#i have one for the series but not this story

[witchywithwhiskey]

hiiiii, it's asreadbyaj, wanting to participate in your sweethearts game. You know how much I'm obsessed with your toxic Bucky series so naturallyyyyy I had to pick Mr. Barnes and the sweetheart "Crazy 4 You." If that prompt's already picked, however, I'll go with "You Wish"

it's kind of a funny story

pairing: divorced neighbor!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you get back early from a work trip, happy to see your cat alpine, but a little sad to have no one else to come home to. things change, though, when you discover your neighbor in your bed doing something very inappropriate...

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), unspecified age gap, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f and m receiving), face-sitting, masturbation (m and f), cock warming, brief pussy spanking, multiple orgasms, voyeurism, accidental voyeurism, tit worship, nipple play, large cock, marking, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, light degradation kink, pet names (bunny, baby), aftercare, happy ending, both reader and bucky are big pervs

word count: 8.5k

a/n: ahh AJ, you were the first person to send in Bucky Barnes and i just knew i had to use this tweet as inspiration for the prompt. i also liked the idea of Alpine belonging to reader and Bucky coming to adopt the cat by getting together with reader. also sorry this is so long, i just had so much fun writing these two!! 🫣 anyway thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

A happy, chirping meow greeted you as soon as you pushed inside your apartment. The ball of white fluff lounging in a spot of golden, late afternoon sunshine rose and darted toward you, winding around your legs. 

Despite your exhaustion from your trip, a soft smile curved your lips. You dropped your bags and bent down to scratch between the ears of the white furball that lived in your apartment—also known as your cat, Alpine.

“Hello, sweet girl,” you cooed at her, scooping up her fluffy body and pressing kisses all over her furry face. Alpine’s expression was partly aggrieved, no doubt angry that you’d gone away again, and partly indulgent of your love.

Truthfully, you were just as aggravated about your time away as Alpine. Your job had you travelling more and more, despite the role purporting to be work-from-home, and each time you returned to your apartment, you couldn’t help but be reminded that Alpine was the only one there to greet you.

In the comfort of your own space, you could admit to yourself that it would’ve been nice to have a person to come home to—a man who’d happily shower you with just as much affection as you were showing Alpine. A man who’d help you with your bags and then wrap you up in his arms and kiss the exhaustion from your lips.

Of their own volition, and as they often did, your thoughts strayed to Bucky Barnes. 

The divorced man had moved into the apartment immediately below yours a little over two years ago, having split from his wife and needing his own space. He was older than you—too old for you to have anything so banal as a crush on him. And yet, you often found yourself thinking about Bucky Barnes. 

His brown hair was a little too long, and messily swept back from his face in the way of someone who frequently ran their hands through it. The scruff on his jaw was a little too thick, like he was constantly forgetting to shave but refused to commit to a full beard. His blue eyes were bright and sharp, but more often than not, they were framed with dark circles like he didn’t get enough sleep. 

Bucky Barnes was a bit of a mess, but he was handsome in a way that made your heart beat a little faster in your chest and a low warmth begin to simmer in your body whenever you passed him on the stairs and got a whiff of his cologne. It was spicy and earthy and you wanted to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, certain you’d be able to get high off it if you tried hard enough.

Shaking your head to free yourself from thoughts of Bucky Barnes, you scratched Alpine under the chin and cooed at her, “Did Mr. Bucky take good care of you while mama was away, sweetie?” 

Alpine let out another of her happy meows, butting her head against your cheek, as if to say she’d been very well taken care of, but still missed you. The edges of your mouth curled into a smile and you nuzzled the cat back, pressing a kiss between her ears.

Before Bucky had moved into your building, if you ever needed someone to feed Alpine while you were away, you’d gone to Mrs. Cabrera down the hall. But when your work trips had grown more frequent, she’d had to ask you to find someone else, unable to balance Alpine’s care with her active social life and visiting her grandchildren all over the city.

You’d been on the phone with your best friend in the lobby of the building, asking whether she’d be able to stop by and feed Alpine, when Bucky had been getting his mail. He’d offered to help you out, and you’d been so grateful, you hadn’t grilled him too much on what he knew about taking care of cats.

Bucky had turned out to be a surprising success as a catsitter. He sent you photos of Alpine a few times a day while you were out of town, and reported perfunctorily on how much she’d eaten, how many treats he’d given her and what toys he’d used to play with her. 

He was everything you’d ever hoped for in a sitter for Alpine, and the fact that he was so good with your cat only made your crush on him burn hotter. When you were on your work trips, you often fantasized about coming home to Bucky and Alpine, and the happy little family you’d make together. 

Your trip home that day had been no different. You’d been called to another city halfway across the country for the week and had originally intended to fly home the next day, but you managed to book an earlier flight that got you home on the evening of Valentine’s Day.

You refused to think about how pathetic you were—daydreaming about returning home to your divorced neighbor, and all the ways you wanted him to show you how happy he was to see you, while everyone else was going out on romantic dates with actual partners. 

If you thought about it too much, about how desperately you wanted someone to love you, it would’ve made you miserable. So you didn’t think about it.

Alpine squirmed in your arms, suddenly deciding she was done with your love fest, and you let her hop down, watching fondly as she shook out her fluffy white fur. The cat turned her big blue eyes up at you and meowed, then led you toward her food bowl in the kitchen.

“Did Mr. Bucky forget to feed you, sweet girl?” you asked with a frown, toeing out of your shoes and following her through the living room.

It wasn’t like Bucky to forget to feed her, and, sure enough, when you saw Alpine’s bowl, you could still see traces of the wet food he had given her that evening. It was even still a little wet, so you knew he’d been by pretty recently. 

You were inexplicably sad that you’d missed him. It would’ve been almost like your fantasies if you’d come home while he’d still been feeding Alpine, but you pushed the thoughts aside, refusing to dwell on them any longer.

Chuckling to yourself when Alpine meowed forlornly, you grabbed the bag of treats and fed her a few while you gave her even more pets and kisses, apologizing for being gone so much. 

As you were giving Alpine as much love as the cat could stomach, a soft sound came from the direction of your bedroom. 

You froze at the unfamiliar noise. It didn’t sound like any of the normal creaks and groans of the old Brooklyn building you called home. 

Your mind raced as you jumped to the most obvious—and unlikely—conclusion, that there was a murderer in your bedroom, lying in wait to stab you gruesomely. But just as quickly as the thought flitted across your mind, you pushed it aside, telling yourself to be realistic.

Alpine had just eaten, and there were no signs of your front door lock having been broken. It was probably just Bucky, who was the only other person to have a key to your apartment. Just like that, your heart started to race with excitement—he was still at your apartment.

He’d probably needed to use the bathroom. Or maybe he’d laid down on your bed and fallen asleep. 

You’d come home to find him like that once. He’d been sprawled across your bed, feet hanging over the side, mouth open and drooling a little on you comforter, one of Alpine’s cat toys dangling loosely in his hand like he’d fallen asleep playing with her. 

For a moment, you’d just looked at him, your heart beating fast against your sternum as dangerous thoughts flitted across your mind—thoughts about how good he looked in your bed, how soft his hair might feel if you ran your fingers through it and pushed it back from his face. 

You’d given yourself that moment to indulge in your wildest fantasies, and then you’d shaken his shoulder gently to wake him.

He’d apologized profusely, pushing his hair back from his face while a blush spread across his cheeks, and you’d been incapable of thinking it was creepy or weird. Bucky was a bit of a mess, and apparently that included falling asleep in his neighbor’s apartment while playing with her cat.

Another sound came from your bedroom, and you were comforted by how much it sounded like a snore. 

Confident it was Bucky, having accidentally fallen asleep on your bed again, you stepped softly toward your room, not wanting to wake him. You wanted another stolen moment to watch him sleep and imagine him spending more time in your bed—preferably naked.

But when you reached the doorway to your bedroom, you stopped short. Your breath caught sharply in your throat at the sight that greeted you.

Bucky Barnes lay on his back across the middle of your bed, his shirt off, revealing a broad golden chest with a generous dusting of dark hair. That was enough for your eyes to widen, to snag on the rise and fall of his pecs and the bulge of his bicep as he breathed heavily.

But then your gaze followed the line of his muscular arm down to where his belt buckle was undone, his jeans were unzipped and his hand was shoved into the black boxer briefs he wore. Out of sight, you could see Bucky’s hand moving, his knuckles brushed against the inside of the soft cotton of his briefs as they moved in an unmistakable stroking motion.

Between your thighs, your clit twitched. The bundle of nerves practically perked up like a desperate puppy as you watched Bucky’s hand move inside his briefs while he pleasured himself, his hips thrusting into his own touch like all he wanted to do was pound into his fist, but he was trying prolong it. 

He groaned softly, the sound drifting across your room and sending so much heat spiraling through your body that you squirmed where you stood. Still, you were transfixed—unable to look away or give Bucky some semblance of privacy, and unable to move forward and join him as your body so desperately wanted. 

Worried he might’ve sensed you watching him, your eyes flicked up to Bucky’s face, which was when you noticed he was holding something up to his mouth and nose. He took a deep breath, grunting softly again as his fist worked a little faster in his jeans.

The thing in Bucky’s hand was one of your sweaters, you realized dazedly. It was one that you’d tossed onto the chair in the corner before you’d left on your trip. It must’ve still smelled like you, like the barest hint of your perfume…

And Bucky was smelling it. He was inhaling the scent with deep breaths while he stroked his cock. On your bed.

On some level, you knew there was something deeply wrong about what Bucky was doing. You knew that he’d crossed so many boundaries—taking off his shirt, laying on your bed, smelling your sweater, stroking his cock in your room—that your trust in him should be broken irrevocably. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to feel horror or disgust or betrayal at his actions. Maybe it was the shock of finding your divorced neighbor in such an erotic state, or the fact that you were lonely and Bucky had been the object of your fantasies for so long, but all you felt was turned on. 

You were filled with a pleasant warmth that was burning hotter and hotter with every moment you stood in the doorway of your room, watching Bucky stroke himself in his jeans. A revealing wetness was growing between your thighs, your legs pressing together against the ache building in your core.

It had only been a few seconds since you’d discovered Bucky in your bed, stroking his cock while he smelled your sweater, but you were already so turned on, you were squirming in the doorway. Your fingers drifted to the juncture of your thighs and pressed into the seam of your leggings. 

A breathless whimper slipped from your lips as you rubbed your clit, the spark of pleasure having an incendiary effect on your body. What had been a simmering heat of desire was quickly growing into an inferno of need—a need that you suspected only Bucky, with his deft fingers and hard cock, would be able to sate.

