapping Pay.

If you enjoyed, please lmk ♡ i love when you reblog and send me asks. It means the world to me ♡

romey tags

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56

@kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @romanarose

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars

@/perpetuallymanic @/111melo @/veryverycoolgirl @/marisemonteiroo

#roman roy x reader #Roman Roy x reader smut #Roman Roy smut #roman roy x you #Roman Roy/reader #Roman Roy/you #roman roy #Kieran Culkin #succession #succession fic

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starzify · 22 hours ago

Text

STAY - sam winchester

pairing sam winchester x fem!reader

warnings angst, romance, hurt/no comfort (MUAHAHAHA)

masterlist

Sam lingered by the door, his hand resting on the doorknob as if the weight of turning it might crush him. You stood a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to hold yourself together even as your heart cracked with every second he didn’t move.

“You don’t have to go,” you said, your voice soft but trembling. “We can figure it out, Sam. Together.”

He closed his eyes briefly, like your words hurt more than anything he’d faced out there. “You think I don’t want to stay?” he asked, his voice low and heavy. “It’s all I want. But it doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Of course it matters!” you stepped forward, your chest tightening as you fought the urge to grab him and hold on. “This isn’t just about you deciding what’s best for me. This is about us. And you’re throwing it away like it means nothing.”

Sam turned to face you then, his hazel eyes filled with pain. “It means everything,” he said, his voice breaking. “That’s why I have to go. If I stay, it’s only a matter of time before something happens to you. And I couldn’t live with that.”

“You think I could live with this?” you whispered, the tears you’d been holding back slipping free. “You think it’s easier to watch you walk away, knowing you’re out there facing God knows what alone?”

His shoulders slumped, his bag slipping slightly down his arm. For a moment, he looked like he might drop it and stay. But then he shook his head, stepping back toward the door.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth twitching in a sad, almost smile. “Stronger than me.”

“That’s not true,” you said, your voice cracking as you reached for him, your hand resting on his chest. “You don’t have to do this alone, Sam. You don’t always have to be the one to walk away.”

He looked down at your hand, then back at you, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way that broke your heart all over again. “I love you,” he said, the words barely above a whisper. “I’ll never stop loving you. But I have to do this.”

“Sam,” you pleaded, your voice shaking as your hand curled into the fabric of his shirt.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that felt like goodbye. It was soft, lingering, filled with everything he couldn’t bring himself to say.

When he pulled back, your hands were still clutching his shirt, and he gently pried them away, holding them for a moment before stepping back.

“I’ll come back,” he said, his voice rough and unsteady. “I promise.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “You can’t promise that, Sam.”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening on the doorknob as if the act of leaving was killing him. “I’ll try,” he said finally, his voice breaking.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

You stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where he’d been, the ghost of his touch still warm on your skin. The silence was deafening, the ache in your chest unbearable.

Because loving Sam was never about happy endings—it was about holding on to the hope that, someday, he might find his way back.

tags: @urloveada @cosmicsully @floralscented @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @hischrrypie @beausling @dollyfiles @dollsltt @bluemerakis @figthoughts @haunteres @emeraldcrs @chevroletdean @jackleslvr @nuemanfilms @lacydollette @s0urw00lf @rafespreciosa @lanawinterscigarettes @swe3twitch @frosttbitessam @drewstarkeyzwhore @ultravi0lence14

A/N: idk how taglists work so i just tagged a bunch of my moots and hoped for the best LMFAOOO

hit my inbox up if u wanna be added or removed !!

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester angst #sam winchester drabble #jared padalecki #supernatural

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sorchathered · 22 hours ago

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Got my sights set on you- Jake Seresin x reader

Pairing- Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Warnings-language, drinking, Jake being a massive flirt

A/N- I don’t have much of a summary for this, just clearing out my wips for you all and found this little gem I wrote last summer! Hope you enjoy!

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If there was one thing you knew about Jake Seresin it was that he was a massive flirt. Men, women, non-binary, didn’t much matter your gender he was a tease and everyone knew it. Lately he’d set his sights on you, and he was relentless. You had to admit you liked the attention, and dropping him down a peg with snappy comments was always entertaining. You enjoyed the banter between the two of you, it had been fun and games until one night you noticed another girl from the bar had seemed to catch his attention, pulling out all the stops for her instead of sitting and chatting you up. It shouldn’t have bothered you, it was just a game right? Neither of you had ever made a move and he had every right to talk to whoever he pleased. Rooster could see through all your bullshit, sidling up next to you as he followed your eyeline to Jake and the brunette that seemed to have him enthralled in conversation.

“So Vixen, when you gonna admit to yourself that this little thing you’ve got going with Hangman is more than a schoolgirl crush?” You glared up at him and opened your mouth to snap at him but it died in your throat when you saw the sympathetic look on his face, you hated that he could see how transparent you were. “It was just a crush, really, I thought I just enjoyed the back and forth but… shit rooster what am I supposed to do here? It’s Hangman we’re talking about, he doesn’t do relationships, and in the end I’ll just get hurt so what’s the point?” You cradled your head in your hands against the bar top as Bradley patted your shoulder. “Kid I hate to be the one to burst your doom bubble but if you gave that man the time of day he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. I've seen him when he’s just looking for a hook up and that’s not what this is with you. He may be chatting that girl up but he won’t take her home, in fact I don’t think he’s taken anyone home in months, most of the time he just moons over you. I bet if you walked over there right now and told him to take you home he’d be putty in your hands, you wield more power than you know honey.”

You rolled your eyes at him, there was no way in hell he was into you like that, but as rooster passed you a shot of tequila you glanced back at Jake and he was looking right at you. Fuck it, you were going for it. Tossing back the shot you squared your shoulders and swayed your hips as you walked towards him, he wasn’t paying a bit of attention to the girl talking his ear off anymore, eyes completely focused on you. “Hey Vix, haven’t seen you all night-“ he said as you pressed yourself between him and the brunette, shock crossing his features as you waved her off.

“Uh we were talking!”

“And now you’re not, see how that works?”

You hit her with an icy glare and blessedly little miss tag chaser seemed to take the hint, off to lick her wounds with god knows who. That wasn’t your business or your problem. Right now you need to keep the momentum going and get your man.

“So a little birdie told me that I should shoot my shot, how about it, Seresin? You talk a big game, wanna take me home?” For once in your life Jake Seresin was at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish, completely in shock.

“Uh-I- yeah-yeah absolutely. Sweet Jesus darlin’ please don’t fuck with me, I don’t know if my heart can take it.” The cocksure grin is back, but you can tell he’s still unsure, so you slide even closer and press your lips to his. It starts out completely innocent, just reassurance that you are actually into him, but you quickly remember who you’re dealing with and Jake Seresin certainly isn’t all talk, sliding one hand into your hair and the other into the back pocket of your jeans, running his tongue along your lips as you give him entrance, letting him make out with you right here in the middle of the bar, where all your coworkers can see.

You can hear whoops and whistles from your friends and it breaks you both apart, taking in deep breaths between your giggles. “Still up for taking me home?” You whisper as you smooth your hands through his golden hair, and where you expect more sexual innuendo and banter you’re left with something more. He smiles down at you and kisses your nose, the look he’s giving is melting you from the inside out, maybe Rooster was right; maybe this wasn’t just fun and games. “I can definitely take you home sugar, but I don’t want just a hook up from you, I’m thinking tomorrow you let me take you on a real date, you deserve to be treated to all the bells and whistles baby girl.” If you gave him the chance he’d wife you up on the spot if he was honest, but he’d give you some time before he told you all the ideas he had for the future.

You looked a little shell shocked at that, sure he’d been flirty but he’d never once made you think he was interested in more than a night or two.

“I can see the wheels turning in that pretty head y/n, don’t overthink it baby, just let me show you how good I can be.”

And he was, in fact, very good.

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Tagging- @roosterforme @shanimallina87 @jessicab1991 @honeytwrites @heavenssins @dizzybee03 @kissmecaitie @sio-ina-bottle @sunsetsimpsblog @mynameismckenziemae @trickphotography2 @seitmai @callsigns-haze

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you

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viiennie · 16 hours ago

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𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍

Gojo Satoru x f!reader

chapter one

Tags and warnings: Zombie Apocalypse, mentions of gore (including blood and death), slight angst (?), spoilers to ‘Happiness’, eventual smut, female reader, p in v sex, fingering, creampie, lovey dovey sex in the midst of a literal lock down, masturbation, slow burn kinda?, fluff, romance, drugs, manipulation, exhibition, gojo is a pervertttttt, mdni — 18+, enemies to lovers word count: 4093

You never thought that at the ripe age of 29, you’d be taking walks for the sole purpose of hoping to find dropped money on the road.

Hey, You can’t be blamed now, can you? Life is completely unpredictable, and you’re just glad you at least have an apartment to sleep in and a job that pays kinda enough. But what can you do when the bills are still high, and you still got a loan to settle? Your salary barely covers your living expenses, and you’ve got those damn loan sharks to be worrying about to add to the list.

You always thought life would go well after graduating Criminology and getting a job in the military. To top it all off, you climbed the ranks and secured a respectable position without getting your hands dirty. Back then, you lived on the tallest floor of your dream apartment and bought all your dream cars to drive and wake the neighbors with.

It was the sweetest life had gotten.

If only you didnt—

Riiiiiing!

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, the lights flashing as the name of your boss along with the picture of a very stern looking pig pops up on screen. You sigh, staring at it and pondering if you should answer the call. Your finger hovers over the green logo, a hesitation in the twitch of your digits as you debate missing the call and getting a handful of scolding when you go to work or answering and getting the same amount of scolding for something stupid you probably did while on the job.

Another sigh leaves your lips when you decide to answer.

“There’s a job for you. I emailed all the details to you.”

He hangs up, not even bothering to hear a response from you.

God, he’s always like that. Acting like some VIP, treating everyone else like they were below him. Countless times have you slapped the shit out of him in your dreams, and countless times have you hurled curses at him behind his back. Why’s there always a stick up his ass anyway?

You open the pdf file in your email, groaning at the 42 pages you have to read over.

You work as a bodyguard now, the only place that didn’t blacklist you being an executive protection services company. Your job was to make sure your clients stayed out of harm's way, and so far, it’s been an absolute piece of cake compared to your previous occupation. You just had to stand behind them, look intimidating, and keep that up for the rest of the day.

As you skim over the file, you realize that this was the typical case of a nepo baby being rebellious whilst getting neglected by their parents. It was always, ‘I just can’t seem to control my teenager’ ‘He gets out of hand and always ends up almost killing himself.’ but they have never considered the fact that they’ve barely present in their child’s life?

Your duties consisted of absurd things, like cooking and making meals for the client, ensuring he does not leave the house, and even doing the laundry. A rise of annoyance boils in you as you continue to read down your responsibilities—things that nannies would do. If they wanted to hire one then they should’ve contacted someone else, not a body guarding company. Besides, why was this task assigned to you and not someone more qualified? You don’t ever remember putting ‘experienced nanny’ in your resume.

No. You’re not doing this. You had your pride to—

Total Salary: 15,000,000 ₩ per day.

Well, it’s not like taking care of a child is that hard right? Besides, you do these so-called duties everyday for yourself! Not like adding an extra pair of clothes to the washing machine or cooking for two would be that hard. And! you get to sleep in a million dollar penthouse for three whole days, who wouldn’t miss that offer? And the living expenses are covered by your client too? Man, the pros are really outweighing the cons right now.

You carefully read through the pages, scanning over the personal details of your new beloved client.

Full Name: Gojo Satoru

Birthday: 1994 December 7

Age: 28

Gender: Male

You blink

Once, twice, and then thrice.

Are you seeing this right?

The person you’re going to be babysitting is in fact not a little boy, but a grown ass man at the ripe age of 28? The person you’re going to be cooking and cleaning for is a grown adult capable of doing these daily chores with all of his four limbs intact? This couldn’t possibly be right, could it? You shake your head, scrolling back to look at the delicious view of the 15 million displayed on your phone screen. So what if it was a grown man? That means you wouldn’t have to be too worried about buying toddler food and all that, right? And him being an adult means he’s perfectly capable of doing his own chores, meaning, less work for you!

Yeah, that’s right.

Things don’t have to be negative.

You inhale, gathering your thoughts and prayers, hoping this wasn’t about to be the worst decision of your life. No way it will be. It’s just for three short days anyway. And what if you actually end up getting along well with the guy?

Day One

Standing before these grand doors bring back memories you never liked. It reminded you of what you used to be—what kind of glory you used to hold. The keys in your palms feel cold, like ice that doesn’t melt despite the warmth your skin radiates. It feels illegal entering someone’s home without knocking— it's like you’re trespassing. But what can you do when those are your instructions?

The door to the penthouse swings open, the sound echoing through the spacious hall. The moment you step inside, the air feels different—cool, fresh, like everything in this space was designed with immaculate precision. You take a second to absorb the layout: sleek, minimalistic furniture, modern art pieces hanging from the walls, soft ambient lighting, and large glass windows that offer a wonderful view of the city. It’s everything you’d expect from a man who has money to burn but little else to do with it. It’s also everything you’ve ever wanted ever since falling into this pit of poverty.

You take another step in, and the door closes behind you with a soft click—a sound that tells you you’ve just sealed your fate. You take a deep breath in, to prepare your beating heart, and exhale, reminding yourself that you’re here now, and that this is really happening.