You hadn’t thought the sound you’d made was loud enough to catch your neighbor’s attention, but Bucky froze for a beat before his head turned and he saw you in the doorway. Surprise and guilt flickered across his gaze, his arm moving as if to pull his hand from his pants.

But then Bucky seemed to take in the full sight of you, and his eyes snagged on the way your hand was pressed between your thighs, your fingers unmistakably rubbing your clit. His gaze darkened to a midnight blue, and a knowing smirk spread across his handsome face. 

Suddenly, you felt like you were the one who’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t and, inexplicably, that only made you feel hotter and squirmier. Snatching your hand away from your clit—ignoring the way your body protested—you twisted your fingers together uncertainly.

“I caught an earlier flight,” you blurted, feeling the need to explain your sudden appearance in your own apartment. 

Bucky’s smirk only seemed to deepen and for one, breathless moment, you simply stood there, staring deep into his eyes. There was no judgement in his gaze, no recrimination for touching yourself when you found him stroking his cock on your bed. There was only a desire that matched the feeling pulsing through your body.

Slowly, as if worrying he’d spook you if he moved too fast, Bucky pulled his hand from his pants and your eyes darted to it uncertainly, wondering what he was doing. 

He reached out to you, his hand open and welcoming—and you had the wild urge to press your face into his palm, to breathe in the scent of his cock, which surely lingered on his skin. You wanted to lick the taste from his palm and nuzzle into his hand, but his voice broke you free from those thoughts.

“C’mere, bunny,” Bucky rumbled, so much affection and lust dripping from his tone that the pet name felt like a sweet caress to your cheek. 

You could hardly think, your mind a twisted mess of what you should do and what you wanted to do. But your body didn’t seem the least bit confused. Your feet carried you forward, closing the short distance between the doorway and the bed, and you were sliding your fingers into Bucky’s palm by the time you’d admitted to yourself it was what you wanted.

Bucky helped you onto the bed, the older man showing his strength as he manhandled you into the position he wanted—your knees planted on either side of his torso, your clothed pussy hovering a few inches above his face.

“Sit on me, bunny, let me breathe you,” Bucky murmured gruffly from between your legs, his hands gently kneading your thighs. You could feel his harsh breaths against your sodden core, and it made you all the more eager to follow his command.

You lowered your hips until you felt Bucky’s nose against your slit and stopped, hovering above his face and fearing that you’d crush him with your weight—which would be a tragic thing to do when you’d only just found him shirtless in your bed. 

But Bucky didn’t like that. His hands wrapped around the tops of your thighs, fingers digging into the creases where your legs met your hips, and he yanked you down until your body settled on him entirely. 

He groaned loudly, the sound only slightly muffled by the way his hot mouth was pressed against your damp center, which sent shivers of delight dancing through your body.

A sudden, breathy moan tumbled from your lips and your whole body trembled with pleasure, your thighs quivering on either side of Bucky’s shoulders. It felt so good that you wanted more, so you pressed down harder on his face.

You could feel the hungry grin Bucky wore before he opened his mouth and you felt his tongue lick a searing line along your slit. You could feel him, hot and hungry, through your leggings and panties, the heat of him sending delicious sparks up your spine. 

Unable to keep holding yourself up, you curled forward, your cheek pressing against Bucky’s hip and getting a front row seat to the sight of his hand slipping into his boxer briefs. You watched the obscured view of his fingers curling around his hard, thick length, your mouth falling open with wonder as he stroked himself slowly. 

All the while, Bucky mouthed at your pussy, teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue before licking deep into your slit and groaning obscenely at the taste of your arousal. It was mesmerizing, the way Bucky licked you through your clothes while he stroked his cock just out of sight. 

You could’ve stayed like that for hours, reveling in your euphoria and watching Bucky pleasure himself, but the longer his mouth worked your pussy, the more your need grew and grew. Between one breath and the next, you went from laying peacefully on Bucky to grinding your pussy shamelessly on his face, seeking your release. 

“That’s it, bunny, grind your needy little cunt on daddy’s face,” Bucky growled, his words half muffled by your heated flesh pressed to his mouth. “Knew you’d be a perfect little slut for me, be a good slut for daddy and make yourself feel good.”

Your pussy spasmed when Bucky called himself ‘daddy’, a lewd moan slipping from your lips that you tried to bury against the older man’s bulge. You’d never called anyone that before, even though you’d thought about it plenty, and it felt like a precious gift that Bucky seemed to want you to call him daddy.

You felt undone and laid bare by Bucky’s tongue and his words, your innermost fantasies exposed to the golden late afternoon light streaming into your bedroom. It was all you could do to spread your knees wider and hump against the older man’s face, giving in to all your basest desires.

“Daddy, it feels sooo good,” you whimpered, nuzzling mindlessly into Bucky’s cock while your hips worked harder against his face. “Your mouth feels so good, daddy, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Bucky pulled his hand from his pants and you immediately replaced it with your mouth, your lips curving around the thick ridge of his cock through his boxer briefs, sucking on the tip. You huffed a happy sound as his musky taste burst on your tongue. 

His hips bucked up off the bed, a muffled grunt coming from between your thighs and you smiled against his hardness. You secured your lips more tightly around him, letting your spit dampen the cotton of his briefs while you sucked lewdly on the crown of his cock. 

For a moment, Bucky must’ve been distracted by your mouth, but then he seemed to remember himself. His fingers slipped under your sweater and hooked in the back of your leggings, yanking them and your panties down over your ass until the cool air of the room brushed against your bare pussy. 

You barely had time to mewl, the sound full of blatant need, before Bucky was pulling you back down on his face, his hot mouth latching onto your pussy without anything in between. He took a deep breath, the sound of him sucking in the smell of you loud, even while it was muffled by your body. 

“Fuck, bunny, you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about getting my mouth on your sweet cunt,” Bucky groaned, pressing the flat of his tongue into your slit and licking greedily. He pushed deep into your hole, mouth sucking your juices straight from the source. “You taste better than I ever imagined, so fucking sweet—you’re such a good slut, creaming all over daddy’s tongue.”

“Daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasped, pleasure driving you as you pushed your hips down hard on Bucky’s face and began grinding against his mouth, feeling him smile between your thighs. It only drove your pleasure higher, pushing you closer to the edge. “Please, daddy—daddy, please make me cum, ‘m so close!” 

“Cum on my tongue, sweet bunny, cum like a perfect little slut for your daddy,” Bucky rumbled in a gruff, lust-soaked voice. Then his lips were closing around your clit and he sucked hard on the tight bundle of nerves, his tongue lashing at the tip until the coil of tension in your body snapped. 

Pleasure crashed through your body and you let out a sharp cry as you came. Burying your face against the base of Bucky’s cock, you sobbed through your release, wave after wave of pleasure sweeping through and devastating you while you moaned into the older man’s balls.

Between your thighs, Bucky groaned and lapped up your release hungrily, licking you through all the minor tremors and aftershocks of your release. He eased you down from your high gracefully, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy while your inner walls fluttered around nothing. 

“I’m gonna treat you so well, baby, gonna take such good care of you,” Bucky rumbled, talking to your body in such a way that you weren’t even sure if he was talking to you or your pussy. “Gonna fill you with my cock and so much cum, your belly will be bloated with it.”

At that, you moaned softly, enjoying the way Bucky’s cock twitched against your cheek. You nuzzled into his hard length, pressing soft kisses everywhere you could reach while you were still laying collapsed on top of him, sated from your orgasm. 

Bucky didn’t seem to be paying much attention to anything but your pussy, though, as he used his fingers to spread you open, pushing his tongue deep into your hole like he was searching for the last drop of a sweet treat. When you moaned around his cock, he grunted hotly into your cunt.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re gonna be craving my cock every second of the day,” he want on, his voice growing rougher with desire, using his nose to nudge against your clit and make it twitch for him. “Whenever I’m not inside you, you’re gonna be wishing I was, bunny—just like I spend every fucking minute of my day thinking about this sweet pussy.”

The warm haze of your release had mostly worn off, and it took you only a second to process Bucky’s words, a gasp slipping from your lips as your whole body clenched tight. A greedy, possessive side you never knew you had delighted in the idea of Bucky thinking about you so much—it seemed only fair when you’d thought about him nonstop for two years.

“Do it, daddy,” you murmured, a challenge in your tone that had Bucky going still. His fingers dug into the plush curves of your hips as if wordlessly telling you to continue. “I’ve wanted your cock for months,” you confessed, pressing a kiss to his hard length, still pushing against the soft cotton of his boxer briefs. “Show me what I’ve been missing, Bucky, show me what I’ve been craving—please, daddy.” 

Your voice was little more than a purr, and that final ‘daddy’ seemed to snap something in Bucky because his hands were shifting on your hips and he was lifting you up from his face, manhandling you onto your back on the bed. Bucky pushed between your thighs, covering your body with his own until his face was level with yours.

“Are you sure, bunny—tell me you’re sure,” Bucky asked urgently, a desperate rasp in his voice as his wild blue eyes raked over your face, as if searching for any trace of uncertainty. “Because I’ve thought about this for so long, you’ll break my heart if you’re not serious.”

Your hands cupped Bucky’s scruffy jaw and you looked at his face, really looked at him. He still had dark circles under his eyes, and weathered lines feathering out from the corners of his eyes. His hair was half sticking up and flopping to the side at the same time, the brown strands looking so soft and inviting, begging you to thread your fingers through it. 

Bucky Barnes was still a bit of a mess, but he was a mess you craved unequivocally. And, even though you’d found him pleasuring himself in your bed, after the intense orgasm he’d given you, there was no way you’d pass up a chance to find out what else your divorced neighbor had to offer. 

“I’m sure, Bucky,” you said, your voice calm and certain. “I want this—I want you.” You dragged him in close enough to brush your lips against his in the ghost of a kiss, tasting traces of yourself on his lips. “Fuck me, daddy, make me your slut and show your bunny who she belongs to.” 

Bucky groaned and slanted his mouth to yours, kissing you softly at first before deepening it by sliding his tongue along your plump lower lip. You opened for him readily, groaning into his mouth when he slid inside and you tasted your cum on his tongue. It was dirty and filthy and the perfect counterpoint to the sweet way it had started. 

As he kissed you, Bucky’s hands grew more and more bold, slipping beneath your sweater and groping your tits through your bra. When you pulled away to gasp for air, the older man made quick work of pulling off your sweater and then unclasping your bra, tossing both somewhere in your room. 