“Hello?” you call out, your voice carrying a bit farther than you intended in the vast silence. You wait for a response, but there’s nothing but an eerie stillness. You feel awkward in this large space, your senses used to the small cozy apartment you lived in. You feel like a misplaced object here, like a piece of banana peel in the middle of a diamond sea.

Then, suddenly, you hear a loud thud from what sounds like the far side of the apartment, followed by a burst of laughter. It’s carefree and youthful, almost too much so for someone who’s supposed to be the CEO’s son. Your eyes narrow as you start walking further into the apartment, your boots clicking sharply against the polished floor.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!" The voice calls out lazily, not even bothering to sound apologetic.

You stop in your tracks as a figure finally appears at the threshold of what you assume is the study. Satoru Gojo strides out, looking like he couldn’t care less about your presence. His white hair is slightly messy, falling carelessly over his forehead, and he’s dressed casually in a loose-fitting white shirt and black pants, the kind of outfit someone of his status might wear to keep things comfortable while still looking polished. You stare at him for a moment, noting how his playful, almost mischievous grin makes him seem like someone who hasn’t taken a single thing seriously in his life. Maybe this is why they told you to just walk in without warning. This guy didn’t even bother standing up the moment he heard someone entering his home.

“So, you’re the new babysitter?” His tone is light, amused, and you can already tell he’s not taking this job seriously at all. He doesn’t even bother to get off the couch, merely reclining with his legs sprawled out in front of him. “I thought they’d send someone with a little more... personality.”

Your lips press into a tight line, frustration rising in your chest. This was the guy you were supposed to be protecting? It was a far cry from what you had imagined. It’s okay! You expected this. I mean, the pay wouldn’t be 15 million for no reason right? All you had to do was endure this asshat for 3 days, and you’d be out, never having to do it again with the amount of money you’ll accumulate by then.

“I’m not your babysitter, Gojo,” you reply flatly, setting the file down on the coffee table between you. “I’m here to ensure you stay out of trouble for the next three days.”

He doesn’t seem fazed, however. He tilts his head back and stretches his arms over his head with a casual ease that only someone with his kind of wealth and status could pull off. “Oh, come on, you don’t have to be so serious all the time, miss. Relax a little. This doesn’t have to be a hard job, does it?”

You nod, a small, twitching smile on your lips. Yeah, this doesn’t have to be hard for the two of you, just don’t let yourself be absorbed into his insufferableness, and things will be all fine and dandy.

The smile on his face never fades, though there’s something in his eyes—something that makes you realize he’s enjoying the tension between you more than he should. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regards you with a look that borders on teasing. “Don’t worry miss bodyguard, I’ll make sure to cooperate extra well for you,” he says, his voice oozing with mock sincerity.

Gojo’s eyes flicker with curiosity for a brief moment before his grin turns more knowing. You were far from what he expected. When his father told him he’d be hiring professionals to keep him in check, he was expecting a middle aged old grump with a tragic backstory, not an angry little kitten that was his age.

You take a deep breath, keeping your cool. You’re a professional. You endured 4 years of brutal training, and spent the next 5 years being an active soldier, one man child isn’t gonna break you. “Where do we start?”

“Start?” Gojo repeats, his eyes twinkling with a challenge. “I’ll give you a tour of the place. Get settled in, and we’ll figure things out from there.” All of a sudden, he’s all buddy-buddy and normal, standing from his seat with a groan that tells you it’s the first time in a few long hours he’s standing from that couch.

“Okay,” you mutter, though you know the last thing you need is to be stuck following him around all day. But you have no choice now—this is the job you so happily accepted. Perhaps you just had a bad first impression, right? Maybe this is just his personality and he’s actually a nice guy under all that ego!

Gojo leads you through the penthouse with a surprising amount of enthusiasm, his movements exaggerated for your benefit. The whole time, you feel his eyes on you, like he’s analyzing you as much as you’re analyzing him. He talks non-stop, making sarcastic comments here and there, each one more annoying than the last, and you keep your responses short but interactive. Last thing you wanna hear is him whining about you being a cold person.

When you finally arrive at the guest room, he gestures dramatically to the sleek, modern decor. “There you go. It’s not much, but it’ll do for the next ten days. I hope you like the view,” he adds, pulling back the heavy curtain to reveal a stunning view of the city skyline, one you’ve seen countless times in your dreams.

You take a step inside, but before you can say anything, Gojo’s already made his way back to the living room. “I’ll be in my office if you need me. Don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

As you stand there, staring at the sprawling apartment, you feel a strange tension in the air. You’ve dealt with dangerous situations, but this—this was something else. This penthouse may be the safest area in the entire apartment complex, but there’s something in here that greatly unsettles you, that what’s dangerous isn’t outside of this place, but inside. Your eyes linger on the door that your manchild is behind and you finally realize how hard your heart is thumping against your chest.

It’s Gojo.

Gojo’s the dangerous one here.

Shaking your head, you set down your bags, neatly placing them against the door before you pull out your phone to check if there were any updates from your boss—any additional information or duties perhaps, but your notification bar is empty. (thankfully)

Ding!

Omg, have you heard about the attack at the training center?

You raise an eyebrow at the text you received from a friend that was followed by a 10 second video she sends. The thumbnail sends chills down your spine, the image of an unsettling trainee with bloodshot eyes and protruding veins being the first thing you see. He has blood dripping down his chin, his teeth stained with a deep red. There's no possible way that was real. This is probably a prank, right?

As you play the video, you realize the unmoving body in the background with blood pooling around it isn't a prank. Neither is the way the zombie thing continues to bang its head against the glass part of the door where the cameraman stands behind. You can hear people screaming in the background and the labored breathes of the person holding the camera.

What the fuck?

For this type of thing to happen in a military training center is unheard of. With the amount of security and the amount of trained professionals around, they would shoot at the sight of suspicious movement. Perhaps that trainee was infected in the facility itself?

You sigh, shaking your head. That wasn't for you to worry about. You're sure they've already taken care of the situation, making sure no one else would be harmed after one casualty. Besides, you weren't even in the military anymore, so what business did you have with all this?

You lock your phone and toss it onto the counter with a bit more force than intended, the dull clatter echoing in your quiet apartment. For a moment, you stand there, staring at the blank wall in front of you, the disturbing video replaying itself in your mind despite your best efforts to shake it off. It was none of your business, you remind yourself. You weren't a part of that world anymore—no chain of command, no classified briefings, no need to carry the weight of threats on your shoulders.

Still, the unease lingers like an itch you can't quite scratch. The image of that bloodied trainee and the helpless body in the background refuses to leave your thoughts, clawing its way into the forefront no matter how hard you try to shove it back. The screams and the clattering of rushes footsteps ring in your ears like a broken radio.

“Snap out of it,” you mutter to yourself, dragging a hand through your hair. Standing still wasn’t helping. Maybe you just needed to clear your head, step outside for a bit and distract yourself with something mundane. Groceries. That was the perfect excuse to leave this place. And besides, it would help to restock in the case that a zombie apocalypse would really break out soon.

Opening the door, you’re surprised to see Gojo sitting in the living room, manspread as he switches through the channels with a bored look on his face. His eyes glaze over to you, a grin stretches through his lips. “Out so soon? I know my face is irresistible, but you barely spent 5 minutes in there, miss bodyguard.” As soon as he opens his mouth, it’s like flies are flocking over to him. You push aside the feeling of annoyance, not wanting to waste energy on him.

“I’m going out to buy groceries. Is there anything you want?” You sigh for the fifth time today, hand resting on the doorknob of the front door.

“Anything sweet pleaseee” He hums sending you a wink that has you cringing before focusing back on the TV.

Nodding, you make sure the credit card provided to you is safe in your pocket before heading out. You’re greeted by a kind cleaning lady who smiles at you with fondness, “My, I didn’t know such a pretty young lady lived here!” Her voice is soft, reminding you of your grandmother whom you dearly miss. You smile back at her, feeling yourself relax in her presence, “I’m not moving in, auntie. Just staying with a friend for a few days.”

“Oh my, that’s a shame. I would have loved to see you everyday!”

You chuckle at her response, politely saying goodbye before stepping into the empty elevator.

Whilst you were out on a grocery store run, Gojo shuts off the TV, a serious expression overturning his previously cheerful one. He was getting sick and tired of his father hiring these people to watch over him like he was a child. Being a detective was a step he took to free himself from the chains of being born into his family, a step he took to rebel against his unreasonable father, who was a businessman obsessed with continuing his legacy, he didn't expect the price he had to pay would be getting house arrested by his father in his own home with some stranger.

He hops off of the couch, walking over to your room and opening the door without a care in the world. He snoops through your things, looking through your identification cards, opening all the pockets in your bag. He’s surprised when he discovers an ID tucked away in the deepest depths of your bag, as if you didn't want to see it but kept it with you because you didn't want to let go.

Gojo's fingers brush against the smooth, metallic edge of the card as he pulls it out of the hidden pocket in your bag. The ID feels substantial in his hands, heavier than an ordinary card, exuding an air of authority and importance. He almost feels guilty snooping around like this.

The front of the card is dominated by a sleek, black matte finish that absorbs light, giving it a tactical, almost stealth-like appearance. At the top, bold silver letters gleam against the dark background:

“13th Special Mission Brigade”

Below that, a faint watermark of the Decapitation Unit’s insignia—a black panther—catches the light at certain angles, visible only upon close inspection.

Your photograph occupies the upper-left corner, a stern, no-nonsense expression on your face. You wear your ceremonial full dress uniform, badges of what you've done and where you've been displayed onto the clean cloth. Next to the photo, your name is printed in capital letters, the font crisp and official:

Y/N L/N

Lieutenant Colonel, Decapitation Unit

Beneath your name, your serial number and rank are listed in smaller, but equally precise text, alongside a QR code that has been scratched out, an occurrence that happens only if you've been discharged from duty.

The right side of the card displays the unit's motto in embossed silver script:

Silence in Action, Swift in Justice.

Just below the motto is a small holographic seal that shifts between the South Korean flag and the emblem of the Decapitation Unit, further verifying its authenticity that Gojo was most definitely not doubting at this point. Around the edges, faintly visible microtext runs continuously, forming a border of tiny but legible words repeating:

For honor, for country, for the safety of all.

On the back, the design is equally meticulous. The background is a faint camouflage pattern in shades of gray and black, with a magnetic stripe running across the top. Centered in bold red letters is a warning:

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY: This card must be presented upon request. Unauthorized use is punishable by law.

Beneath it, a small, clear rectangular panel reveals an embedded fingerprint that has also been scratched out by a blade. The rest of the back contains rows of text detailing clearance levels, blood type, and emergency contact information.

Gojo turns the card over in his hands, raising an eyebrow. "So, former Lieutenant Colonel, huh?" he murmurs to himself, a mix of admiration and suspicion flickering in his eyes. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he slipped the card back where he found it, making sure to tuck it away with the same care.

“Guess you’re not as simple as you seem, miss bodyguard,” he mutters, stepping out of your room. The gears in his mind are already turning, trying to piece together just how someone with your past ended up here, protecting him.

The buzzing of your phone on the bedside table catching his attention, the constant dings sending a mix of irritance and curiosity through him. Well, he’s already touched all your things, what more was a phone? He takes the phone in his hands, testing his luck by typing 12345 in. He face palms when your phone opens, wondering why a special forces agent would set a password like that on her phone. He opens the chat that’s been spamming you, skimming over the ‘y/n stop ignoring meee’ ‘i know you’re seeing this’ and the random emojis being sent.

A video with the thumbnail equivalent to a zombie horror movie garners his attention, his finger tapping the play button without much thought, thinking he’d be watching some kind of trailer to an upcoming film. But he’s met with a gruesome sight, the same thing you had watched before leaving. His eyebrows furrowed as he tries to comprehend the scene.

Then he’s reminded of a recent case he investigated before being locked in this penthouse by his father. It was manslaughter, with the victim being the front desk worker of a motel. The crime scene was gruesome—bite marks and ripped flesh along the neck of the man. They had originally thought the perpetrator fled from the scene, but as he scanned the room, he discovered the motherfucker hiding under the bed, his mouth still dripping with blood. “I don’t remember much of what happened.” He said as they interrogated him on the scene, “I just took this drug, and before I knew it, I kinda blacked out.”

He had originally thought it was a classic case of reckless manslaughter under the influence of illegal narcotics because the perpetrator seemed perfectly human. No bloodshot eyes and no visible veins like in the video he watched.

Perhaps they were completely unrelated.

He’s about to erase all evidence of him snooping around your phone until the last message your friend sends makes him pause.

‘They say he returned to normal when he was transported into the vehicle, that’s so freaky!’

Okay, they’re definitely related.

He puts your phone back on the table, rushing to his room where he opens his drawer and removes the hidden compartment that contained a capsule he found in the crime scene of the motel safely sealed in a tiny ziplock bag. It’s clear blue with a shine around the edges. He opens his laptop, entering the police force search engine and encoding his badge number before surfing the net for information about a blue capsule drug.

The most similar one in appearance is a treatment drug for pneumonia called, ‘Next’. It had failed due to the fact that it was mutagenic, meaning it had the chance of mutating human DNA.

It didn’t take a lot of brain cells to conclude that this drug was probably the cause for the odd series of events. Judging from the way an apocalypse hasn’t started and he doesn’t hear people screaming for their lives, then the military probably has this disease under control. Just when he’s about to sigh from relief, he hears a loud thud from the hallway of his apartment building, followed by three more before an eerie silence deafens him. He has half the mind to check outside, but he knows that’s probably the last thing he wants to do. The amount of horror movies he’s binge watched tells him that the first to die is always the one to check whatever’s going on.

Then his front door opens.

“(y/n)...?” He calls out, goosebumps rising on his skin.

“Gojo, stay in your room.”

He’s not sure why, but he’s relieved it’s you who walked through that door, and not some flesh eating monster.

a/n: first chapter outtt yaaayyyyy!!!! kinda scared for this series bc the premiere didnt get a lot of attention😞 anyway!! hope u guys enjoyed this chapter💖

taglist: @atomicweaselpaperapricot @boothillglazer

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novaursa · 3 days ago

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The Wolf Who Challenged Fire (extra chapter)

- Summary: A few extra moments that were removed from the story.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Brandon Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for adult content this time)

- Previous part (the whole story): 1

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

The grounds of Harrenhal were alive with nosie. Rows of colorful pavilions stretched out like a patchwork quilt under the pale spring sun, banners snapping in the brisk breeze. Lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms had begun to arrive for the much-anticipated tourney, their entourages filling the castle grounds with a cacophony of voices, horses, and laughter.

Brandon Stark stood near the stables, his broad frame casting a shadow over the trampled grass. His wolfish grin was in full display as he clasped hands with Robert Baratheon, who had just arrived with his usual swagger, his booming laughter echoing through the air.

“Gods, you look as if you’ve been dragged behind your horse,” Robert bellowed, clapping Brandon on the shoulder with a force that nearly made him stumble. “What’s the matter, Stark? Lost your taste for ale and mischief?”

Brandon chuckled, shaking his head. “Not all of us can carry a cask of wine under our belt, Robert. Some of us have to keep our wits about us.”

“Wits?” Robert snorted, his dark blue eyes glinting with amusement. “That’s what I have Jon for.” He gestured toward Jon Arryn, who was just dismounting nearby, shaking his head at Robert’s antics.

Brandon opened his mouth to reply, but his attention was drawn to the far end of the grounds, where a procession of crimson and black had begun to arrive. The Targaryens. The unmistakable silver hair of Rhaegar caught the light as he dismounted with practiced grace, his indigo eyes scanning the crowd with a calm intensity. His armor, polished and gleaming, reflected the sun’s rays, making him look every bit the prince he was rumored to be.

And behind him, trailing with a regal but subdued air, was the unmistakable figure of Y/N. Your gold-and-silver hair caught in the wind like threads of fire and moonlight, your lilac eyes bright even from a distance. Aerys had placed you at the head of the entourage, parading you like a prized possession. Brandon’s chest tightened as he watched you, his heart thundering against his ribs. He hated seeing you like this—used as a pawn in your father’s twisted games.

Robert followed his gaze, his expression turning sly. “Ah, so that’s why you’ve been brooding. The dragon princess has caught your eye, has she?”

Brandon forced his gaze away, shaking his head with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t be an idiot, Robert.”

But Robert’s laughter died as another voice, calm and cold, interrupted their exchange. “Brandon Stark.”

Brandon turned to find Rhaegar standing a few paces away, his face composed but his eyes steely. The prince’s voice carried a weight that silenced the noise around them, and the animosity between the two men was visible.

“Prince Rhaegar,” Brandon said, inclining his head slightly. His tone was respectful, but there was no warmth in it.

Rhaegar’s gaze flickered briefly to Robert, who lingered for a moment before giving Brandon a pointed look. “I’ll leave you two to it,” Robert muttered, clapping Brandon on the shoulder before walking away.

When they were alone, Rhaegar took a step closer, his voice low. “I know.”

Brandon raised an eyebrow, his wolfish grin returning. “Know what, exactly?”

“Do not play coy with me,” Rhaegar said, his tone bitting now. “You think no one notices, but I see the way you look at her. My sister.”

Brandon’s grin faltered, replaced by a harder expression. “And what of it, Prince Rhaegar? Y/N isn’t yours to command.”

“She’s my blood,” Rhaegar said, his voice firm but laced with something that sounded almost like jealousy. “And your obsession with her is reckless. You put her in danger every time you come near her.”

Brandon laughed bitterly, crossing his arms. “Danger? From whom? You? Your mad father?”

Rhaegar stiffened, his indigo eyes narrowing. “From herself. From the court. From whispers that could ruin her—and you. You think Aerys won’t notice? That he won’t act?”

“I’m well aware of what your father is capable of,” Brandon snapped, his tone icy. “But I’m not going to stand by and let her rot in that cage you call a family.”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightened, his composure slipping for a moment. “You have no idea what you’re doing, Stark. You’ve already humiliated your betrothed, Lady Catelyn, by going behind her back. Do you think you can take what isn’t yours and not face the consequences?”

Brandon stepped closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl. “What isn’t mine? You speak as if you have a claim, Rhaegar. But she’s no more yours than she is your father’s.”

Rhaegar’s eyes flashed, the jealousy unmistakable now. “She deserves better than you, Brandon Stark. Better than a reckless wolf who drags her name through the mud.”

“And what would you offer her?” Brandon shot back, his voice cutting. “A lifetime of being paraded like a prize? A future as another piece in your father’s madness?”

Rhaegar said nothing, his hands clenched at his sides. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and simmering rage.

Brandon shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You don’t care about her. Not really. You’re just afraid you’ll lose whatever game you’re playing.”

Rhaegar’s composure returned, his voice steady but cold. “This isn’t a game, Stark. If you care for her as you claim, you’ll leave her alone before more damage is done.”

Brandon’s gray eyes met Rhaegar’s, his defiance unyielding. “You don’t tell me what to do, Targaryen. And if you think I’ll walk away, you don’t know me at all.”

Rhaegar exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. “Then you’ll both pay the price.”

Without another word, the prince turned and walked away, his crimson cloak trailing behind him. Brandon watched him go, his fists clenched, his chest heaving with the force of his anger.

From the distance, you caught his gaze for a fleeting moment, a subtle smile playing on your lips as Aerys’s entourage passed. Brandon’s resolve hardened. Whatever price there was to pay, he would bear it. For you.

The Godswood near Harrenhal was cloaked in shadows, its ancient weirwood whispering secrets to the cool night air. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through the canopy of leaves, casting silvery patterns on the mossy ground. It was a place of quiet reverence, but tonight, it was a sanctuary for stolen moments.

Brandon Stark waited, his breath misting in the chill of the night. His wolf’s-head cloak lay discarded on a nearby boulder, leaving him clad only in his simple tunic and breeches. He leaned against the trunk of a weirwood, its pale bark cold against his back, his thoughts a chaotic storm of longing and despair.

The crown of blue roses he had placed in your lap during the tourney still lingered in his mind, the way your lilac eyes had softened, the faint curve of your lips as you accepted his defiance of duty and expectation. It had been a reckless act, one that had already ignited whispers throughout the realm. But for Brandon, it had been worth it.

The rustle of leaves broke the stillness, and his heart leaped. You emerged from the shadows, your dark cloak wrapped tightly around you. Even in the dim light, your silver-gold hair caught the faint glow of the moon, a beacon that drew him toward you.

“Brandon,” you said softly, your voice carrying a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Are you mad to summon me here?”

His lips curved into a faint smile, though there was a shadow of sadness in his gray eyes. “If I am, it’s because of you.”

You stepped closer, the tension in your posture easing as his warmth enveloped you. “You’re a fool,” you murmured, though there was no heat in your words. “We shouldn’t be doing this. Not here. Not now.”

“And yet you came,” Brandon countered, his voice low and steady. “Because you feel it too.”

You hesitated, your gaze searching his face. “This is dangerous,” you whispered. “We’ll ruin everything.”

Brandon reached for you, his hands gentle as they settled on your waist. “Everything’s already ruined,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of the inevitable. “This might be the last time I see you. Let me have this. Let me have you.”

Your chest tightened at the raw emotion in his voice, the vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see. “And what happens after?” you asked, your voice trembling. “When we go back to our separate lives? When duty pulls us apart?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his forehead resting against yours. “But I know that right now, I can’t let you go.”

The walls you had built around yourself, the ones meant to shield you from pain and regret, began to crumble under the intensity of his gaze. “Then don’t,” you whispered.

His lips were on yours before the words had fully left your mouth, the kiss fierce and consuming. There was no hesitation, no pretense, only the overwhelming need to feel, to remember, to claim a fleeting moment of happiness in a world that would never allow it.

Brandon’s hands moved to your cloak, slipping it from your shoulders as his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck. You arched into him, your hands fisting in the fabric of his tunic as the heat between you grew unbearable. The layers of clothing separating you were shed with desperate hands, discarded onto the soft moss below.

“Gods, Y/N,” Brandon murmured against your skin, his voice thick with longing. “You’re everything I’ll never deserve.”

You cupped his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Don’t say that. Don’t ruin this moment.”

His eyes softened, the storm within them giving way to something gentler. “You’re right. Let me show you instead.”

He lowered you onto the ground, the cool moss a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. His movements were unhurried yet deliberate, every kiss, every caress a silent promise. When he finally entered you, he paused, his gray eyes locked on yours.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice trembling.

You shook your head, your hands running along his shoulders. “Don’t stop. I want this.”

The rhythm he set was slow at first, each movement deliberate as if he were memorizing every moment. But as the passion between you intensified, the pace quickened, your bodies moving together in a feverish dance. The quiet grove was filled with the sounds of your shared desire, the world beyond forgotten in the haze of your union.

Brandon’s hands clutched your hips, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate. “I love you,” he whispered against your mouth, the admission raw and unguarded.

Your heart clenched at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “And I love you,” you replied, your voice breaking.

When the peak came, it was like fire and lightning coursing through your veins, leaving you both trembling in its wake. Brandon collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms as his chest heaved with exertion.

For a long while, neither of you spoke, the only sounds the quiet hum of the forest and the steady rhythm of your breathing. Finally, Brandon broke the silence.

“Come with me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Leave all of this behind. We can go anywhere, be anyone.”

You shook your head, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Every time you ask me this. You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” he demanded, his frustration evident. “Why do we have to live by their rules? Why can’t we be free?”

“Because it’s not just us, Brandon,” you said softly, your voice tinged with sorrow. “If we ran, it wouldn’t just be us who suffered. Your family, my family—everyone would pay the price.”

He closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as he held you closer. “I’d burn the world for you.”

“And that’s exactly what they’d do if we tried,” you replied, tears slipping down your cheeks. “We have this moment. Let it be enough.”

Brandon didn’t reply, his silence heavy with unspoken words. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his touch lingering as if trying to memorize the feel of you.

When the first rays of dawn began to break through the trees, you sat up, gathering your scattered clothing. “I have to go,” you said, your voice trembling.

He nodded, his gray eyes filled with anguish as he watched you dress. “Will I ever see you again?”

You paused, your back to him as you fastened your cloak. “I don’t know.”

As you disappeared into the early morning mist, Brandon remained in the grove, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this had been your last night together. And yet, the memory of your union, of your love, burned brightly within him—a flame that would never be extinguished.

The First Meeting, before Harrenhal

The air around Riverrun was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth and river reeds as the royal procession arrived in a cascade of color and sound. Black and crimson banners fluttered in the breeze, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen stark against the muted gray sky. Trumpets blared, their sharp notes cutting through the hushed murmurs of the gathered crowd.

Brandon Stark stood near the gates of Riverrun, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his wolf’s-head cloak resting heavily on his shoulders. He had never been one for pomp and ceremony, and the sight of the royal entourage left a bitter taste in his mouth. His father, Lord Rickard Stark, stood beside him, his expression unreadable as they awaited the arrival of the Targaryens. Nearby, Lord Hoster Tully looked equally somber, though there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes.

Brandon shifted his weight impatiently, glancing toward the banners. "All this for a mad king," he muttered under his breath.

Rickard shot him a warning look. "Mind your tongue, Brandon. Aerys may be mad, but he is still king. And we are here to settle your future, not ruin it."

Brandon grunted but said no more, his gray eyes scanning the procession as it drew closer. The clatter of hooves and the creak of wagons filled the air as knights, courtiers, and servants passed through the gates in a seemingly endless stream.

At the heart of the procession, seated in an ornate litter draped with silken curtains, was King Aerys II. Even from a distance, Brandon could see the disheveled pale hair, the too-thin frame, and the fevered gleam in his eyes. Aerys looked more like a ghost than a king, his presence both unsettling and magnetic.

But it wasn’t Aerys who caught Brandon’s attention.

Trailing behind the king, astride a white mare, was a woman who seemed to have stepped out of a dream. Her hair, a shimmering cascade of gold and silver, caught the light like molten fire. Her lilac eyes, bright and keen, scanned the crowd with a mixture of curiosity and caution. She rode with the ease of one accustomed to grandeur, her posture regal but not rigid. The gown she wore, a delicate blend of black and red silk, clung to her figure in a way that seemed effortless yet impossibly elegant.

Brandon felt his breath catch in his throat. He had heard whispers of Princess Y/N Targaryen, the Jewel of the Realm, but no description had done her justice. She was beauty incarnate, her presence commanding without being overbearing. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

"That’s her," Hoster Tully murmured, leaning slightly toward Rickard. "The king’s youngest daughter. A rare sight outside the Red Keep."

Rickard gave a curt nod, but Brandon barely registered their exchange. His gaze remained fixed on you as you rode past, your head turning slightly to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. For a brief moment, your eyes met his, and Brandon felt as if the world had shifted beneath his feet.