Then Bucky paused, his gaze transfixed by your tits. He watched, awe etched into his features, as his big hands cupped your soft mounds. His thumbs stroked over your nipples, the sparkling pleasure of his touch making your spine arch as a mewl spilled from your lips. 

Bucky closed his eyes, like he was overcome by the sight, which only made a new warmth bloom in your chest. It had been hot to see him jerking himself off while he smelled your sweater, but this—seeing Bucky nearly come undone just from watching your reaction to his thumb sweeping over your nipple was something else entirely. 

Your fingers wrapped around the strong muscle of Bucky’s forearms, just above his wrists, and you urged him on. “More, daddy, please,” you whimpered, catching his eye when his flew open, the blue of his gaze darkening into something smoldering and hot.

“You’re so soft, so fucking perfect, bunny,” Bucky grunted. The veins in his arms stood out in sharp relief as he groped you more roughly, spurred by the soft sounds of delight you were making, until you were squirming beneath him. “Always knew your tits would be perfect.”

“Daddy,” you moaned, arching your spine and pushing your tits into Bucky’s touch. You were giving yourself over to the pleasure of Bucky’s big hands on your body, sinking deeper into the pillows at your back as you babbled, “Feels so good, so good, daddy.” 

Another orgasm was building in your core by the time Bucky had his fill of your tits, moving his hands down your sides and pausing for a moment to grope your ass. The movement pulled your pussy lips apart, and you could feel how wet and messy you were from your earlier release and the new arousal he’d coaxed from you by playing with your tits. 

Bucky let out a growl of impatience when he tried to pull your leggings and panties down, finding himself in the way, and folded your body in half. He yanked them up your legs and off, tossing them off the bed and leaving you naked, bent in half with your knees pushed to your chest and your pussy on full display.

You watched Bucky’s gaze fall to the place where you were wet and aching and desperate for him, seeing his gaze grow dark and intense as he stared at your pussy. You were drenched in your own juices and a little swollen from the earlier attention of his mouth, and the sight seemed to drive Bucky wild.

His hands were rough as he pushed your legs together, his other hand shoving impatiently as his jeans and boxer briefs, pawing at his clothes almost like a feral dog. You took pity on him—and, truthfully, you wanted him to hurry up. You wrapped your arms around the backs of your knees to hold yourself in position so he could use both hands to free himself.

When Bucky’s cock finally, finally bounced free from his boxer briefs, you gasped in delight, the thick length of his dick looking perfect to your eyes. 

It had a slight curve to it, with a thick tip that was flushed an angry red and dripping precum onto the back of your thighs. Bucky’s fist curled around the base and your eyes raked up the length, drool gathering in your mouth at the sight of the veins protruding from the shaft. 

You wanted desperately to trace every single vein with your tongue, teasing Bucky mercilessly until his hips were bucking in a silent plea. And then you wanted to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, tasting his precum from the source, before letting him fuck your throat. 

But that would have to wait fore another time, because Bucky had other ideas. 

He used his grip on his cock to smack the heavy length against your soft, wet slit, fucking between your swollen folds in a way that made you light-headed with desire. You could feel the tip bullying against your tight little hole before sliding past and teasingly brushing your clit. 

“You want my cock, baby?” Bucky rasped, his tone dark and dangerous in a way you’d never heard before, like fucking you was a threat he had every intention of delivering on. “You want daddy’s cock to push into your tight cunt and fuck you hard, even after you caught me jerking off in your bed?”

Your breath caught in a gasp and your eyes flew to Bucky’s. He was looking directly at you, the hint of a deviant smirk in the curve of his lips. 

He’d looked guilty when you’d first found him that afternoon, but in that moment, he looked entirely too satisfied with himself—like a demon who’d already convinced you to sell your soul to him and all that was left was to have some fun. He looked hot.

A slightly unhinged smile spread across your face. Later, the two of you would talk about what you’d walked in on, but until then, you could accept the hand Bucky was reaching out to you and sink down into the filthy depravity of his actions. You could join him in reveling in it. 

“Yes—please, daddy!” you cried, one of your hands reaching for him. Your nails dug into his forearm, delighting in the feeling of his muscles and tendons shifting beneath your touch. “I don’t care what you did—I don’t care if you’re a dirty old man, I want your cock!”

Bucky’s reaction was immediate, his eyes darkening dramatically at your pronouncement, his pupils blowing so wide, they nearly blotted out all of the blue. A growl rumbled in his chest as he lowered himself over your body, his cock bullying more insistently at your hole, but never pushing inside, leaving you to squirm and whine beneath him.

“Tell me, bunny, did it turn you on to catch a dirty old pervert jerking off to the scent of your perfume in your bed?” he asked, his tone deep and dangerous, his eyes sparkling as they held your gaze without mercy. “Did your slutty pussy get wet catching me like that—be honest, tell daddy the truth.”

His hips were working insistently, fucking through your swollen folds, while the knuckles of his fist brushed against your greedy, achingly empty cunt. It was all you could do to huff an impatient sound, your hips bucking up against his cock, but Bucky didn’t give you what you truly wanted. He was waiting for your answer.

“My clit twitched and I got so wet,” you confessed, and you were so drunk on the desire pounding through your body that it loosened your tongue until you were spilling your every filthy thought. “It was so hot, seeing you like that, and I’ve thought about you so many times—I’ve touched myself in this bed thinking about your cock splitting me open—and you were stroking yourself and… I couldn’t help it!”

“Jesus, bunny,” Bucky groaned, dropping his head and closing his eyes. His hips stilled, his cock resting heavily on your messy, swollen cunt, and you whined, your body squirming at the lack of movement. 

Bucky’s eyes flew open a moment later, pinning you with a predatory stare that had you freezing, your breath catching in your throat. He looked at you as if through new eyes, eyes that finally, truly understood you. 

“You’re just as much of a pervert as I am, aren’t you, bunny?” he asked, his tone rough with affection bleeding into it. His big palm caressed your thigh, almost like he was trying to soothe you. 

You had to bite your lip to hold back your grin, which only made Bucky’s eyes flare with interest, his gaze falling to your mouth like he wanted to free your lip from your teeth and then sink his own into its plush softness. It would’ve made you giggle if it wasn’t for how hot and wet and aching you were for his cock.

“Yes, daddy,” you said sweetly, smiling up at Bucky while he leaned over you. “I’m just as much of a dirty pervert as you.” You dragged him down until his lips crashed against yours, the kiss filthy and messy, all nipping teeth and roaming tongues. When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but add, “I’m just not as old as you.”

A good-natured growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest, a playful grin curving his mouth. He looked like he’d taken the comment in stride, but you learned better a moment later when he pulled his cock out of the way before spanking your pussy sharply, your shrill squeal filling the room. 

“You’re not that young either, bunny,” Bucky said pointedly, sliding his cock back between your lower lips. “Not young enough to stop me from fantasizing about you every night, coming in my hand like a goddamn teenager,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. 

“Daddyyy,” you whined, when he seemed content to keep rubbing his cock against your pussy instead of pushing inside. It was driving you closer and closer to your second release, but you didn’t want to cum until you’d been filled and fucked hard, just like he’d promised. “Now that we’ve established we’re both gigantic perverts, will you fuck me already?” 

Your voice was a pleading, pitiful sound, and when Bucky finally dragged his gaze from your pussy, you pouted up at him. Your cunt was dripping and so empty, you just wanted him inside you already, which you tried to convey with your eyes. 

“Anything for my bunny,” Bucky growled, his words your only warning before he pulled his hips back and lined up the tip of his cock with your pussy. In the next breath, Bucky was shoving his considerable girth into your tight hole and you were crying out at the stretch.

“Too big, too big,” you whined, and Bucky paused immediately, but you didn’t want that. “Don’t stop,” you cried, your hands reaching for him, grabbing his hips and sinking your nails into golden skin as you dragged him closer. “Split me open, daddy, fuck me full.”

Bucky let out a grunt of acknowledgement and planted his hands on the backs of your thighs, pulling back before pushing in deeper. He split you open with merciless determination, working his cock deeper into your cunt with every thrust. 

When he was nearly there, he rearranged himself, leaning over your body and pressing you into the mattress, covering you with his larger form while his cock worked into your tight cunt. The position put his face level with yours and the corners of his mouth curled into a smirk when he took in the blissed out look on your face. 

“You’re so tight, has it been a while, bunny?” he asked teasingly, his eyes watching your expression closely, like he was looking for something more than his words implied. 

But if he was worried about whether there were any other men in your bed, he needn’t have. Bucky Barnes had been the star of all your fantasies since the day you’d met him two years ago. 

“Too long—three years,” you gasped, rocking your hips in time to his thrusts. You watched the worry drain from his expression, the emotion quickly replaced with an intoxicating mix of possessiveness and affection. You liked it so much, you wanted to drive your point home. “Not since before you moved into the building.”

You’d barely gotten the words out before Bucky’s mouth was crashing down on yours, his hands roughly pushing your thighs out of the way so he could press his chest against yours, skin to skin, getting as close as humanly possible while his hips drove his cock home.

“I’m crazy for you, bunny,” Bucky rumbled when he pulled away, his forehead pressed to yours, his cock buried fully in your cunt. “You’ve been under my skin since I met you, and I knew I should forget you—you’re too good for me—but I couldn’t.” 

His hips started rocking, fucking you in short, grinding thrusts that had the tip of him rubbing against a spot inside you that made your whole body clench tight. Your fingers sank into his messy, soft brown hair, threading through the soft strands. You pulled his mouth close to yours as he went on.

“I don’t know if I can let you go afer this, baby, I don’t think I can do a one-time thing,” he confessed, brushing kisses to your lips and cheeks and nose, everywhere he could reach. “Fuck, you feel like you were made for me, bunny.”

“I was,” you said, your voice vehement even as you exhaled a shuddering breath, fighting against the pleasure building in your core to keep your mind together long enough to say what you wanted to say. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, I don’t want you to let me go.” 

Using your grip on Bucky’s hair, you pushed him away, only far enough that you could look into his eye as you went on. You wanted him to see the honesty on your face and hear it in your words at the same time.

“I want to be your bunny—your girl, made to take your cock,” you confessed, your words coming out of you in a rush. “I want to be your perfect slut and let you drain your balls in my cunt whenever you want—I want it all, daddy.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Bucky bit out, his eyes closing as if he was overwhelmed by everything you’d just said. But they opened again a moment later, looking intense, the flicker of something deeper than affection sparking to life in the depth of his gaze. “You’re gonna be the death of me, bunny.”