The look was fleeting, but it was enough. Enough to send his thoughts spiraling, enough to set his heart racing in a way it never had before.

Later that evening, the lords of the Riverlands and the North were invited to a feast in honor of the royal visit. The great hall of Riverrun was a blaze of light and sound, the long tables laden with food and wine. Minstrels played lively tunes, their music weaving through the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes.

Brandon sat beside his father, a goblet of wine in hand, his attention divided between the boisterous conversation of Robert Baratheon across the table and the occasional glimpse of you seated at the high table. You were beside your father, who alternated between loud proclamations and quiet mutterings that made the courtiers around him shift uncomfortably. Rhaegar sat on Aerys’s other side, his expression calm but distant, his eyes occasionally flickering to his sister with something that resembled worry.

Brandon tore his gaze away when his father nudged him. "Focus, boy. Lord Tully is speaking."

Brandon turned his attention to Hoster, who was discussing the details of the upcoming wedding. Catelyn Tully, seated farther down the table, blushed at the mention of her name but said nothing, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"The arrangements are nearly complete," Hoster was saying. "With the royal visit, we can finalize the dowry and announce the betrothal to the court."

Brandon nodded absently, his thoughts drifting back to you. His father’s scolding voice broke through his reverie.

"Brandon," Rickard said pointedly. "Are you paying attention?"

"Yes, Father," Brandon replied, though his tone lacked conviction.

Hoster leaned toward Catelyn, giving her an encouraging nudge. "Go on, my dear. Speak with your betrothed."

Catelyn hesitated but eventually stood, smoothing her skirts as she approached Brandon. Her steps were light, her face flushed, though her eyes darted nervously to her father for reassurance. Brandon rose out of courtesy, forcing himself to focus on her even as his gaze kept drifting toward the high table where you sat.

"Lord Brandon," Catelyn said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "It’s… good to see you again."

"And you, Lady Catelyn," Brandon replied, his tone polite but distracted.

She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, glancing at her father for support before speaking again. "I hope you’ll find Riverrun to your liking during your stay. My family is… eager to welcome you properly."

Brandon nodded, his attention only half on her words. "Riverrun is a fine place, Lady Catelyn."

His gaze flicked back to you, catching the way your eyes sparkled as you spoke briefly to a courtier. You laughed at something Aerys said, though the sound didn’t reach him. He saw the stiffness in your posture, the mask you wore to hide whatever emotions lay beneath.

Catelyn noticed his distraction, her expression faltering. "I… I hope you’ll find our match agreeable, my lord. My father has worked hard to ensure—"

"Of course," Brandon interrupted, his voice distant. He forced himself to look at her, offering a small, strained smile. "I’m sure we’ll do well together, Lady Catelyn."

Her face reddened, and she lowered her eyes, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Hoster called her back to her seat, and she offered Brandon a quick curtsy before retreating.

Brandon sat back down, his fingers tightening around the goblet of wine in his hand. His eyes found you again, lingering on the way the firelight caught the golden strands of your hair. Whatever the future held, he couldn’t deny the truth that burned in his chest.

He would marry Catelyn, as his father and duty demanded. But his heart, reckless and wild as a wolf, had already chosen with a little more than a single glance.

The moon hung low in the night sky, its silver light spilling over the quiet gardens of Riverrun. The day’s festivities had given way to the soft hum of crickets and the occasional murmur of guards patrolling the castle grounds. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of river water and blooming jasmine.

Brandon Stark moved through the shadows with practiced ease, his cloak blending into the darkness. His father would have skinned him for slipping away from the feast, but Brandon couldn’t stay. Not when he’d caught a glimpse of you stepping out of the hall, the faintest flicker of exhaustion marring your otherwise regal demeanor.

You were not alone, of course. Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, trailed a respectful distance behind, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. A silent sentinel. Brandon had watched as you’d wandered into the gardens, drawn to the quiet solitude they offered.

Now, he stood at the edge of the garden, his heart pounding as he caught sight of you beneath an ancient weirwood tree. The pale bark glowed in the moonlight, the red leaves rustling softly in the breeze. You sat on a stone bench, your head tilted back to gaze at the stars, the soft glow of the night casting an ethereal light on your features.

Brandon hesitated for a moment, his usual confidence faltering. What would he say to you, a princess of the realm? But then your voice broke the silence, soft and melodic, as you hummed a tune he didn’t recognize. It was enough to draw him forward.

“Princess,” he said, stepping into the moonlight, his voice low and steady.

You startled slightly, your eyes widening as you turned to face him. For a moment, there was silence between you, the night holding its breath. Then, your lips curved into a small, polite smile.

“Lord Stark,” you replied, your tone cool but not unkind. “Should you not be enjoying the feast?”

Brandon shrugged, his gray eyes studying you intently. “I’ve had my fill of wine and empty words. The gardens seemed a better place to spend my time.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity flickering in your gaze. “And yet you seem to have followed me here.”

Brandon chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You caught my attention, Princess. I’d be a fool not to introduce myself.”

Ser Gerold shifted behind you, his presence a subtle reminder of the distance that should remain between a Stark of Winterfell and a princess of the Iron Throne. But you raised a hand, a silent gesture that eased the tension.

“And so you have,” you said, your voice carrying the faintest hint of amusement. “Brandon Stark, son of Lord Rickard. Your reputation precedes you.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin wolfish. “Does it, now? I hope it’s a good one.”

“That depends,” you said, your gaze steady. “Are you as reckless as they say?”

Brandon’s laugh was softer this time, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Only when the occasion calls for it. And you, Princess? Do you always wander the gardens alone, or am I just fortunate tonight?”

You smiled, a genuine one that softened your regal bearing. “I needed air. Riverrun is lovely, but the court can be… stifling.”

Brandon nodded, his expression turning more serious. “I can imagine. Aerys doesn’t seem like the type to let his children wander freely.”

Your gaze flickered downward for a moment, a shadow passing over your features. “No, he does not. My father values control above all else.”

The vulnerability in your voice caught Brandon off guard. He had expected haughtiness, the arrogance of royalty, but instead, he found a woman weighed down by chains she could not escape. He took a step closer, his tone softening.

“You deserve more than this,” he said, his voice low. “More than being paraded like a prize.”

You looked up at him, your lilac eyes searching his face. “And what would you know of what I deserve, Lord Stark?”

He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding. “Enough to know that you’re more than what they make you out to be. More than just a Targaryen princess.”

Your lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across your face. Then, to his astonishment, you laughed—a soft, melodic sound that sent a thrill through him.

“You’re bold, Lord Stark,” you said, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Most men wouldn’t dare speak to me like this.”

“Most men don’t have wolves at their back,” Brandon replied with a grin, his confidence returning. “And I’m not afraid of dragons.”

You studied him for a long moment, your gaze lingering on his sharp features, the way his gray eyes burned with unspoken intensity. “Perhaps you should be,” you said softly, though there was no malice in your tone.

“Perhaps,” Brandon said, stepping closer still, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But I’m not.”

The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken words, the distance narrowing as your gazes locked. Ser Gerold cleared his throat pointedly, breaking the moment.

You stood, smoothing your gown as you straightened your posture, your regal mask slipping back into place. “It’s late, Lord Stark. I should return.”

Brandon inclined his head, though his eyes remained fixed on you. “Of course, Princess.”

As you turned to leave, your steps graceful and measured, you paused for the briefest moment, glancing back at him. “Goodnight, Lord Stark.”

“Goodnight, Princess,” he replied, his voice tinged with something deeper.

He watched as you disappeared into the shadows, Ser Gerold following close behind. For the first time in his life, Brandon Stark found himself truly captivated. You were fire and ice, strength and vulnerability, a contradiction he couldn’t ignore.

As the night deepened, Brandon leaned against the ancient weirwood, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. He knew, even then, that this was only the beginning.

The secluded bank of the Tumblestone River lay bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, its surface shimmering like liquid silver. The air was cool and damp, the gentle murmur of the river blending with the rustling of the willow trees that framed the hidden spot. Brandon Stark stood beneath one such tree, his broad frame partially concealed by its drooping branches. He shifted his weight, his hands resting on his belt, his gaze fixed on the path that led to their meeting place.

She would come. He knew she would. And yet, his heart raced as he waited, the thrill of the forbidden coursing through him. Every fiber of his being told him this was madness—treason, even. But when he thought of her, her eyes filled with a fire that mirrored his own, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The faint crunch of footsteps on the damp grass broke the quiet. He turned sharply, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword before he saw her emerge from the shadows. You.

You moved with the grace of a cat, your black and crimson gown trailing lightly behind you, the silver threads glinting faintly in the moonlight. Your hair, a cascade of gold and silver, was left loose, and the sight of it made his breath catch.

“Lord Stark,” you said softly, your voice carrying a playful edge. “Do you always skulk about like a wolf in the shadows?”

He grinned, stepping forward to meet you. “Only when I’m waiting for a dragon to appear.”

You laughed lightly, the sound sending a thrill through him. As you drew closer, his eyes drank in every detail of you—the way your lips curved, the delicate rise and fall of your chest, the faint blush that dusted your cheeks.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Brandon admitted, his voice low.

“Neither was I,” you replied, glancing around as if to ensure no one had followed. “But here I am.”

He stepped closer, his voice softening. “Why?”

You hesitated, your gaze locking with his. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About the way you looked at me. About the things you said.”

Brandon’s grin faded, replaced by something deeper, more intense. “You haunt me, Y/N,” he said, his tone raw. “Every moment I’m not with you, I wish I were.”

You looked away briefly, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your gown. “You shouldn’t say such things,” you murmured. “If anyone found out…”

“They won’t,” Brandon said firmly, reaching out to gently take your hand. His touch was warm, grounding, and you allowed it, your fingers curling around his. “No one has to know.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the river’s gentle song filling the space between you. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Brandon stepped closer, his free hand rising to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…”

You didn’t reply, your lips parting slightly as your gaze flickered to his mouth. That was all the encouragement he needed.

Brandon leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and searing. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you froze, caught between caution and desire. But then you melted into him, your hands finding his shoulders as you returned the kiss with equal fervor.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more consuming, as the thrill of everything forbidden wrapped around you like the night. Brandon’s fingers found the ties of your gown, his movements deliberate yet trembling with restraint.

You broke the kiss, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you looked up at him. “Brandon,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and longing. “This is dangerous.”

“I don’t care,” he said, his voice rough. “Not tonight. Just let me have this. Let me have you.”

Your heart pounded as you searched his face, seeing the same desperate yearning that mirrored your own. Slowly, you nodded, your hands moving to the clasp of his cloak.

The cloak fell to the ground with a soft thud, and his hands resumed their work, loosening the laces of your gown. The cool night air brushed against your skin as the fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Brandon’s breath hitched as he took in the sight of you, his eyes darkening with desire.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice reverent.

You reached for him, your fingers brushing against the edges of his tunic. “And you’re wearing too much.”

His grin returned, wolfish and full of promise. “Allow me to fix that.”

Piece by piece, his clothing joined yours on the ground, the moonlight painting his skin in silver as you ran your hands over his broad chest. His warmth enveloped you, his touch igniting a fire that burned away all thoughts of duty, of consequence.

Brandon’s hands were steady yet tender as he explored every curve of your body, his calloused fingers igniting sparks wherever they touched. You shivered beneath him, your skin warm against the cool night air. The world beyond this hidden grove seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sound of your breath and the rustling of leaves.

He leaned over you, his gray eyes searching yours for any hesitation. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint.

You nodded, your hands sliding up his broad shoulders, holding onto him as if he were your anchor. “I trust you.”

Brandon’s lips brushed against yours, a fleeting kiss that carried both passion and reassurance. Slowly, he positioned himself, his movements deliberate as he gave you time to adjust. As he began to push into you, a gasp escaped your lips, your body tensing slightly at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice strained, his forehead pressing against yours.

You shook your head, though your breaths were uneven. “It’s… different,” you admitted, your fingers digging into his arms. “But don’t stop. Please.”

His jaw clenched as he fought to keep his movements gentle, giving you time to acclimate. The initial discomfort ebbed, replaced by a growing warmth that spread through you like fire. You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing beneath him.

“Brandon,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “You can move.”

His eyes darkened, the restraint in his expression melting into something raw and unfiltered. He began to move, his rhythm slow at first, each thrust measured and careful. But as your hips rose to meet his, a quiet plea on your lips, his control slipped. His pace quickened, his passion no longer tethered as the two of you lost yourselves in each other.

The intensity built between you, your bodies moving in perfect harmony. His hands roamed your body, his lips pressing kisses along your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his dark hair, your breaths mingling as your moans filled the secluded grove.

“Gods, Y/N,” Brandon groaned, his voice hoarse. “You’re… everything.”

You couldn’t find words, your own voice caught in the overwhelming sensation that consumed you. You arched into him, your body meeting his with wild abandon as the two of you chased the peak together.

When it came, it was like a storm breaking—a rush of pleasure that left you gasping, trembling in his arms. He followed you moments later, his body shuddering as he buried his face against your neck, his breaths ragged.

The two of you lay tangled together, your hearts racing in unison, the cool night air wrapping around your heated skin. For a while, there was only the sound of the river and the quiet murmurs of your breathing.

Brandon broke the silence first, his voice low and filled with a bittersweet edge. “I don’t want to let you go.”

You turned your head to meet his gaze, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “Neither do I.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as he looked at you with a mixture of longing and determination. “Say the word, Y/N. If you want to leave, I’ll take you. Wherever you wish to go, we’ll go together. I’ll keep you safe, I swear it.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your heart ache. You wanted to say yes, to run away with him and leave behind the chains that bound you. But reality was a cruel mistress, and you knew the truth.