You huffed a laugh at that, unable to hold back the smile his words set free.

“Silly daddy,” you teased, rocking your hips and digging your heels into the backs of his thighs, spurring him to move, to thrust into your pussy and bring you pleasure. “You’re not allowed to die,” you purred, arching your spine and bearing down on his cock. “Not before you make me cum again.”

It was Bucky’s turn to laugh, the sound coming out choked and dissolving into a groan when your bodies found a perfect rhythm together. He moved determinedly, working your body up until you were teetering on the edge of your second release.

“Cum inside me, daddy,” you murmured against Bucky’s scruffy cheek, nuzzling into the coarse hair and soft skin that smelled like earth and spice. “Fill up your bunny with all your cum, my pussy’s begging for it—I’m begging for it, daddy, please.”

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, bunny, such a good slut,” Bucky rumbled, his hips snapping against yours in deep, brutal thrusts that had you seeing stars. “Taking daddy’s cock so well and begging for daddy’s cum so sweetly—you’re such a perfect girl.”

You keened happily at Bucky’s praise, your knees climbing his sides until you were nearly folded in half again. His hips were pounding into yours so hard, you could hear the lewd smacking of his skin on yours, the wet sounds of your sticky, clingy pussy between you.

“I’m gonna give it to you, baby,” Bucky gritted through clenched teeth, changing the angle of his hips so his cock rubbed against your clit with every thrust. “Cum for me, bunny, cum for daddy so I can fill you up with my seed.”

His filthy words and the perfect way he was fucking you set you off, making you cum harder than you ever had before. A scream wrenched from your throat as you threw your head back into the pillows of your bed, your spine arching up off the mattress and your pussy clenching down hard on Bucky’s cock as waves of pleasure overwhelmed you.

Your release sparked Bucky’s, his hips rutting into your fluttering cunt before he came with a grunt muffled into the side of your head. His hard length twitched deep inside you as he spilled his seed, flooding your pussy with his cum. 

But he didn’t stop moving, Bucky’s hips kept working, fucking his cum deeper inside you while you clung to him, your skin slick with sweat. You buried your face in his neck and sucked a hickey into his skin, unable to stifle the possessive urge to mark him just as he was marking your insides with his cum.

When you were both finally sated, Bucky rolled over with his hand pressed to your lower back, keeping your bodies locked together and your hips pinned to him. His cock was still lodged deep in your pussy, plugging you full of his cum. He heaved a contented sigh with your body sprawled out on top of his.

It wasn’t until both of you had caught your breath that you lifted your head and met Bucky’s gaze, giving him a pointed look.

“So,” you started, drawing out the word and enjoying the way his eyes crinkled and looked to the side, as if he knew what was coming. “Do you want to tell me why I came home to find my divorced neighbor-slash-catsitter jerking off in my bed?” 

Your tone was light, even if the question was not, and you half expected Bucky to get defensive, but he just laughed a little awkwardly and ran his fingers through his hair. The move made his already messy hair even messier, so you tangled your fingers with his and trapped them beneath your chin, which was propped up on his chest.

“You know, it’s kind of a funny story,” Bucky began, darting his eyes to yours, as if making sure you were paying attention—and weren’t about to bludgeon him over the head. 

When you gestured for him to go on, he continued. 

“I’d picked up Alpine—for her post-dinner snuggle, of course,” he said, a slight pink blush in the apples of his cheeks. 

“Of course,” you echoed, the ghost of a smile flirting at the corners of your mouth. It sounded exactly like Alpine to demand cuddles after she’d just eaten. Not that you could blame her, you would have greedily taken cuddles from Bucky too.  

The older man smiled indulgently at your expression, like he knew it was for your cat and not necessarily for him. But it seemed to embolden him to continue on.

“I was just asking Alpine if she had any tips on how to tell her mama that I’m crazy about her,” he said, his voice warm with affection.

It was so sweet, you tilted your face down, biting into one of the knuckles on his hand. The older man didn’t even flinch. Bucky just laughed and went on speaking.

“Anyway, her claw got stuck in my sweater and it hurt, and she was yowling like she was going to die.” 

You lifted your head again and Bucky’s eyes were wide as he told this part of the story, his gaze staring off into the near distance like he was haunted by the memory, which you could understand. It wasn’t easy to keep your calm when you had a sharp nail digging into your skin and a cat that was freaking out. 

“I took my sweater off, and got her nail unstuck, but Alpine grabbed it and ran off.”

You laughed, wondering what would possess your cat to do such a thing, even as you nuzzled deeper into Bucky’s chest. Breathing in the scent of him, all earth and spice, you thought you might get it. You wanted to be surrounded by his scent and would’ve gladly stolen his sweater if you’d had the chance.

“I was looking for one of your sweaters to see if she’d let me trade it for mine,” Bucky explained, his voice starting to slow, as if he’d gotten to a part of the story he didn’t want to tell. “I caught a whiff of your perfume and I…” He ran his free hand down over his face.”Look, there’s no excuse for what I did—I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

Bucky caught your eye and he was so handsome, all you could do was stare. The sun was dipping low, slipping behind the buildings of Brooklyn. The light in your room was quickly turning from golden yellow to the tranquil blue of sunset, and everything felt just right. 

Your silence, however, seemed to make Bucky nervous, so he kept talking. 

“Have I mentioned that I’m crazy for you and I haven’t touched a woman in over two years and I forgot how fucking hard a woman’s perfume can make me?” he rambled, a pleading tone in his voice.

It was so cute and such a shock to hear him plead with you so genuinely that a surprised laugh burst from your lips. 

You couldn’t help yourself, you pushed yourself up and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s mouth. Maybe it was ridiculous or dumb, but you’d already forgiven Bucky. He’d made a mistake, had a moment of weakness, and you’d surprised him by coming home early. It wasn’t like he’d been trying to get caught, it had been an accident. Sort of.

Besides, it had led to the two of you getting together. You’d dreamed about Bucky for so long, fantasized about him in so much filthier situations than the one you’d found him in, that it only seemed right that he was just as much of a perv as you. 

“I’m crazy about you, too,” you murmured when you pulled away, only far enough to speak. “I forgive you.”

Bucky heaved a sigh of relief and dragged you in for another kiss, showing you his remorse with every sweep of his tongue. You sank into the kiss, letting him win back your trust, knowing the two of you were going to use the awkward start to build something real. 

You made out on your bed, your body keeping Bucky’s softening cock warm, until full dark had fallen. In between kisses, the two of you talked—about what came next (a proper date) and whether Bucky would keep the key you’d given him for catsitting (he would, after swearing never to use it without your permission). 

Eventually, you climbed off Bucky and took a shower—alone, despite his offers to help clean you up. You still felt a bit grungy from your trip home, and you wanted to take your time. So Bucky grabbed a shower at his own place, and came back, knocking on your door with a bottle of wine in hand, when you texted him you were done.

Bucky ordered dinner while you opened the wine, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the ease with which you’d fallen into a kind of domestic routine. Part of the reason you’d had a crush on Bucky was that you genuinely enjoyed his company, and you were glad to see that hadn’t changed.

When you brought the glasses out to the living room, Alpine was curled up on Bucky’s lap and he was stroking her softly, asking if she might want a papa. You bit back a smile and told him teasingly that it might be a bit soon for such a conversation with your furball daughter.

Bucky took the glasses from your hands and set them on the table before pulling you down onto the couch beside him. He made sure not to jostle Alpine as he manhandled both you and your cat into a comfortable group snuggle, with her laying across your lap while you sat in Bucky’s.

You laughed at him, but you were secretly very pleased, unable to stop grinning since Bucky was making your dreams come true without even realizing it. You’d longed for someone to snuggle with you and Alpine, to love you both, and it seemed like Bucky might be that man. 

For the rest of Valentine’s Day, you spent the holiday with your two favorite people in the world, Bucky and your cat, Alpine. 

Despite your teasing, you hoped it was only a matter of time before Bucky became her papa and moved in, becoming the person you could come home to and who would shower you with the affection you deserved.

Your divorced neighbor, Bucky Barnes, may have been a bit of a mess, but he turned out to be exactly what you needed—the perfect partner to come home to, one who shared your kinks and was just as much of a perv as you. He was a good papa to Alpine, and was happy to build your family together. 

It’s kind of a funny story how you got together—but it’s a story with a very happy ending.

sweethearts game masterlist

[lesbianalicent]

you can think whatever you want about lottie's death but you can't deny that it's not another example of how the show treats their woc. like, explain to me what has happened to taissa's character and why her entire story has been whittled down to nothing but her white ex gf. explain to me where the hell simone and sammy have gone meanwhile callie gets upped to a series regular. this has been a problem that i have been talking about since last season was literally airing. taissa's literal wife and son reduced to a single phone call in the first episode and the career that was her entire driving force in s1 to a throwaway line.

it doesn't make sense and it's also fucking boring. taivan is literally my favorite pairing and they're afraid to do anything interesting with them. tai has no plot outside of van and van has no plot outside of tai. it took one episode for them to get back together. that's so BORING. and yes marking people for murder is boring when we could have gotten taissa clinging to her carefully constructed perfect life by her fingernails. you could argue part of that is because i'm sure sammy's actor has grown up considerably, but simone? and this show looooves recasting their minor characters, they really couldn't have just recast him? be so serious.

but jeff needs to donate shit to goodwill and randy needs to doordash on his scooter, right? we need to throw away characters who have been there since season one to make room for more white characters, right?

"it's only episode four, give them time!" i have been giving them time since season two.

[daegorth]

I need people to know how I got into the show.

I saw a couple of truly unhinged posts on Tumblr a couple of weeks ago (thinking back now, they weren't even that weird in context, but yk... It's Severance)

I said to myself : "Well, I was meaning to start watching something new, and I've got truly delicious pizza for dinner, let's pair it with that insane show I heard about."

I was looking for an... Alternative streaming service (wink wink) in a hurry because the pizza was getting cold, and I found the series page. I didn't realize it gave me the last episode that had been released, and so I naively, innocently, carelessly pressed play.

You guys. It was Woe's Hollow.

I just.... Watched it from start to finish. It didn't make any fucking sense I was so lost, but I had got the general insane/confusing/weir vibe from those couple of posts, so I was like... "Well. It's weird and off-putting and I feel like I've been dropped into the middle of something quite complex and the show is giving me NO guidance. Maybe that's on purpose???"

My brain hurt because it was twisting itself in knots trying to make sense of it. These are some of the thoughts I had:

Why are these guys in the middle of a snowy forest? Wasn't this supposed to be about an office???

What do you MEAN that's the tallest waterfall on earth, and why do these guys see no problem with that affirmation???

Who the fuck is this couple of twins and why are we hearing their story as if it was a long lost book from the bible???

There are clones in this show??? Are those the innies I was hearing about? No wait, are the others the innies???

WHO THE FUCK IS THE NIGHT GARDENER??? WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT OLD GUY, WHY IS HE BULLYING THAT WOMAN???

This Mr Milchik is supremely creepy. Gives off robot vibes. DO NOT LIKE HIM.

There's a missing wife that needs rescue. Outies mentions. What the fuck is happening?? (This last part was said out loud numerous times)

Who's Burt and why does the mere mention of his name send the mean old man running away to almost freeze to death in the forest while heavily hallucinating???

WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING, WHAT'S WRONG WITH THAT OLD GUY, HE'S FULLY WATERBOARDING SOMEONE???

Oh. What? Wait it ends like that???? I need to know more.

And then I made to click the next episode and realized what had happened 😭

The funny thing is that I picked the ONE episode that was so fucking different from the rest of the show that i didn't catch on to the fact that I was smack dab in the middle of the story. If it had been any other one, I think I would have realized sooner. (Or maybe I'm just stupid and I wouldn't have lmao)

Anyways. (I thought the show was doing something very weird on purpose, where they put the viewer in the innies' shoes from the jump, showing how disorientating and weird and confusing it would be to not know why you are where you are, and what happened before you came here, and what you are supposed to do 💀)

So. That's how I got into the show 😭 and then I watched it from the start and you know what??? The experience wasn't that different, I still didn't understand shit (but I had spoiled myself quite a bit 😅 fortunately, the show is so weird that those spoilers were unintelligible until I got to the episode in which they were relevant)

1000/10 the show of all time!

Imagine scarfing down chinese food like a rabid animal only for jeff bezos to come and sit next to you and insult your dead wife, so you go home and get a lobotomy about it

[ijenoyou]

Ojos lindos.

Joaquín Torres x StarkF!Reader

WARNINGS: none rlly i think it’s just some nice fluff strangers to friends :3

note: helllowwwww it’s been a while since i’ve written sum for marvel lol anywayssss i rlly enjoyed the new cap movie!! and def did enjoy danny ramirez as the new falcon :3 so yeah i hope yall like this ohhh and if i like this storyline enough i’ll probably make it into a series ;) OH also the reader is supposed to be iron heart !!

Since Sam needed a new team for the Avengers the very first person that came to his mind, aside from Joaquín, was you. You definitely had Tony Stark’s brilliant mind and that helped you build your own suit not wanting to use the one your father made you while you were stuck in the Blip.

And Sam needs someone like that, smart, strong and brave. So when you offered to help him rebuild the team he was more than happy that you did. And he even was more happier to the fact that he got to see you. Since the passing of Tony Stark you disappeared leaving him with the wonder of where you went.

But you had to. Thanos had blasted you with the power of all the stones the moment he saw you get ahold of the gauntlet not knowing that the mixture of the power would cause your body to absorbe it.

So you had new powers, one’s that are quite hard to control, so you did what was safe to the people you care for which was disappear.

But now all was good, your powers are more than safe to use now that you know your way around them. And when Sam found out about the things you could do he knew in his heart he should take you under his wing just like he did with Joaquín Torres.

“She told we could have any room we want.” Sam told Joaquín when they arrived to the old Avengers base.

The both of them grabbed their own baggage and began walking inside the building.

Joaquín’s eyes were shining like crazy. He always thought being an Avenger wasn’t something in his path.

“Uncle Sam!” You said as soon as you saw them walking to the area that had all the old rooms the old team used. You arrived earlier since you wanted to clean up the area for the new arrivals.

Sam smiled and left his things on the floor, he then extended his arms signaling for you to hug him. Since you were quite far holding a broom you decided to teleport.

Joaquín hadn’t seen something like that. The pink glow that appeared in front of him when you appeared of the blue was something that surprised him and it made him lift the right corner of his lip, amused to the fact you were clearly too lazy to walk a few steps to greet Sam.

“So, this is my new child, also known as the new Falcon, Joaquín Torres.” Sam said while grabbing Joaquín’s shoulder.

Your eyes traveled towards him and smiled. You looked different from what he was used to. One of your eyes had a pink glow and the other didn’t, he tried not to let his thoughts show on his face after seeing your new appearance.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sam’s been talking a lot about you since we were on our way.” Joaquín said while reaching his hand out for you to shake. “I’m a big fan of your work, I was a volunteer on the charity you created a few months ago.”

Your smile became even bigger at the mention of the charity you created in honor of the fallen Avengers.

“Really? Thank you so much! I thought I recognized your face from somewhere else.” You said with a sweet tone. “People usually tell me about my father’s work and not mine so thank you, really.” You shook his hand.

Warm.

That’s what he felt inside him when he touched you. He noticed how small your hand was compared to his and how soft your skin felt against his calloused palm.

The both of you didn’t notice how Sam walked out the scene and began searching for a specific room. He wanted the one Steve used since he heard amazing stories about the incredible shower head pressure.

“Want help finding a room?” You said while taking one of this bags from the floor.

“Oh don’t worry I’ll take it!” He tried to take the bag from you.

Too late. You had already teleported a few feet away from him with a playful smile.

“Come! I think you might like this room.”

He smiled and nodded.

He walked behind you for a few moments when you stopped in front of a door that had the number 10 on it. You pushed a few numbers on the pad that was next to the door and the door opened by sliding.

“This one used to be one of my favorite rooms. “ You said with a soft tone.

You left Joaquín’s bag on an old chair and turned to him with your hand on your hips.

“You like it? The view here is amazing, my favorite out of all the rooms.”

He couldn’t believe his eyes. This room had a perfect view to the forest that connected to the base, he couldn’t help but notice how big the room is. Way bigger than he ever imagined with huge windows and a balcony that already had some furniture on it.

“I really do.” He left his things on the floor next to the old chair and walked to stand next to you. Admiring the view.

“My father built quite a lot of rooms for everyone.” You said. “He wanted everyone living under the same roof.” You smiled at the memory of the old team fighting to get the nicest rooms over the base.

Joaquín turned to see you.

You not noticing that he much preferred to have you as the increíble view you mentioned instead of the forest.

“Que ojos tan lindos.” He didn’t realized what he said until you turned towards him with a lifted eyebrow and small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“You think? I’m still getting used to the new color but it’s quite cool.” He didn’t know you understood spanish. A blush began spreading to his face and his right hand scratched the back of his neck with a bashful smile.

“Sorry I just..” He tried to speak but being caught red handed specially by you made him lose control of his words.

“It’s fine!” Your shoulder pushed his. “I don’t mind people looking at my eye, I mean, the staring was bound to happen.” You explained and began walking away from him. “I’ll let you get settled okay? Dinner’s at 8! I’m cooking enchiladas, hope that’s okay.”

Joaquín nodded. “I love enchiladas.” You gave him a thumbs up and walked out the room.

He turned again and stared at the windows for a few seconds until he registered what you said about the staring. He quickly turned on his heel and sprinted to the hall. “For the record I wasn’t staring at your eye! I was just admiring them!” He shouted for you to hear.

A big laugh was all he hear from down the hall. He smiled and turned which caused him to have a mini heart attack at the sight of Sam behind him.

“Dude! Make some noise the next time you stand behind me.” Joaquín said while putting a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat at a fast pace.

Sam made a face at him. That damn look Sam had almost all of the time when he found something cheeky. Like he knew a secret about you.

“You and little Stark became friends really fast uh?” Was all he said while crossing his arms over his chest.

[ ]

A plate of enchiladas appeared in front of Joaquín and Sam’s eyes.

“Here you go!” You said while sitting in front of them at the aisle of the kitchen instead of the big dinning room. You had said it felt way bigger with just the three of you, but Sam reassured you that with time and effort that would soon change.

“So, do you know when Bucky’s coming?” Sam asked while cutting his enchiladas.

You nodded, your hand reaching for a napkin. “Yes! He told me he’s coming next week after he visits the wakandians for a new update on his arm.” You explained after taking a big gulp of your iced coca cola. “He’s been staying up here with me for a while so his room is already set up.”

That caught Joaquín’s full attention and Sam noticed. Sam decided to play a little game with the knowledge he now has. His new child had a crush on little Stark. Oh my, how small the world is.

“Really? And what do you guys do? I’m assuming is just the two of you.” Sam told you with a cheeky sneer.

Your cheeks became flushed and that made Joaquín furrow his eyebrows, just a little.

“Well we just spend time next to one another you know? Sometimes I’ll be reading and he would be sitting next to me while he learns how to share a TikTok.” You explained with your eyes locked on your food.

Sam lifted an eyebrows and began asking more things to get a rise out of Joaquín. “How nice of him, right Joaquín?” Sam elbowed him causing him to cough.

“Oh? Yeah…”

“He doesn’t stay a lot.” You explained sensing the weird tension in the air. “He sometimes comes when I tell him I miss my father.”

The strings of Joaquín’s heart were pulled. He couldn’t imagine what you felt. From what Sam told him, it was just you and Tony Stark. He then met Pepper and became partners but for a while it was just the two of you, against everything.

He knew your father was your rock, he was all you had since your mother died while giving birth, the doctors not noticing she was having an internal bleeding causing her to slip away without too much fuss. The info being shared by Sam.

“But now, you two are here so I won’t be feeling as lonely as before.” Sam nodded as the same time Joaquín did.

After dinner Sam had to take a call from the White House, leaving you with Joaquín to wash all of the dirty dishes you used.

It was nice. Joaquín felt a cozy vibe coming from the moment, soft jazz music playing on the background, you next to him drying the plates with a cloth he would give you after he scrubbed them.

“I totally think he faked that call because he didn’t want to help wash the dishes.” You said playfully.

A laughed erupted from Joaquín’s chest and nodded. “For sure! I mean did you see the look he gave us when he stood up?”

Now it was your time to laugh. “That damn look he has! It’s like he knows something about you, isn’t it?” The both of you exploded of laughter. Making fun of Sam was one of your favorite hobbies now that he was more present in your life.

“Thank you for the compliment by the way.” He heard you say while putting the last plate on its designated place. “Yo también pienso que tienes unos ojos muy lindos.”