“It can’t be,” you said softly, your voice tinged with sorrow. “You know it can’t.”

Brandon frowned, his hand dropping to your shoulder. “Why not? You don’t belong in that cage. You’re not theirs to control.”

“And yet, I am,” you whispered, your fingers brushing through his hair. “If I left, it would bring ruin to my family, to yours. My father… he would burn everything to the ground.”

Brandon cursed under his breath, his frustration palpable. “I don’t care about the consequences. I only care about you.”

You smiled faintly, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “And I care about you. Which is why I can’t let you destroy yourself for me.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his breaths heavy as he tried to reign in his emotions. “You deserve better than this,” he said, his voice cracking. “Better than him. Better than all of them.”

Your thumb brushed against his cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn’t realized he’d shed. “For tonight, I had better. I had you.”

He kissed you again, this time slow and tender, as if trying to memorize the taste of you. When he finally pulled away, his hands lingered on your waist, reluctant to let you go.

“I have to go,” you said, your voice heavy with regret. “If I’m gone too long, they’ll notice.”

Brandon nodded, though every fiber of his being screamed to hold you close and never let you leave. “Go, then,” he said quietly. “But don’t forget this. Don’t forget us.”

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “I could never forget.”

With a final kiss, you rose, gathering your discarded clothing and slipping back into the shadows. Brandon watched you go, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this might be the last time he held you.

And yet, he knew this night would stay with him forever, a memory burned into his soul like the heat of your touch. For you were fire, and he was a wolf drawn to the flame.

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ohmy-gojo · 2 days ago

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geto suguru falling for an underclassman reader ෆ (no curse au) pt.1

it was a new year— geto was already on his 2nd year at jujutsu high with the same two friends, not that he really cared about making friends. satoru just appeared one day and called him his 'best friend' and shoko tagged along. it was actually a quite comical group he thinks; a rich kid, a chain smoker and a boy who just wanted to die. but he supposes they were also popular around the campus (though he doesnt understand why)

he was casually strolling near the pond in front of the campus during break (actually hiding from gojo bc a new episode of digimon aired and he really doesnt want to hear his rants) when he saw a trail of... chips? leading near the back of the campus

his first thought was 'this is too weird imma dip' but alas curiosity got him and he decided to follow the trail of.. chips. who knows if thats how they lure people and kidnap them nowadays? if so hes sure people like satoru would surely fall for the trap (he thinks as he himself follows the said trap)

after reaching the end of the trail, he was surprised to face a young girl instead of an old beefy hitman. this was his supposed kidnapper? she was pretty cute so he wouldnt really mind he guesses. but the girl actually looked equally surprised to see him. the two stared at each other and owlishly blinked.

"um.. what are you doing.. here? if i may ask." geto broke the silence

"oh uh i am waiting?" she spoke softly and didnt elaborate further

'maybe for a friend?' geto thought and didnt ask for more details. though the reason he was even here— "do you know who placed these chips in the grou–"

before he could even finish his sentence, the girl pulled him and hid behind the concrete plankets. okay, this girl was nuts

"i was the one who placed the chips," she whisper-answered. "for him" she gestured to their front. geto followed her gaze and saw a.. puppy? he raised his brows at that, if she wanted to feed the puppy why not just give it that directly instead of doing whatever the hell that was.

she probably understood what he was thinking and finally told him, "that little guy was actually trapped in one of the slabs. i tried helping him but he was probably afraid so i decided to lure him with these chips and into safety."

oh, he thinks. that makes sense. they both then sat in silence watching the puppy eat the chips. it was a comfortable silence though. this is not a bad day, he muses. the nice weather, watching an adorable puppy eating chips with a cute girl sitting beside him.

after some time, the puppy left and he realized they were still holding hands from earlier when she pulled him. she let go of his hand after realizing herself and blushed lightly (he was a little disappointed).

"what you did was kind." he smiled at her.

"oh its nothing. i felt bad for him and i dont even like chips that much."

geto laughed at her reasoning. he was getting enamored by her weird charm and awkward mannerisms. they were starting to walk back inside their campus. "well.. whats your name?"

"i am (name)," she bowed her head lightly "please take care of me."

"of course, nice to meet you. i am geto." he smiled. "are you a 1st year?"

"yes i am. are you one as well?"

"no," he shaked his head. "i am a 2nd year."

"oh!" she suddenly stopped. "youre a senpai!"

he laughed at her matter of fact tone and nodded his head. this girl was actually weird but in a.. cute way.

before he could ask more about her, his white haired friend appeared and he just sighed heavily

"suguru??? what are you doing?" he looked at (name) and gasped "do you have a secret girlfriend? oh my god! shoko!"

"lord help me," he sighed again. he looked at the girl with him and saw her blushing and looking bewildered. as much as he found her blushing face adorable he decided to help her

"this is not my girlfriend you doofus," he slapped gojos back of head. "shes an underclassman, be nice to her."

"ohhhh?? shes a kouhai?" he gasped once again. "i always wanted one!"

geto deadpanned at that. look at this weirdo talking about the girl like shes some shiny rock. he was starting too feel weirdly possessive over her. after all he was the one who found her first so she should be his kouhai only, it's only natural.

with gojo blabbering about himself to her and her politely nodding at his words, they made their way to their classes. geto wanted to ask her about herself but found himself being cut off by gojo everytime. he was starting to get pissed but then saw (name) smiling reassuringly at her which made him calm down a little (he was almost pouting). then she had to leave for her class and waved at them bye. 'oh well,' he thought while waving back. he could try to meet her after school maybe? but this time without that blue eyed freak he huffed.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru #geto fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n

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joelalorian · 3 days ago

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Under False Pretenses - Chapter 1

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 1700 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Overall rating will be Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap but I imagine a lil' baby one of about 5 to 8 years. This chapter is a wee lil mellow one and sets the scene, but future ones will include soft, yet sexy and intense Dave; several twists - basically, it will have it all: action, angst, deception, fluff, humor, a puppy(!), and SMUT! No use of y/n. Dave will give reader a nickname based on his perception of her.

AN: I got too excited and decided to post the first chapter. Posting schedule will be somewhere are weekly, give or take a few days. Hope you enjoy and let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter 1:

“Sure, honey. You can come stay for a while,” your mom assured you. She sounded excited even though it wasn’t a call you wanted to make, not at this point in your life, but what other options did you have? “You can see the house and meet your new stepdad!”

Dead air.

The soft glow of you bedside lamp cast long shadows on the room, making the clutter of half-packed boxes look like ominous towers. Your knuckles whitened as you gripped the phone tighter, trying to process her words.

“My new WHAT?” your voice rose toward the end in utter confusion. You didn’t even know your mom was dating anyone, let alone someone serious enough to fucking marry!

“Oh, honey, his name is Dave and you’re just gonna love him,” she replied with a lovesick simper.

You’d never heard her voice do that. She must be really into the guy.

Enough to marry him without even inviting you to the god damn wedding?

She’s still chatting away, explaining how they met – at work – and how it was such a whirlwind romance that they got carried away on a work trip to Vegas and decided to just tie the knot without telling anyone.

Okay. That, actually, didn’t surprise you. Your mom was super smart but could be a total a flake sometimes, leaving you to wonder who the adult was on more than one occasion while growing up. She had you really young and never quite matured.

“That’s great, Mom. I can’t wait to meet him,” you finally replied after twenty minutes of listening to her gush over this Dave guy. “But I’m not calling him Dad.”

She laughed. “Of course not, honey. He’s too young to really be your dad anyway.”

That piqued your interest.

“Oh, oh, oh, you robbin’ the cradle, mama?” you teased. “You’re really living your cougar era, huh?”

“Stop it, you,” she giggled in return. “So, when do you think you’ll get here?”

Conversation went back and forth a little longer as your mom gave you the new address – for fuck’s sake, they moved clear across the state from where you grew up, to a very swanky area at the shore, you noted – and you made a rough itinerary. In reality, you would have loved to just drop everything and get the fuck out of dodge right that minute, but logistics and all that.

“Ok, honey. Be careful and I’ll see you next week. Call if you need anything.” Before she ended the call, your mom added, “I’ll text you Dave’s number as well, so you have it in case of emergencies.

“Sounds good, mama. Love you.”

“Love you more, honey.”

You went back to packing up the remnants of your life, readying yourself for the cross-country journey ahead.

You did not have ‘moving back home at almost 30’ on your bingo card this year, but there you were, pulling into the half-moon driveway of a large colonial home in an upscale neighborhood, one much nicer than where your mom used to live. The house loomed under the late morning sun, its pristine white siding and black shutters stark against the cloudless blue sky. Perfectly trimmed hedges flanked the curved driveway, and somewhere nearby, the faint crash of waves carried on the salty breeze. This Dave guy had a lot of money, it appeared. Parking your little sedan to the far side in front of the 3-car garage, you turned the car off and lingered in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel.

Normally, you didn’t mind change, but… man, the past month threw some whammies at you. You lost a boyfriend, job, and your loyal goldfish in quick succession. Each loss hit worse than the last. And now, your safe space, the place you needed to return to so you could lick your wounds… also changed. Big time.

The soft tap of a manicured nail on the window startled you, head snapping to the side to see your mom standing in the driveway beaming at you. She bounced on her feet, anxiously waiting for you to get out of the car.

“Honey! It’s so good to see you!” You barely had time to fully stand up before she pulled you into a bone crushing hug. That was another thing about your mom – she was strong. She had lithe muscles packed into her small figure from being a total gym addict.

Too bad that addiction wasn’t hereditary. You hated the gym.

“Hi mama! Marriage looks good on you!” you praised her once you stepped back and took in her glowing, sun-kissed skin, vibrant blonde locks, and the large rock on her hand.

“You look good, too, honey. You losing weight?”

And of course, she honed right in on that. You weren’t even in front of her for five minutes, and she brought up your weight. Story of your life. Your body shape the exact opposite of your, mother’s, she hadn’t let up on nagging you about your weight since you were twelve years old. You were always a bit… thick in places.

“Uh, maybe, I dunno. Come on, show me your new digs.” You quickly changed the subject.

Your mom gives you the grand tour, proudly showing off all the lovely features of the house, focusing heavily on the ones the home you grew up in didn’t have like the huge kitchen, fireplace, pool, and enormous master suite, though she led you away before you could fully explore all that the suite offered. The two other bedrooms were already decorated for little girls, and you quirked a curious eyebrow at your mom.

“Didn’t I mention that Dave has two young daughters?”

No. No, she definitely did not mention that. You rolled your eyes, understanding now why your mom was so eager for you to come home. She wanted a built-in caretaker. You mentally counted down, knowing exactly what she was about to say in three, two, one…

“Actually, now that you’ll be living here, it would be great if you could look after the girls when we have to travel for work or want to go out, help with the school runs during the week.”

It wasn’t a question, you noted. Not that you expected her to ask first or even mention that being a nanny would be part of the deal. Nothing with your mom ever came without a cost. You learned that lesson long ago.

You loved your mom, you really did. Sometimes, she just didn’t make it easy to do so.

“Right. About that… where am I supposed to be staying if all the bedrooms are taken?”

She led you down the stairs to a door off the family room, where another stairway awaited you. “You’re locking me away in the basement?” you joked. “Please tell me it’s at least finished.”

“Just wait until you see it, honey,” your mom promised, and you reluctantly followed her down the steps.

When the lights flicked on, the sight took your breath away. It was like an entire apartment down there. It even had its own private entrance leading to the garage allowing you to come and go as you pleased. “Wow,” you breathed.

“Told ya.” She flashed you a twitchy wink. “You’ll have this whole space to yourself… well, except for that room over there.” She pointed to a closed door equipped with a sturdy lock.

“What’s in there?” you questioned, already curious about the reasoning for such a lock on the door.

“That’s Dave’s office. It’s off limits to everyone but him, so don’t go snooping. Got it?” She pointed a finger at you like you were an errant child, and you raised your hands in surrender.

“Heard you loud and clear, mama. I have no interest in whatever creepy ass skeletons Dave is keeping in his locked office.” Total lie, of course, but your mom didn’t need to know that.

“Good. Get settled in and help yourself to whatever you need. I must head to the office for a bit. Dave should be home at some point, he just had a meeting in town. I’ll pick up the girls from school on my way home if you want to take care of dinner.”

And there it was. You knew there’d be a bigger price to pay for this arrangement, more than occasionally taking care of your new stepsisters. Without a job or any other responsibilities, your mom was going to treat you like free labor. You saw that coming.

You followed your mom upstairs and through the front door as she headed to her car in the garage, and you went for yours. Might as well get unpacked, not like you brought much anyway. It was early still, and you could make a trip to the store for anything you needed before having to worry about dinner.

A few hours later, you stepped back to admire your new living space with a sense of pride. You did everything you could to make it your own, within reason.

With the basement suite basically being a blank slate, you chose a variety of decorative pillows, wall hangings, and chotchkes to give it your own stylistic flair. The furnishings unused and rather plain, you wanted to spice them up with splashes of color. You did everything short of paint the damn walls – and you would have done that too if given the option.

Grateful for a firm mattress with a plush pillowtop, you sprang for the softest satiny sheets you could find in a pale green hue and paired it with a patterned comforter with clean lines. A couple of coastal-themed lamps on the nightstands rounded out the small bedroom.