He almost choked when he heard those words coming past your lips.

“I didn’t know you spoke spanish.” He explained bashful.

“Tony made me learn quite a handful of languages when I was a kid.” You told him. “Spanish was my favorite by far, I think it’s a very romantic language, don’t you think?”

“It sure is.” Was all he said while turning his body to you.

The both of you didn’t notice how close your bodies were. He could feel the warmth coming from your body, that’s how close he was to you. He could see with clear perfection every lash and every beauty mark on your face. His eyes stopping their path on yours. Joaquín could see the pink glow with perfection and it felt like time stopped.

He wasn’t attracted to your eyes just because of the pink color but because he felt really seen under your gaze. It felt like you were going under every inch and corner of his mind, leaving your mark in it.

And you felt the same thing.

“I-I think it’s quite late, isn’t it?” Your voice brought him back to reality.

He stepped back, instantly missing the warmth of your body. He cleared his throat and sighed.

“Oh right.” He spoke. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Your lips curled and nodded. “Of course.” Your voice came out almost as a whisper. “I’m off to sleep, if you need anything my room is next to yours actually.”

He bit his bottom lip and smiled. “Okay then, sleep well mini Stark.” That damned nickname Thor gave you years ago made your skin tickle. A funny feeling forming inside your chest.

**

Que ojos tan lindos - what beautiful eyes

Yo también pienso que tienes unos ojos muy lindos - I also think you have beautiful eyes

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (16 - A Heart to Break)

Chapter Summary: This was cold, deliberate. Wanda wasn’t avoiding you, not exactly. She was around, always there at team meetings, in training sessions, and the common areas. But she never acknowledged you. When she did look at you—on those rare occasions—it wasn’t to meet your eyes. It was to look through you, as if you weren’t even there.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags: Angst

A/N: I'd like thank all of you again for following this series. Getting asks or feedback for this story is always the highlight of my week, especially how busy I am with school. Hope you like more angst :) P.S. @justagaynerdsblog it's not what you think. It's not THAT kind of triangle, it's just two idiots in love and being stupid // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wanda started dating Vision right away.

Much to your chagrin.

Not that you had any right to feel that way. You’d practically shoved her toward him, hadn’t you? Painting Vision as the perfect choice, the logical choice, the safe choice. You could almost laugh at how quickly they’d made it official. 

Well, almost.

Every time you saw them together, that laugh stuck somewhere in your throat. The compound wasn’t exactly big enough to avoid them. You saw them everywhere—Vision holding open a door for her, Wanda tilting her head back to laugh at something he said. It was all perfectly polite—just like you’d told her it would be. 

You told yourself it was fine. You had no right to feel jealous, no right to feel the knife that twisted in your chest every time Wanda smiled at him the way you wanted her to smile at you—how she used to smile at you.

Still, it grated.

You didn’t realize how much until the team dinner that Friday.

The dining room was rampageous, everyone laughing and talking over each other in a way that only happened when Tony was footing the bill and the drinks were flowing freely. Wanda sat next to Vision, their chairs too close, their hands brushing often enough to make your jaw clench every five minutes.

You’d taken a seat at the far end of the table, two spots down from Sam, who was loudly recounting some mission story that had Natasha rolling her eyes. You weren’t really listening. Your attention kept drifting to the other end of the table, where Wanda was leaning in to whisper something to Vision, her lips curving into a soft smile at his response.

You looked down at your plate, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken a little harder than necessary.

“Having fun there?”

You glanced up, startled, to find Sam smirking at you, his arms crossed like he’d been watching for a while.

“What?” you asked, your brain still catching up.

“You’re murdering your dinner,” he nodded toward your plate, “What’d that chicken ever do to you?”

You looked down and realized your fork was practically embedded in what used to be a respectable dinner. Now, it was just a mushy lump, draining what was left of your appetite. You loosened your grip and mumbled, “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Sam said with a wink, his grin widening before he went back to the group discussion.

At the other end of the table, Vision said something that made Wanda laugh. It wasn’t one of those fake ones (you could honestly tell) she gave when she felt like she had to. Against your better judgment, you risked a glance. Wanda’s eyes were bright, her head tipped slightly toward him, looking positively smitten. Vision said something else, and she laughed again, this time quieter, her hand brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“God, this is pathetic,” you muttered to yourself, barely audible.

“What’s pathetic?”

Natasha this time. For someone trying to keep their head down, you were doing a terrible job. 

“Nothing,” you mumbled quickly, hoping she'd let it go. 

Of course, she didn’t. “You’re sulking like a teenager, and it’s making everyone uncomfortable. Come on,” she said.

Before you could make your defense she was already on her feet, nodding for you to follow. You hesitated for a fraction, then pushed your chair back, grateful for the excuse to leave. You could feel Wanda’s gaze on you as you stepped away from the table, Natasha leading the way out.

By the time you reached the balcony, you were ready to empty the meager contents of your stomach. You hadn’t been eating well lately, and it was starting to take a toll on your training regimen. You’ve been skipping workouts more often this week, and Natasha had been noticing that too.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asked, though there’s no pressure in her tone of voice.

“Nope,” you replied, short and to the point.

Natasha shrugged, unbothered. “Suit yourself.” 

She shifted to one side of the balcony, pulling a cigarette from her back pocket and lighting it with the kind of flair that made you wonder if she smoked to think or just to piss people off.  She inhaled deeply, held it, exhaled away from you in a long, steady stream. 

You leaned against the railing, your fingers curling around the cold metal, trying to focus on the night sky rather than the conversation you knew was coming. Natasha never forced anything, but she didn’t let things go either. Not when she thought there was something worth digging into.

“This… push and pull with Wanda. It’s exhausting to watch, honestly,” she started.

You scoffed, almost exaggerating it. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“You were friends, real friends, and now you can’t even be in the same room without turning into this.”

“Into what?” you asked.

“Like a zombie, Y/N. And Wanda—or maybe Vision—is the brain you want to eat. You’re not yourself. What happened?”

“That’s ridiculous.” You bristled, looking away. “Nothing happened, okay?”

“Right. Because ‘nothing’ turns people into brooding messes who barely eat, barely train,” she countered.

You kept quiet. Natasha had no business knowing about this. If your face gave you away this evening, you were just going to have to fake it until you make it.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Natasha said, not even bothering to disguise the accusation. “Between you two. Because this? This isn’t just awkward. It’s worse. My guess? You broke your own damn heart.”

“I don’t have—”

“A heart to break?” she cut in, rolling her eyes so hard you could practically hear them scrape against her skull. “Stop it. The more you deny it, the more it owns you. That’s how it works.”

You frowned, trying to parse where she was going with this.

“There’s a way to handle it,” she continued, exhaling smoke as if it carried some of her frustration with it. “You move on, Y/N. But, clearly, you’re doing it wrong.”

“You’re the expert now?”

“I’m saying I’ve been there,” Natasha said, taking another drag of her cigarette. “You’re stuck because you haven’t accepted the decision you made. And it’s eating you alive.”

“How do you know that I—”

“Oh, come on. Everyone knows Wanda’s been obsessed with you since she joined the team,” she said with a faint smirk. “And now she’s with Vision. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. You chose something—or someone—and now you’re second-guessing yourself.”

What she said settled over you like a suffocating blanket. Natasha was right. It was the ‘what if?’ that’s been haunting you since you denied your feelings for Wanda—rather impulsively if you were being truly honest. 

“Do you… Do you think I made the right choice?”

“As much as I’d love to hand you the answer on a silver platter, I don’t have it,” Natasha said, brushing ash from the tip of her cigarette. “Only time will tell, I guess. But I will say this: you made your choice for a reason. Trust yourself on that, at least.”

Natasha pushed off the wall, brushing her hands against her pants. “Better get back inside before she comes looking for you.”

“She won’t.”

Natasha let out a dry, skeptical hum before heading back inside. You’d thought she’d dragged you out here to convince you to get Wanda back. But this was harder to swallow.

Trust yourself. 

As if it were that simple.

—

The fallout with Wanda this time was different. Different from all the other times you tried to jumpstart some version of a friendship or a co-working relationship and failed. It wasn’t the wary distance you’d both kept when she first arrived at the compound, when trust was something neither of you could afford to give. This was worse.

This was cold, deliberate. Wanda wasn’t avoiding you, not exactly. She was around, always there at team meetings, in training sessions, and the common areas. But she never acknowledged you. When she did look at you—on those rare occasions—it wasn’t to meet your eyes. It was to look through you, as if you weren’t even there.

She was always with Vision now. Rarely did you see her without him by her side. The team had started referring to them as Wanda and Vision, like they were one entity. It wasn’t, “Ask Wanda,” or, “Ask Vision.” It was, “Ask Wanda and Vision.” As if they’d merged into one seamless, perfect unit. When Vision wasn’t around, the questions still fell to Wanda, as if she spoke for him. When Wanda wasn’t around, Vision became her proxy. The separation between them had dissolved in everyone’s minds, and you hated it. Not because they didn’t deserve to be happy—no, you’d told yourself you wanted that for her. You just hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to watch it unfold right in front of you.

You told yourself you’d get used to it, that it was just a phase, but it wasn’t. It was more like a drawn-out misery you couldn’t escape. You missed her. You missed the easy banter you’d started to build before everything fell apart. You missed the way her sharp wit challenged you, the way she’d smirk when she knew she’d gotten under your skin just enough to make you react. You found yourself wondering if she still trained, if she was keeping up with the progress she’d been so proud of.

And sometimes, when you were alone in your room, you wouldn’t even turn up the music. You’d sit there in the quiet, waiting, straining to hear anything from her side of the wall. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you’d hear her playing the guitar—something she’d started doing more often in recent weeks. Most nights, though, it wasn’t the guitar you heard. It was Vision. Wanda’s voice rarely reached you, but when it did, it was laughter. Laughter that you didn’t cause, that wasn’t yours to hear anymore.

The worst of it came when they started leaving together. Late at night, when the compound had quieted down and most of the team had gone to bed, you’d hear the faint sound of their footsteps, see them heading toward the exit. You told yourself they were just walking, just talking, but you weren’t naïve. You knew what couples did late at night.

And they were a couple now.

—

You considered going back to your apartment in the city. It wasn’t far—just a few miles—but the missions were rolling in again, and timing was everything. It was easier to stay at the compound, to be ready for whatever disaster came next. Besides, throwing yourself into work was better than sitting alone in an empty apartment with your thoughts circling Wanda and Vision like vultures.