The bathroom was already decorated with a shower curtain and accessories in soft gray hues, and you wondered if that was Dave’s touch or your mother’s. Probably Dave. Your mom never veered toward subtle furnishings, much preferring patterns and styles that you found garish.

Glancing around at the neat space one last time, you headed upstairs to the kitchen to begin dinner preparations. You wanted to make something special for the first time meeting your stepdad and his daughters.

tbc

tag list: @imdrinkingpedro @lillaydee @ppascalrain @yorksgirl @missladym1981 @baronessvonglitter @slimybeth69

#stepdad!dave york x f!reader #dave york equalizer 2 #soft yet intense dave #dave york fluff #dave york angst #dave york smut #pedrostories

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shokosbunny · 2 days ago

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CRAVE - chapter seven

nav 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

masterlist 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ • previous 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

chapter warnings: use of profanity, mild argument, brief mentions of grooming/toxicity

the subsequent solitary walk of shame back to your apartment provides the perfect environment for you to think about what exactly you were going to say to naoya.

you’ve faced the facts. you don't love him anymore. the man you fell in love with is gone. in fact, there's a high chance that he never even existed, and naoya put up a good facade long enough for you to get attached, until he was sure you loved him too much to leave.

you look back on your entire relationship with the man. you had met him at megumi’s 15th birthday party. he said all the right things, telling you how you were much smarter, more mature than other girls your age. he gave all the right signals, and by the time you started officially dating on your 18th birthday, you were madly in love.

no one approved. not your friends, not your parents. hell, even megumi’s parents, toji and mina fushiguro, who had known you since middle school, told - no - begged you not to waste your youth on a man like naoya, and that if you didn't see it now, you'd learn when it was too late.

it's like a veil has been lifted off your eyes. you realise that it wasn't naoya’s age that made him mature. in all other aspects, he was like a pubescent boy, petulant, selfish and disrespectful.

but yuta… god. you don't think he has a single selfish bone in his body.

you know what you have to do.

“we’re not breaking up,” naoya says with certainty, looking at you as if you're stupid, high, concussed or all three.

“naoya,” you say placatingly, as if negotiating with a toddler. “we aren't compatible anymore. the signs have been there-”

“goddamnit, y/n, i said we are not breaking up!” naoya snaps. he always yells when he doesn't get his way. but again, so do you.

“don't raise your fucking voice at me!” you retort, before he can even finish his sentence.

“i don't want you anymore, i know damn well why you're so secretive and distant, and you know this isn't going anywhere, so why are you trying so hard to grasp onto this…concept of a relationship?!”

“because- this- you don't know what you're saying, baby,” is his response. he’s choosing to go the consolatory route in a last ditch effort to delay the inevitable.

“this is just a rough patch. we can get through this, we’ve done it before, yeah?”

you shake your head, determined not to let your resolve crumble. “no, naoya. come on. we’ve only been together a year, and we argue on and off like we're on the cusp of a divorce. you cheated on me. i...may have cheated on you. this-”

“wait,” he interrupts. “you what?”

damn your honesty.

“yeah,” you breathe out. the relationship is basically over, so you see no point in hiding it.

“when? it was your birthday, right? that's why you got so-” he begins, and you tune him out on his rant as he paces the length of your bedroom.

for all his flaws, naoya is impeccably sharp. he can practically sense your focus shifting before it even fully happens, and snaps his fingers in front of your face.

“hey,” he says. “don't do that, you know it pisses me off.”

“sorry,” you respond, more as a formality than anything else. “but, yeah. it's best if we don't continue this. you're better off with a girl…well, your age.”

naoya scoffs. “you don't say. last time i mess with a fickle brat.”

“last time i mess with a pedophile,” comes your grumbled retort.

the ordeal is more peaceful than you anticipated, and in mere minutes, he’s gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

next 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚

tags: @toniseweje @tsukuhoe @itsafairytalekay @ayla-1605 @moncher-ire @rikaroses @starrysho @blu3-l0v3r @number0netrash @zayuriluvs @susiekern @mikamii25 @vorfreudevortex @q2uq2u @ermbehindyou @mayyhaps @nomoreilovesyou @good-mourning0 @revolvinggeto @4crewz

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dyli-dadi3 · 15 hours ago

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Breeding Kink

What better way to spend the night than plowing your girl's pussy? Leon couldn't think of one. Whether that was because he was busy doing just that or there truly wasn't a better way, he couldn't care less.

Not even going to lie, these next prompts are just my unfinished Kinktober ones. It felt wrong not posting them even though they're short, so enjoy these little snacks that I'm going to be posting for the foreseeable future. Tags: Breeding kink, tons of pet names, creampie, smut (p in v), mating press, no use of rubber (wrap it!).

Leon held your hand as he pounded your pussy into the mattress. “Shhh, I know, Baby. Feels good, huh?” He cooed, free hand moving to rub your clit as your calves practically choked him. God, it didn’t matter to him. He loved putting you in a mating press, you always felt so tight and got this dumb look on your face.

Such a cute little pretzel.

“So drunk on my cock, huh, Honey? Should I pull out and give you something to fill your pretty mouth? You’re gonna get a dry mouth if you don’t close that pretty little mouth of yours, Babe” He loved nothing more than giving his baby what she needed, and if that was something for her to suck on, then that's what he'll give her. He laughed when you cried in disagreement, shaking your little head and begging him to “Keep it in.”

Fuck, he didn’t think he could pull out even if he tried. If he wanted to. You were gripping him like a vacuum, wet little pussy barely allowing him to move in the first place, so he just humped your cunt and gave you those shallow thrusts that hit deep, little kisses that touched your cervix. Poor baby always whined the next day about how it hurts and then he’d kiss it better, like clockwork.

He loved kissing it better.

He also loved the way you cried his name when you came, made him feel like the shit when your eyes welled up with tears that screamed kiss me. He’d slow down, looking into your eyes to ask where you wanted him.

“Inside! Cum inside!”

God, your pitiful little noises could get him off in no time, the sound filling every fissure of his pussy-drunk brain. He bit his lip and moaned as he pumped his aching cock into you. “You need it inside you, Baby? Need me to fill you up nice and plump, don’t you?” He softly cooed as best he could when he was desecrating your cunt. He could die in your sweet pussy, your body unable to hide how badly you wanted him to paint your whole world white.

Of course, he loved how vocal and clear you were, made him feel like the shit when he finally busted inside you, staring as you fluttered around his cock and tried to constrict his circulation. Oh, that was no good, that’s where all his blood was, you were going to make him pass out. “Baby, gotta let it fill you,” He sighed, watching as his cock filled you only for you to push it all out.”

“Gotta fix that.” He grinned, gripping your thighs and parting them for him.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #smut #x reader

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midnight-mourning · 2 days ago

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Two Animatronics Dancing—Oh, and You. You're Here Too

Holiday Spirit! au Chapter 2

*peeks into tumblr, looks around, drops this and runs*

Anywho, this chapter was a bit of a struggle for a bit there, I also just randomly felt bad so apologies for the delays, please enjoy! I went for the kill :)

having said that, Content Warning: Borderline/implied suggestive content, reader discresion is advised.

Ao3 link for those who don't wish to suffer (you should come back once you're done and read the tags and take the poll tho >:)c)

Word Count: 7306

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

"Oh, I um—" You're still processing this is happening, you need to think, lest you make a fool of yourself in front of the king.

You take a breath and bow. "My name is Y/N, your Majesty."

"Please, rise. After what you've done it's me who should be bowing to you." He chuckles, then waves you closer. "Allow me to thank you properly, if you would."

With a swallow, you walk forward, ignoring the tightening of the hold on your arm before it releases you finally.

Once you make it to the carriage is when you finally pay attention to the others inside. Neither the younger prince nor the princess look happy to be there, though the princess seems to be greatly enjoying teasing her brother every few moments. The older prince seems aloof, annoyed, but when you catch his gaze he shoots a wink your way.

Before you can think on it further the king is firmly clasping his hands around one of yours, shaking it. "Your quick actions have saved me quite the trouble. Might I ask how you had such knowledge?"

You give a—slightly mumbled—explanation regarding your work and your shop, to the king's delight.

"Ah, so it's you who's been repairing my guards so quickly." The king chuckles. "I must say, fine work. Almost like new!"

You nod. "We try our best, your Majesty."

"I want to thank you for your work." The king announces, thinking for a moment, then snaps his fingers. "I'll be hosting a grand ball in three weeks’ time, I insist that you join in the festivities as the guest of honor."

Your eyes widen, putting your hands up. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the older prince—god you're terrible with names, what is it again?—straighten up slightly, small frown on his features as he watches his father.

"Oh, you're far to kind, your Grace. I wouldn't want to intrude—"

"Nonsense!" The king scoffs, then shakes his head. "No, I've decided. I'll see to it myself that you get a proper invitation." He turns away from you then, addressing the crowd. "Three cheers for the smithy!"

The crowd responds in turn and you feel like curling in on yourself. Not just because of the attention, but because of the King himself. There was something about him, something behind those eyes and that smile that you found off putting. Which, not the attitude to have towards a man who could wave his hand to decide your fate, but you're trying here.

Soon after, the precession begins again, and continues without any further issue. You're still processing the entire ordeal however much later as you sit in the tavern up the street from your home and shop. Said shop having received an abundance of visitors in the past few hours.

Consisting of either new customers, curious festival goers, or fellow villagers congratulating you.

You didn't even do anything that major, you just unplugged a few wires!

Your crew gave you hell about it, their teasing was incessant once they found out the news.

It all had been so much that when Bri walked in your shop with the proposition of getting drinks like old times you all but jumped at the opportunity. Tossing off your apron and gloves and leaping into her arms—an old inside joke you used to play on each other—and with a laugh she carries you out of the shop and to the tavern.

Now, here you were, the sun long gone and a pint in your hands that you've been nursing for the past couple hours. You'd have drank more if you firstly didn't have work tomorrow, and if you could manage to get a sip without being interrupted by a thank you or the likes.

After the last person leaves, having been one of the chattier ones, you set your forehead on the bar with a groan.

Bri pats your back with her free hand. "There, there, o great and powerful smithy. People are just being nice. Eat it up while it lasts."

"I think if I 'eat' anymore I'll burst." You say into the wood, then turn your head to the side to look at her. "It wasn't even that big a deal, I don't know why he made it seem like such."

Bri tsks, taking a sip of her own pint. "He's the king. A major disruption happened during an event he was present for. He has to make a big deal out of it. Especially considering how bad it could have been."

You cringe at that. You'd found out after the fact that Bonnie's malfunction had caused him to not only lose control of himself, but prior to being tackled to the ground had attempted to point his weapon at the King. That had been the lone shot you'd heard, with the miss ending up in the sky instead.

"Just be glad it's a one and done thing, could be worse in that regard."

You sigh. "True. Very true."

"You know, I wasn't expecting to see you out today." Bri looks up down to you with a soft smile. "You've come a long way."

You scrunch your nose. "Don't remind me. It's disgusting." You protest as she flicks your nose.

"Getting through your grief isn't disgusting, you idiot. It's an accomplishment. One you should be proud of."

You sit up finally with a stretch. "Thanks. And what about you? What's new?"

"So much, and yet, nothing at all. I've missed it here though, I've been pissed off three years in a row that I wasn't assigned to come back." Bri huffs as you laugh.

You grab your pint, taking a sip. "Guessing it's cause of the threats?"

"That's what everyone's thinking, but personally I think there's more to it than that."

That grabs your interest. "You don't say?"

"Yeah, and I'd say it's because so many animatronics have been acting up lately, but that just started when we arrived here." Bri shakes her head. "I shouldn't be talking about this, you're probably tired."

"No!" You say, then cough, trying again. "I mean, no I um, find it interesting. I'm the one doing all the repair work, you know. Is that really the best you've all been able to come up with is just beating them senseless?"

She shakes her head again. "No, that I'm not entirely sure on, but I've noticed there's been a large number of bots stationed in certain locations throughout the castle, and town, for that matter. Places that just seem odd, you know?" She takes another sip of her pint, finishing it and waving her hand for another. "But I swear, it's when they come back from those locations—already a bit banged up mind you—that the glitches start happening."

You take all this in like sponge. Then, licking your lips you ask—"Which spots out of curiosity?"

"Town, just look anywhere that there's way too many guards. In the castle it's been the library, the west tower, and the—"

"And just what are you two chatting about?"

You turn in your seat, finding Sun is standing behind you both. Behind him is Moon.

Bri laughs, twisting to face them both fully. "Well look who it is! Didn't expect to see you two shmucks tonight."

"Shmucks is a bit harsh." Moon quips.

Sun nods. "We prefer the term bozos, or fools."

The three of them chat back and forth for a moment before Bri remembers what she was saying.

She turns to face you again. "Oh right, you wanted to know about the guards—"

"So, celebrating are we?" Sun interrupts, taking a seat on the stool between yourself and Bri.

You attempt to lean around him, but he sets his elbow on the counter, head in his chin, essentially creating a wall between you and Bri.

You frown. "We were, before you jutted in."

His grin only widens a tinge. "That's not much a greeting, friend."

"Well, considering you just now decided to acknowledge me, I could say the same to you."

You hold each other's gaze until a hand is set on your shoulder; Moon. He sits on the opposite side of you, taking your free hand to press to his smile.

"They're right, Sun. Good evening, Diana. How are you?"

You scoff, small smirk on your lips as you turn to him a bit more, ignoring the ticking sound behind you, and the tapping—of what you know is—a golden claw. "Just because you gave a proper hello doesn't mean you're any better."

"Late is better than never." Moon argues.

You reach for your drink again with a nod. "To some extent, I agree with you."

"I'll take that." Moon waves to the bartender, surprising you.

You keep your eyes trained on the pint that's set in front of him, then to him when he raises it to his mouth, pausing to meet your gaze.

"Something the matter?"

You're in denial. "You can drink?"

"I'm older than I look." He chuckles.

Your eyes narrow. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

"We're living machines. We have thoughts, feelings, and pain." Sun remarks, and you turn in time to watch him sip his own drink. "With all that considered, it be cruel to not be able to."

You twist in your seat again, genuinely curious and outright confused. Be it your own impulse or the small amount of alcohol in your system, you reach up with both hands to hold his face. He's less than impressed.

You rub your thumb's over his cheeks, brow furrowed. "What material is this? It's... spongy."

"Decided to acknowledge me now, have you?" Is his mused response.

You huff. "Let's call it even. Answer the question."

"Silicon. I believe." He puts a hand on one of your wrists. "Now are you quite finished?"

You don't care to take the hint. Still examining. "No. Why the mostly constant grins then?" You glance over to Moon slightly to be able to address both of them.

"More appealing to the public eye." Sun states.

Moon shrugs. "Laziness."

You nod, releasing Sun finally and reaching for your drink. "Never seen the like before."

"Well, seems you don't know everything after all." You must have genuinely annoyed him, you can hear a whirring sound emitting from him, just above the sound of the crowded tavern.

Moon chuckles are you bluster at this. "Who said I did?"

"That's the word going around, after the show you put on today." He offers up.

"Hardly. Believe me if I knew it was going to cause that much of a fuss I wouldn't have—" You pause, remembering the alternative. "Well, I suppose I still would have."

Moon sets down his—now empty pint—waving his hand for another. "What's done is done. You did the right thing."

"Though maybe not the wise one." Sun mutters into his mug. But before you can question him on it he's looking over you to his counterpart. "I'm not helping you back if you drink yourself into a stupor."

Moon's eyes crinkle, resting his head on the back of his hand. "Aren't you such a good friend, Sunny?"

"We're not friends." He bites, looking away, cup creaking under the force his hands apply to it.

Moon must've not been expecting that response. His grin falters, then he tsks, facing forward and taking a long drink from his pint, setting it down again with a muted thud.

Silence. Then, a realization.

"Wait a moment." You lean around Sun easily this time. "Where's Bri?"

Sun hunches further over the bar. "Dancing. Left some time ago. While you were busy 'chatting'."

You glare at him at moment but say nothing more. You'll leave him to his brooding. You twist around to face the rest of the tavern, taking a moment then spying Bri among the dancing parties.

"Why that little—" You glance back between the two animatronics.

Of the two, Moon seems in higher spirits, contently musing over his drink now. You'll take your chances on him, then.

You stand, grabbing his hand. "Come on."

"You want to dance?" He sets the mug down, surprised, but stands up.

You start dragging him out to the floor. "Hardly. I want to give her 'what for' for abandoning me, but it's a partner dance and I don't want to make a scene." You turn back to him for a moment. "That a good enough reason?"

His faceplate clicks, then his surprise turns to his normal grin, snickering. "Enough for me."

"Good."

The two of you integrate into the group seamlessly. You've never been much of a dancer, but despite this, the two of you move well together. It's some jovial, upbeat, song, and you fall in step together well. Despite being much taller—and you think maybe just a tad tipsy—Moon makes a good partner. You enjoy it more than you were expecting to.

However, you remember your goal again when Bri dances by you, not a care in the world. You make eye contact and she grins at you, speaking just above the music.

"Look at you! Thought you weren't the dancing type."

You scowl. "I'm not. You left me!"

A spin about the room, then returning to your original positions.

"Oh, you were fine. I left you in good hands." She nods to Moon. "Isn't that right?"

He nods. "Indeed."

"Of course he's going to agree with you!" You huff, then shake your head. "I'll forgive you if we can finish our earlier conversation."

"Right now?" She asks and you nod. She's not even surprised, just protests. "But I'm dancing!"

You open your mouth to respond, but before you get the chance you're spun away again. You curse under your breath, glaring up to your dance partner.

"I wasn't finished." You state.

Moon bends so you're a little more eye to eye. "I know. But this isn't the time or place."

Your frown deepens. "Just how much did you hear—"

Moon takes the lead. Or at least, more so than before. The two of you begin to dance faster, grander, more elaborate. You can hardly keep up.

One moment you're on the outer edge of the circle of dancers, but now find yourself front and center, some space having been cleared out for the two of you to take the stage. The musicians begin to pick up pace to match your energy and you can't do anything more than focus on not making a fool of yourself. Much less think.

You're about to be protest being tossed around like a ragdoll when Moon spins you back into his chest, leaning down for a moment.

"Let go and let yourself enjoy the moment." He mutters, then spins you back to face him. "For once, don't worry about anyone but yourself. Please."

The sincerity in his tone makes you hesitate. Something about it striking a familiar chord. So, you relent, relaxing and letting the song take you.

Keeping up becomes easy after that. Simple. A smile growing on your face as you take joy in seeing if the animatronic can now keep up with you. And as he picks you up for a final spin you feel something you haven't for a long time. A sense of happiness you rarely feel these days. It's in that aftermath while people are cheering all around you that your eyes meet with a face watching you from the bar.

Sun's glare is scorching, posture far too relaxed for the frown he's wearing beneath that hardened gaze. Your eyes meet and your stomach twists. Triggering some long forgotten memory with faces you can't recall and names that are still deeply buried.

When you escape it, shaking your head to move it back to the recesses of your mind, you see he's facing away again, ordering another drink.

Had you been paying closer attention you'd have realized he was watching the entire time.

"Are you alright?" Moon asks and you look back to him You envy the fact that he's not out of breath like you. "I apologize. I suppose I got a bit carried away for a moment."

You take a few deep breaths, nodding. "Fine. Just next time? Ask before assuming I can keep pace."

"Won't need to." He says, leading you off the floor as another song picks back up. "Now I know your tempo."

The night ends for you sometime after that. You'd not intended to be out very long in the first place. And with those damn guards seeming hellbent on keeping you from talking to Bri—even while intoxicated themselves—there was no point to you lingering any longer.

So, you say your goodbyes and leave the tavern, heading home. Your head hurts, either from the stress of today, or the stress for tomorrow, and maybe because of that last pint you chose to chug before leaving. Who's to say, really?

You're ever so curious to what's happening up in that castle, now more so than ever. While there's nothing you could do about it, you can't help but be concerned for what it all might mean. Not to mention, another child went missing this evening. Just before dusk this time. If your shop hadn't been flooded with spectators you'd have volunteered yourself, instead of just letting part of your crew go.

You think it may very well have been haunting you since, hence your insistence to ask about the damage to the animatronics. It was a distractor, a way to keep your mind from wandering and fretting over the what ifs. You shake away said with ifs right then and there, your siblings are safe. And you'll do everything in your power to keep it that way.

The crunch in the snow behind you alerts you to the fact you're being followed. It's late, and you have another few streets to traverse before you can get home. So, you stop. Reaching down as if to tie your boot but in reality are grabbing your knife. It's not much, but it'll get the job done when needed. And you're hoping it's not needed.

Slipping it into your sleeve, you stand up and turn around. "May I help you—you're joking."

"You're the joke if you thought you were going to walk home alone, Bright Eyes." Sun stands behind you, his tone not being nearly as intimidating as he thinks he's being with that slight sway to his stance.

You scoff. "Some good you'll be. I can handle myself just fine, Pretty Bot." You feel your brows shoot up at that, likely matching the look on Sun's own features you're guessing.

He relaxes quicker than you though. "You think I'm pretty? How sweet."

"Don't start. It was merely a slip of the tongue." You scowl, but take his hand when he offers it. The nickname troubles you. But you're too distracted by him leaning down into your field of view to think on it further.

His gaze is half-lidded again, lazy. But you can still sense a sharp wit about him. "From my understanding, drinking makes you more honest, not less."

"Then I'll be blunt with you and say it was meant to be taken as an insult, how's that?" You say, marching forward finally. It's cold out here and you don't have time for his, whatever this is.

A pause as he thinks on it, nothing but the sound of your combined footsteps in the snow.

"Hurtful, but I won't hold it against you for suddenly becoming bashful."

You huff. "That's not—"

You're cut off as Sun suddenly spins you around and into a dip, bending low.

"Don't you dare drop me." You warn. Though his grip on your hand and back are firm, secure.

He tuts. "Oh, let me have this, won't you?" He mutters something you can't quite catch, almost seeming to be staring through you before setting you upright again. Starting to walk again without another word. You call it a bit of drunken foolishness and let it go.

The streets are eerily quiet the closer you get to home. Of course, off in the distance behind you the noises of the night market still flit about. But down the road you're traveling it's nearly dead silent. It holds a peace that soothes you and your worries.

Temporarily.

"You shouldn't have accepted that invitation today."

You look up to the sunny bot, brow raised. "And I suppose you believed I had much a choice in the matter?"

"You didn't." He shakes his head.

You scoff. "Then what should I have done then? I shouldn't have accepted but I had no other choice."

"The castle is no place for someone like you."

Your eyes narrow. "Because I'm a commoner?"

Sun stops, turning to face you. Both hands take your shoulders as he bends so you're eye to eye.

"Because they'll eat you alive."

You swallow, frown deepening. "You're a big help now, aren't you? Appreciate the vote of confidence." You shrug yourself out of his grip, marching on without him.

"Wait, that's not—" There's static for a moment and he rushes to catch up with you, almost falling in step quickly with his longer legs. "Please, forgive my wording, Celeste. I'm not the most fluent at the moment."

You huff. "Yeah I can tell—What did you just call me?"

"I, I'm only—" He doesn't get to finish, as right when he manages to catch up with you again, he slips on a nonvisible patch of ice, falling back into the snow.

When you turn to look back at him, his eyes wide, you see a slight fear in his eyes at your still hardened glare. But the ridiculousness of the situation and how overtly frazzled he looks for the first time ever, makes your burst out laughing. You clutch your stomach and throw your head back, not a care in the world for who may hear you.

It takes you several moments to calm down enough to lower your volume to quiet giggling, looking back to him with tears in your eyes.

"I, I haven't laughed that hard in years. Thank you."

You see his rays spin, able to do so with his hat lying abandoned in the snow. Then, he shakes his head, grumbling as he tries to collect himself to stand.

"Here, take my hand you drunken klutz,"—you extend it down to him, giggling again while he looks for his hat—"Behind you, Pretty Bot."

He twists around, grabs it, and before you can think further his free hand grips your own, and pulls you down with him. Your eyes widen, stumbling and falling on top of him, your knees landing hard on the packed snow around his torso.

"Ow." You groan, looking down for a moment, before glancing back up to tell him off. "Was that really necessary—" You cut yourself off, you weren't expecting to be just inches apart.

His hand comes up to hold your cheek, eyes focused intensely on you. "Yes. Definitely."

You just stare at each other for a moment, well, you more so at him. It finally clicks what he's looking at when his thumb swipes over your lips. Your cheeks start to burn and you cough.

"Your hand's cold. And my knees hurt. So I'm getting up now."

You don't have to shift out of his grip, he release you himself, hand letting go as if he'd been burnt. He keeps that same troubled look on his face as you both stand up and start walking again. At this rate you'll be surprised if you ever get home.

But, you finally turn the corner for your street soon enough, the pull of being in your bed growing stronger by the minute.

"What did you mean that you hadn't laughed that hard in years?" Sun asks in the quiet.

You shove your hands deeper in your pockets, looking to the ground. "What did you mean by 'they'll eat you alive'?"

Silence.

"You first."

You scoff, but relent. "I'd say it was the grief, but that's only been a year or so." You shake your head. "I lost a part of myself to someone, a long time ago. They took my laughter with them." Your hand comes up to your necklace gripping it tight before releasing it. "Your turn."

"The two you ran into on the street last week are nothing in comparison to actual nobility. They see everyone around them as lesser, including those at the same or higher ranking to them. And I fear should you attend in three week's that we won't—" Sun falters, shrinking in on himself. "That I won't, be able to protect you."

You mull over his words. "Who cares?"

"Pardon?" He looks over to you, drawn out of his thoughts.

You stop walking, turning to him and poking a finger into his chest. "Why would anyone care what happens to me, especially you? You hardly know me."

"Hardly know you—" He stands straight now, towering over you. "Why do you have such a lack of care for yourself? And why would time matter so much regarding whether I care for your safety or don't? I—let me ask you, that child that went missing yesterday, or the one today, do you have any connection to them?"

You shake your head. "None at all."

"And yet, you went searching for them last night, and would have tonight as well had you been able to, no?"

"Of course. Without question." You shrug. "What's your point?"

Sun stares at you a moment, then laughs, bringing his hand up to his faceplate and gripping one of the rays at the top of his head. "You've answered your own question, Celeste. And mine." He shakes his head, looking back to you. "Do your knees still hurt?"

"Terribly. Thanks a lot."

He nods. "Thought so. My apologies, allow me to remedy it." Before you can think, he's scooping you up, one arm under the back of your thighs, the other your shoulders as he carries you bridal style the rest of the way to your home.

Flustered, you allow it to happen, assuming he'll set you down once you get to the door.

"Do you have your key?" He asks, not setting you down.