Missions came and went, and luckily, you weren’t paired with Wanda or Vision. Someone else was always available, someone else always volunteered. It was a small mercy you clung to as you poured yourself into the work. You kept yourself busy. Busier than usual. You took on every assignment thrown your way, volunteering for extra shifts, running double-time during debriefs. 

But the work didn’t just distract you—it became a way to punish yourself. You didn’t take unnecessary risks; you took reckless ones. If the odds were stacked, you went in headfirst.  It wasn’t that you wanted to get hurt—at least, not consciously—but somehow, the pain on the outside felt like the only thing that could dull the pain within.

And the wounds came. Small ones at first—a sprained wrist, a shallow cut above your brow. Then larger ones. A nasty gash along your arm during an ambush. Against protocol, you never went to the in-house medical team. You handled it yourself—bandaging wounds in your room, stitching yourself up with clenched teeth, biting down on a scrap of fabric to muffle the sounds of pain.

It was only a matter of time before your luck ran out.

—

The bullet grazed your side during a narrow escape, tearing through your jacket and slicing into your skin with brutal efficiency. You barely had time to think about it in the heat of the moment, too focused on getting out alive. But by the time you returned to the compound, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving nothing but the sharp, unrelenting pain and the blood—hot and stick— seeping through your fingers as you clutched your side.

Turning a corner, you nearly collided with Wanda, who was coming back from the gym. She was still in her workout gear, a towel slung over her shoulder, her hair pulled back, a light sheen of sweat on her skin. Her eyes darted up to meet yours, and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t look away immediately.

You managed a small nod and tacked on a weak smile for good measure. She returned the nod but the smile didn’t come. She moved to step past you, and you thought that would be the end of it.

But then you faltered—just a split-second wince as the pain surged, a grimace you couldn’t quite hide. Her steps slowed, her head turning slightly. Her eyes landed on your hand, pressed against your side, and then on the dark red stain spreading through your shirt.

“Wait,” she said sharply.  

“It’s fine,” you muttered, trudging along, trying to walk straight even though your side burned like hell.

Without a word, she turned back and then unwound the towel she had draped around her shoulders, stepping closer and pressing it firmly against your side. You jerked back at the pressure but didn’t stop her. Her hand stayed steady, though her expression betrayed none of what she might’ve been thinking. It wasn’t anger, or at least not just anger. 

“I’m calling the medic,” Wanda said.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just a graze. I don’t need the medics.”

Wanda merely glared at your wound, though you could see the tightness in her jaw, the way her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You’re bleeding through a towel,” she said flatly.

“I just need the first-aid kit,” you mumbled, glancing toward the storage room. “That’s all.”

She didn’t look at you as she asked, “Where is it?”

“Why?” you asked cautiously.

“So we can patch you up.”

We.

Did she mean you and her? Or was this some prelude to Vision walking into the hallway and the couple patching you up together? You didn’t ask, though the thought burned in the back of your mind.

“It’s just right there,” you finally said, pointing weakly toward the door a few feet away.

She didn’t move right away. Her hands stayed where they were, pressing the towel firmly against your side, applying just enough pressure to slow the bleeding but not enough to stop your brain from wondering why the hell she was doing this. Wanda had made it pretty clear she wanted nothing to do with you. A wound like this wasn’t life-threatening at all. But she was treating it like you were on death’s doorstep, making it more difficult for you to ignore the flutter of feelings you’d been working so hard to bury.

After what felt like too long, Wanda stood, releasing her grip on the towel. “I’ll get it,” she said simply. You stayed where you were, slumped against the wall. The absence of her hands left you trembling slightly, and for the first time, you really felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at you, the weakness from blood loss settling in.

Fine. Maybe you’d lost more blood than you’d let on. Maybe being stubborn about not calling the medic wasn’t your brightest move. Still, you’d had worse. This didn’t even rank in your top five.

Wanda returned a moment later, but instead of handing you the first-aid kit, she surprised you by crouching beside you and looping your arm over her shoulder. Without a word, she guided you to the storage room, half-carrying you with surprising strength. Once inside, she maneuvered you to sit on a low bench against the wall, then turned away to open a cabinet. When she crouched back down in front of you, first-aid kit in hand, she didn’t so much as glance in your direction. She snapped the lid open and laid out the supplies.

“You don’t have to do this, Wanda,” you whispered, your voice scratchy and weak, which annoyed you more than the actual wound. You were starting to feel a little loopy, unsure if this was really happening or just a dream—if you were dead somewhere else or still lost in sleep in your bed. If it were the former, you thought, it was certainly a good way to go. It made you smile without realizing it, which only seemed to make Wanda more alarmed.

Now moving with a bit more urgency, she grabbed a bottle of antiseptic and a piece of gauze, pouring the liquid onto it before pressing it against your wound unceremoniously. You hissed, waking you up a little, your hand gripping the edge of the chair as the pain flared. She didn’t acknowledge the sound, her attention fixed on cleaning the blood away.

“Stay still,” she warned after you’ve shied away too far.

When she pulled out a needle and thread, your stomach sank like a stone in dark water. “Stitches?” you muttered, though it barely qualified as a question—more of a sigh, defeated before the fight even started.

“It’s deep enough,” she reasoned, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

The first stab of the needle lit up your nerves, a white-hot jolt that ripped through your side. You sucked in air through clenched teeth, fists balled tight at your sides.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath.

“Stop moving,” she said, her voice maddeningly calm.

You didn’t stop moving, not entirely, but you managed to keep your whimpers to a minimum as the needle went in again. And again. At some point, the pain dulled—not because it got easier, but because it started to blur, your skin either numbing or your brain deciding it had enough.

When she tied off the last one, she grabbed the bandages, wrapping them around your torso.  The bandage had to loop around your waist, and for that, she leaned in, her arms slipping behind you. She was so near that you could almost count the freckles scattered across her nose. The proximity made you hyper-aware of yourself—how you reeked of blood, smoke, and sweat, and how there was nowhere to hide from it.

And then it was over. She finished without ceremony, knotting the bandage with quick fingers before standing and turning away. For a moment, she hovered by the cabinet, her back to you, her shoulders stiff.

“Don’t make me do this again,” she murmured so quietly that you couldn’t quite decipher the emotion behind it.

Her words should’ve felt like an admonition, but instead, they landed like a plea. You weren’t sure if she was talking about the stitches or something much more complicated. And as you watched the way her shoulders sagged slightly, the way her head dipped like the fight had drained out of her, it hit you—this wasn’t easy for her either. None of it was.

“Wanda…” Her name came out too soft, like you didn’t really want her to hear it. Like you weren’t sure what you were going to say next.

“Get some rest,” she murmured, the words almost tender—

But final.

[smol-bean-boi13]

The cycle begins again :)

@intotheelliwoods I know I’m late for the panel redraw deadline but I just could let myself live without drawing something for this amazing series you’ve made.

Watching this story and your art grow has been a wonderful experience, I never thought that it would end, and yet, all things eventually do.

And of course, thank you for continuing this story and brightening people’s day when things got rough (I know my day was brightened on many occasion :3).

I wish you well with your endeavors, you’ve been a real one ell, and you have my admiration and respect o7

Original panels below ^^ ⤵️

[self-winding]

Get that "debut" moniker away from your name. Prove you can sell your shit and keep working.

I'd disagree with this part. Being a "debut author" actually works in your favor, marketing-wise. Because you're the shiny, exciting new thing. Past publishing credentials are only a plus if you're a well-known name with a following.

Source: Been published by two Big Five houses. Before I was picked up by an agent I had published a number of novels and novellas (mostly romance/erotica) through a series of digital-only indie publishers. I made some money (albeit not a lot) through these titles, but they did not in any way help me from the angle of getting an agent or being picked up by a publisher, because I wasn't a big name, and because the book that got me an agent was YA so there wasn't much of a crossover readership.

I don't recommend self-publishing unless you have an existing platform (such as a YouTube channel) with a lot of followers. Otherwise it's like firing a t-shirt cannon into outer space, and it's also easy to waste a lot of money on advertising yourself and SEO stuff. There are so many stories of self-published writers spending hundreds or thousands on advertising and getting like, five sales as a result. Like, self-published books do occasionally get popular and go viral but these are extreme statistical outliers. Unfortunately it is just really hard to make money on books these days. Even big publishers kind of suck at it. Many books don't earn out their advances.

I do agree with the part about how important comps are. Agents and editors don't like to take risks, they are mainly trying to jump on existing trends. You ideally want titles from within the last three years to compare to yours. They shouldn't be obscure but they should also not be too big; like, comparing your book to Harry Potter or GoT or LOTR won't get you anywhere. Go to your local library, look at the new stuff, find books that are roughly in the subgenre you are aiming at, books with covers that look sort of how you imagine your cover looking, read them, and if they fit, use them as comps when you query. Say specifically what it is about those books that overlap with yours. i.e. the aesthetic, the setting, themes, etc.

Editing to add: yes, being in the right social circles does help you get published (which is bad for me because I'm a hermit) but I'd argue that knowing the market and the specific market niche you fit into and being able to write a good piece of marketing copy (i.e. your query letter) which displays your understanding of market forces is actually just as important as social status and more important than the "objective quality" of your writing. And while it can be soul-crushing and involve some creative compromises, it is a skill that you can actually learn, one that will concretely impact your chances.

I find it personally offensive how many bad writers can get published so easily.

[yunholic-jongholic]

Bound to the Bosses [Part 1] | C.JH x Reader x J.YH

SUMMARY | At the age of 20, you surrendered your freedom to a former mafia gang in exchange for a secure life and all your needs met. You pledged your existence to two of the members, Choi Jongho and Jeong Yunho, who managed the leading underground strip club and took you under his wing. They both permit you to perform on weekend nights, but once the lights go out and the workday ends, you belong solely to both of them.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader x Yunho

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | Mean Dom!Yunho, Mean Dom!Jongho, Strip Club Setting, NSFW, SMUT, Explicit Content, Alcohol Consumption, Cursing, Smoking, Mentions of Murder, Threats, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Threesome, Power Dynamics, Teasing, Foreplay, Hair Pulling, Fingering, Degrading, Praising, Dry Humping, Oral Sex (Reader Giving), Unprotected Sex (Don't do it...), Rough Sex, Marking, Bruises, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie, Cum-Eating, Size Kink, Overstimulation (THERE IS SO MUCH. IM CRYING. I DEFINETLY MISSED SOME. ILL COME BACK)

WORD COUNT | 5.3k

AUTHOR NOTE | 💋 Spicyyyyyy ;) Anyways, new 2HO Story. Tag List is now open to whoever wants to join (you can comment or message me!) This is a long LONG chapter series. (Most likely will be 8-10 chapters.) There will be more trigger warnings on each chapter since its very angsty. so please make sure to read warnings each chapter. Hope y'all enjoy this new story!