"I, it's unlocked."

He nods, taking a moment to open it and then bending his head to step inside. He locks the door for you, then turns around with you still in his arms. Seems he was serious about this.

Your living room is quiet, dark, and you spare a glance at Clara asleep on the couch as Sun takes muted steps back through to your kitchen, then up your stairs when you point to them.

"You have a lovely home." He murmurs when he reaches the top.

"Thanks." You whisper back. "My room's at the end of the hall, but stop in the nursery for a moment."

Sun obeys, allowing you to peek in and see that Gabe and Lisa are both sound asleep. You feel lighter as Sun walks the remaining way to your room. He sets you on the bed, stepping back once he does so. The comfort of your bed underneath you almost makes you want to flop back then and there to sleep, but you resist the urge and take off your shoes and coat.

You get up and walk past Sun to set them by your bedroom door, snatching up your sleepwear as you do so. You walk back and around to the opposite side of the bed, staring at him as he simply looks on.

You make a circle motion with your finger. "You mind turning around? I don't have one of those fancy room dividers."

His rays spin again, hat tight in his hands. "Oh! Um, sorry. I should, leave." He turns to go. "Have a good night—"

"Stay." You just manage to snatch his wrist, having had to climb up onto the bed and reach out for him.

He glances back to you, eyes wide.

You shake your head. "It's late, it's cold, and I doubt you have enough of your wits about you to make it back to where you belong alive. Not after you're little spill earlier." You chuckle, then nod. "It's fine. Stay."

His rays tick to the left a few times, then to the right. Then, he nods. "Okay."

You let him go, sitting back and he turns around once more, unmoving this time.

"The other two going to be alright without you?" You ask as you slip out of your clothes.

Sun nods. "I told Montgomery where we'd be earlier this evening. And Captain Perry is more than capable of handling her own." He chuckles. "And her liquor. Of the two it would be Moon that would be of concern, but they'll be fine."

You snicker. "That's Bri for yah. And captain huh? She's been busy." You realize that your knife is missing, and you start looking around for it. "Shit, where did I put that..."

"You dropped this in the snow earlier." Sun holds up your knife, still facing away. "Such a large weapon for a small thing like you."

You scoff, climbing back over the bed to take it from him. "Hardly much at all. Do you consider everyone shorter than you to be 'a small thing'?"

He snatches your wrist then, turning slightly to face you. slight grin on his features. "Truthfully yes. But especially those who take more risks than they should, like an immature teenager."

"I'm two seconds away from headbutting you right in that smart mouth of yours." You mutter.

"Proving my point~"

You take your wrist, and your knife back. "You know. I could have still been half-dressed. Then you would've seemed like a creep just now instead of slightly humorous."

That stupes him. He stutters out a rebuttal as you set your knife on the nightstand on the left side of the bed, laying back on it a moment later.

"Well? Don't just stand there." You pat the bed beside you. "You're sleeping in here so I can keep an eye on you."

It takes him a moment, then he sits down with a tsk. "I have no reason to harm anyone in this house."

"I have no reason to trust your words."

Sun removes his boots, then reaches up to unbutton his coat, revealing a white undershirt soon thereafter. "You trust me in your home but you don't trust the things I say?"

"Action speak louder than words." You quip as he folds the coat, setting it on the end of bed with his hat. The last thing he removes is the claw from his index finger, setting it on the nightstand on his side. "Not the gloves?"

"You wouldn't like my hands." He says, laying down, then turning over to face you.

You remember the feeling of that claw on your face earlier in the night. You wonder what's so wrong with his hands if he believes they're any worse than that.

"You're bed is small."

You huff. "It's not built for nine foot tall animatronics, you mean."

"Just eight, though I know someone of your height and stature could hardly tell. The entire world must feel large to you." He snickers as you roll your eyes.

You feel bold, your last minute drink seeming to hit you now of all times. You grabbed his clothed shoulder, pulling him closer. "Then curl up a bit then. Make the most of the space."

Before he can protest, you reach down and pull his legs up, and then entangle with yours.

Seeing his wide-eyed, open-mouth stare you scoff, ignoring the heat on your cheeks. "What? You think you're the only man I've shared a bed with? Only person for that matter? I was stuck in the nursery with Lisa for seven years, and she is simultaneously a cuddler and a kicker."

"I, I s-see." Is his only response.

Now you can't ignore the burning across your face and ears. "It's only weird if you make it weird."

"Weird? I'm not making it weird, you're the one who's bringing it up!"

"Because you're giving me that look, stop it!" You hiss.

His hands come up and over his face, muttering something.

Your face is on fire now. "Since when are you bashful? Seriously, this is nothing—"

"Your knee, Celeste. For the love of the stars, move your knee." He manages to get out.

You glance down. "What—oh." You quickly pull it back towards your body. "Sorry."

"I can't understand you." He shakes his head, finally letting go of his face. "Not in the slightest bit."

"Maybe that's intentional." You chuckle as he scoffs.

Sun glances over to you again, resting one hand by his head. "You're incredibly smart and yet, so foolish. Selfless to a fault and again, foolish because of it. You cautious to trust anyone, and yet you'll invite them into your home and your bed, and then act as if it's nothing! I just, you're so confounding."

"Would you like to know a secret?" You ask in the quiet.

"I suppose I have nothing better to do."

You laugh softly. "I don't know why I do the things I do sometimes. Life's complex, it's made me complex. Even I can't wrap my head around it sometimes." You shake your head, looking away for a moment then back. "There's just, something about you that made me decide you should stay. And that's all there is to it."

Sun nods after a moment or two. Then—

"That's a piss poor answer, Bright Eyes."

The days that follow are filled with you doing your best to evade the two animatronic guards. Not because of what happened that night with either of them, though. Rather, you're trying to find out what's happening to their compatriots after your tip from Bri.

It's nothing more than a curiosity at first, but it occurs to you that they're actively trying to stop you from investigating further. Which only serves to take your curiosity to genuine interest, then to zealous inquisitiveness that almost starts to eat away at you a bit. Every nook and cranny you seek to turn over, they're there to lead you away or distract in some manner from it. The elephant in the room has doubled in size, and it's only a matter of time before it breaks through the floorboards, sending you all tumbling down.

Not to mention, every night, like clockwork, there's a report of another missing child. The total number having grown to six. Everyone's in a panic, and very little can be done to soothe the worries of those who are fortunate enough to still have all their children accounted for. Yourself included.

Despite their overall annoying presence the past week, you cannot deny that you do feel safer having one of them nearby while you go to and fro with your siblings in tow.

There's something going on here, and you don't know the connection point but something has to be related between all of this, there's no way there isn't some link. The disappearances started occurring after the festival began, and Bri told you there wasn't these glitches happening back in the capital. But what relation the two have to each other, you don't know.

And how the two guards watching your every move fit into it, you couldn't make sense of that in the slightest.

"Musing to yourself, Diana?"

"Something like that." You mutter into your cup.

You were sitting on a bench near the grand tree in the town square. Lisa had asked you if you could visit the festival again today, and needing a bit of break yourself—for more reasons than one—you agreed.

Gabe's sitting on the ground beside you, playing in the snow, while Lisa dragged the sunnier of the two guards out to dance with her among the others gathered in the square. Though, he didn't seem to mind. To his credit, he had seemed to prove to you he was good with kids.

Moon as well, as he bends down to toss some snow on Gabe's legs. Your little brother giggling and smacking his gloved hands into it.

Moon sits up again, chuckling and nodding to your mug. "With how tightly your gripping that, I'd say you need something stronger."

"Shit. Sorry." You relax your hold.

He takes it from you, taking a drink himself. "No need to apologize to me. It's not my mug."

"There's just, a lot on my mind." You sigh and lay back against the bench. "Too many things happening in what's supposed to be a quiet village."

"A lot of them aren't your problem though, are they."

You scoff. "They are and they aren't. Your pals are coming in to me by the dozen daily. Can't help but wonder as to why. Because we both know there's more than just, glitches, happening."

"And why do you think that?" There's still a cheekiness to his tone, but there's an edge of something else underneath.

You look over to him. "Because neither of you have shown up once in over two weeks. I'm getting repeat customers by now, and yet, not a lick of damage to either one of you. I've been checking."

Moon stays quiet, but you hear the tiniest little creak on the mug. You continue. "And I think we both know this is past the point of coincidences. Wouldn't you say?"

He doesn't. He says nothing at all as he hands your mug back and you take another drink, downing the remaining warm liquid.

"And besides that, my bigger overall concern is keeping my siblings safe, first and foremost." You reach down and ruffle the hat on Gabe's head, eyes on Lisa as she spins about, not a care in the world. "I'm starting to worry about how well I'm able to do that."

You're surprised by a touch to your shoulder, jumping as you see Moon's much closer now.

With a tenderness you weren't expecting at that moment, his hand moves to your cheek, words murmured, but firm. "Nothing is going to happen to them. I won't allow it. We won't allow it."

"You can't guarantee me that." You counter.

"I can and I will. Rest assured, your siblings are safe, but if you keep up this meddling then—"

"Then what, Moon?" You feel your frustration rising again, but keep your voice even. "What do you know that you're so obviously hiding? What are you trying to keep me from finding out? Are you in on this? Should I be scared?"

This angers him, grip tightening just a tinge. "No, never! How could you think such a thing?"

"You haven't give me much reason to think otherwise based on your actions—ah!" You jump, pulling back after feeling a sting against your cheek. Reaching up, you touch the spot, pulling away to see a small speck of blood.

Looking over to Moon, he's horrified, eyes wide as he stares at your hand.

"Selene I—" He reaches out for you, then sees the claw and buries his hand against himself. "I'm so sorry."

You put your hand to the spot again, an even smaller drop appearing on your finger. It was just a prick. A tiny one. You relax. "It's fine. You hadn't meant to."

"That's no excuse." He searches around, finding a handkerchief on his person and handing it to you.

You wave him away. "There's no need for that—"

He takes your hand, setting the cloth in it and folding your fingers around it. "Take it. Please." He squeezes your hand gently before letting go.

You raise the handkerchief to your cheek, holding it there for a moment before pulling away. However, Moon insists you keep it there for longer, pressing his own hand against the back of yours for a bit to ensure you do.

"I apologize for accusing you. It was wrong of me." You say, watching the dancers once more.

Moon chuckles, it's half-hearted. "You have a right to be suspicious. I understand."

"That's no excuse." You repeat his words from earlier, glancing back to him with a small smile.

It takes him a moment, then he laughs again, more genuine this time.

"Hey! Time's up!"

Both of you turn to see Lisa standing in front of you, hands on her hips.

You raise a brow. "Time's up for what?"

"It's my turn to hang out with Mr. Moon!" She says, huffing. "He promised he'd help me build a snowman for the competition!"

Moon laughs, standing up. "I was going to keep my promise. But I didn't want to interrupt your dancing."

Your sister turns to you pointing at you, then behind her. "It's your turn to dance with Mr. Sun."

"I, what?" You ask. "Lisa I'm not—"

She grabs your free hand, pulling on you with a strength no eight year old should have. "Hurry up! He's going to look silly if he doesn't have a partner when the next song starts!"

"Go on, I'm more than capable of watching them both." Moon urges and helps you to your feet. "Allow me the chance to prove that I mean what I say. If you may."

You glance back to him for a moment, then over to where Sun stands, sending you a wave with a mischievous glint in his eye. He did this on purpose. You turn back to Moon with a nod, offering him back his handkerchief, he shakes his head.

"Keep it. I have no need for it."

You nod again, stuffing it in your pocket and looking down to your sister. You flick her forehead and she protests, releasing you finally. You bend down to her height, stern. "Have fun, but behave." You ruffle her hand and stand up again. "Love you."

She grumbles out a 'Love you too' and runs over to Moon, who picks up your brother. You give them a final wave goodbye as you walk over to where Sun stands, hands behind his back, grin as wide as ever.

"You're not clever." You quip.

He rolls on the balls of his feet, then offers his hand to you with a bow. "And you, owe me a dance."

"Keeping score are you?" You take his hand and he leads you into a spin amongst the other dancers. "I'd say you're well ahead if that's the case."

Much like his counterpart, he dances well, leading you effortlessly through the song. "Ah, ah. Let's keep that little bit of information to ourselves, shall we? We wouldn't want the wrong people to hear about it."

You laugh, shocked. "And you're cheating! My, my. I took you for a lot of things, a cheater wasn't one of them."

"Cheating implies I've done something unfair, but is it unfair if he was doing it first?"

"'He started it!'" You mock. "That's you, that's what you sound like."

Sun hums, but you see that small twitch in his eye that makes you grin.

"You're better at this than I'd thought you be." He examines.

You huff. "I take it back. Now you're losing severely."

"That's not up to you to decide." He thinks for a moment. "But if it was, are you say, open to bribery?"

You laugh outright, and shake your head. Maybe Moon was on to something when he said you should just let go when you dance. Let it take your worries away for a while and just enjoy the moment.

Because wow, if it isn't something when you do.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

And to think, we still have four more chapters :D Just you wait, it gets so much worse. (for you. me personally? having the time of my life)

Well, thanks for reading!

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info, you can also dm me!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay

Bonus:

I left it up to fate that Sun would spend the night, like deadass (proof below)

So you can thank the wheel for that.

Buuuuttt I have another thing I'm debating (not nearly as intimate don't get getting ideas on me now) So,

What this was for will be revealed in the next chapter, and your implicit biases WILL be shown and i WILL tease you all for it /j

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