•

The distant wail of police sirens blended with the thumping bass of music booming from downstairs. Sitting in front of the mirror, you carefully applied your makeup, smoothing each line and adjusting your hair with practiced precision.

Yet, despite the familiar routine, a heavy sigh escaped your lips. Your stomach twisted in uneasy knots, the uncertainty creeping in—did you really want to step out there and perform tonight?

You stood up, slipping on your shoes and preparing yourself for another night of work. Stepping out of the room, you noticed someone standing silently in the hallway, eyes fixed on the world outside through the window. It was Seonghwa—the one who played the role of the gang’s unofficial caretaker, almost motherly in his demeanor.

You approached him, hesitating slightly before asking, “Have you seen Jongho anywhere?”

Without tearing his gaze from the window, Seonghwa replied, “He’s with Mr. Kim right now.” He exhaled a plume of smoke, the faint haze curling around his face before his eyes flicked toward you, sharp and piercing.

You swallowed, your voice wavering as you continued, “Could you... could you let him know I need to speak with him downstairs? It’s about my weekly allowance. Thank you.”

Seonghwa’s stare lingered a moment longer, his expression unreadable as he took another slow drag from his cigarette. “He’ll be informed,” he said flatly before turning his attention back to the view outside.

You murmured another thanks, his detached demeanor leaving an uneasy feeling in your chest. Shaking it off, you made your way downstairs, the muffled music growing louder with each step.

Descending the stairs, the dim lights cast a hazy glow over the room, shadows dancing to the rhythm of the pounding music. The bass vibrated through the floor, mingling with the murmur of voices and clinking glasses. You made your way to the bar, the cool surface grounding you as you leaned against it.

Before diving into the night’s performance, you needed a drink to steady your nerves. You signaled to the bartender, the familiar ritual bringing a brief sense of comfort amidst the chaos.

“Hey, I didn’t think you worked behind the bar,” you remarked, surprised to see who was serving drinks tonight.

Turning around with a playful grin, Wooyoung leaned casually against the counter, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yeah, well, I like to switch things up now and then,” he replied, effortlessly charismatic.

You couldn’t help but smirk. From what you knew about the gang, Wooyoung was the loud, energetic one, but beneath his playful exterior, he was one of the sharpest minds when it came to decision-making and planning. His unpredictable nature kept everyone on their toes—tonight was no exception.

He slid a glass across the bar toward you, his eyes flicking over you with curiosity. “Starting off the night with a drink, huh? Rough evening already?” He teased.

“Don’t make me tell you... I’m just exhausted from... stuff.” You sighed, your shoulders sagging as you lifted the glass to your lips, taking a long, deep gulp. The burn was familiar, grounding, and it was just what you needed to face the night ahead.

Wooyoung watched you, his playful demeanor softening for a moment, but he didn’t press further. He knew better than to pry.

Placing the empty glass back on the bar, you offered him a nod before turning away, the music growing louder as you approached the stage. The lights were low, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you stepped into the spotlight, ready to perform despite the exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

While you were performing, your eyes scanned the dimly lit room, drawn to a familiar figure standing in the corner. Jongho. His presence was unmistakable—calm, composed, yet intensely focused on you. He stood with his back against the wall, a glass in hand, the amber liquid swirling gently as he took measured sips. His expression was unreadable, stoic and serious, his eyes never leaving you.

As the music faded and the lights dimmed, you wrapped up your routine, the applause a distant hum as your attention stayed on him. Steeling yourself, you made your way over, weaving through the crowd until you were face-to-face.

Jongho’s gaze was cold, his features rigid, revealing nothing of his thoughts. His eyes flicked over you, analyzing, calculating, before finally meeting yours. The air between you felt heavy, the weight of his stare pressing down on you. You opened your mouth to speak but hesitated, the words caught in your throat as his expression remained unyielding.

“Jongho... Mr. Choi,” you began, your voice steady despite the tension in the air. “I need to discuss my weekly allowance.”

He took another slow sip from his glass, his eyes never leaving yours as he lowered it. “So, what do you need now?” His tone was even, almost indifferent, but the sharpness in his gaze was unmistakable.

You swallowed, feeling the knot tighten in your stomach, but you pressed on. “Well... I wanted to ask for a raise this month,” you admitted, your voice softening as you continued. “I need to buy some new clothes... mine are getting worn out.”

Jongho’s eyes flicked over you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before his expression returned to its usual cold demeanor. He leaned back against the bar, his posture relaxed but his gaze unrelenting.

Jongho’s lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Well, since you’re done with your dance session, you can come to my office. We’ll discuss it there.” His voice was calm, almost too casual, but his gaze was sharp, traveling slowly over your figure before meeting your eyes once more.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you maintained your composure, giving him a small nod. “Alright.”

Without another word, Jongho turned on his heel, making his way through the crowded room. You followed close behind, weaving through the sea of people as the music continued to pulse around you.

The journey felt longer than it should have, your mind racing with anticipation. You could feel his presence just ahead of you, calm and commanding, his pace steady and confident. Reaching his office, Jongho unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open just long enough for you to follow before closing it behind you.

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow from the city outside casting shadows along the walls. You stood there, your pulse quickening as you waited for him to speak, he locked the door behind you. Going to the desk, his back turned to you as he set his drink down on the desk.

"You know u are the one who ruins your own clothing." Jongho hums. Getting closer to you as he caresses your face with the back of his fingers. You look into his eyes and nod.

“Yes, sir. I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as his fingers lightly traced the curve of your bottom lip. His touch was gentle but commanding, sending a shiver down your spine. Your breath hitched, the tension in the room thickening—but before anything else could happen, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

Jongho’s expression shifted instantly, his jaw tightening as he pulled his hand away, irritation flickering in his eyes. He released a low, frustrated groan before turning on his heel and striding over to the door.

You stood frozen in place, nerves coiling tight as you watched him unlock and open it. Peeking over his shoulder, you recognized Seonghwa standing on the other side, his usual calm demeanor unchanged.

“Y/N was looking to talk to you,” Seonghwa said, his voice steady, his eyes flicking briefly to you before returning to Jongho.

Jongho sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m already talking to her,” he replied, his tone curt but controlled.

Seonghwa nodded, his expression unreadable as he took a step back. “Understood.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, his presence disappearing down the hallway.

Jongho shut the door with a click, his fingers lingering on the lock as he turned it firmly. His back remained to you for a moment, his shoulders tense, before he slowly turned around, his eyes locking onto yours once more. The air felt heavy again, the tension from before returning even stronger.

Jongho’s smirk returned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he crossed his arms, leaning casually against his desk. “So, here’s the deal,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I need you to get back to work. Once your shift is over, come back to my office, and we’ll sort out your weekly allowance.”

His gaze lingered on you, a teasing glint in his eyes, his smirk never fading. The implication behind his words was clear, but his tone remained composed and controlled.

You felt your heart skip, but you managed a nod, keeping your expression neutral. “Yes, sir,” you replied, your voice steady even as nerves buzzed under your skin.

Without another word, you turned and unlocked the door, your fingers trembling just slightly. You could feel his eyes on you as you stepped out, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself before heading back to the main floor, the music and lights pulling you back into the rhythm of the night.

The hours dragged on, the music pounding relentlessly as you moved through the motions, one performance after another. By the time the clock hit 5 a.m., exhaustion weighed heavy on you. You sighed, wiping the sweat from your brow as you counted the night’s earnings—over $500. Not bad, but all you wanted now was to collapse in your bed.

Your mind was foggy, and the promise to see Jongho after your shift slipped away as fatigue took over. You made your way upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last as you headed straight to your room.

But as you neared your door, the low murmur of voices caught your attention. It was coming from the room down the hall. The door was cracked open just enough for sound to seep through. You hesitated, curiosity stirring despite your exhaustion.

Quietly, you crept closer, careful to stay out of sight as you peered inside. Hongjoong stood in the center of the room, his back to you, his posture tense. Opposite him was Seonghwa, his arms crossed, face unusually serious. The air between them felt heavy, the conversation clearly intense.

You strained to listen, heart beating a little faster as you tried to make out their words, unsure of what you were about to overhear.

Your blood ran cold as the conversation became clearer.

“Well, we need to get rid of the body. Yunho said the guy tried threatening he would kidnap Y/N and kill her,” Hongjoong’s voice was low and sharp, barely contained anger seeping through his words.

Seonghwa’s glare was fierce, his jaw clenched as he responded, “I told the others that we’re not going back to a life of crime. We agreed to leave that behind. I say we punish Yunho for breaking our new rules.” His voice was cold, unyielding.

Hongjoong fell silent, his expression conflicted, but he didn’t argue.

Your heart plummeted, panic rising in your chest. Yunho... killed someone? And now the leaders were planning to punish him? But what did that even mean? You shuddered at the possibilities, dread coiling tight in your stomach.

You backed away from the door, feeling the world spin around you. It was suddenly hard to breathe, the air feeling heavy and suffocating. Without another thought, you turned and hurried back to your room, your mind racing with fear and confusion.

What were you supposed to do now? What would happen to Yunho? And if they found out you overheard, what would they do to you?

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your face pale, eyes wide with lingering shock. Your heart was still racing, but you forced yourself to breathe, pushing down the fear and anxiety that threatened to consume you. With practiced precision, you buried your emotions, slipping back into a composed façade.

Your hands moved mechanically as you began undressing, shedding the remnants of the night’s performance in favor of something more comfortable. Just as you reached for a shirt, a sudden knock echoed from your door.

Your heart jumped, panic momentarily flaring before you snapped into action, quickly pulling on the closest set of clothes. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to appear calm before opening the door.

Standing before you were Yunho. His expression was neutral, unreadable, his tall frame leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Oh! I thought you were Jongho... I completely forgot to see him after my shift,” you blurted out, your voice rushed as you tried to mask your nerves.

Yunho’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Unnecessary details,” he replied bluntly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you. There was no hint of warmth in his voice, just cold indifference.

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. Every word from his mouth echoed in your mind, mingling with what you had just overheard. You couldn’t help but wonder—did he know? Did he suspect you had heard everything?

“What... what brings you here?” you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady, hoping he couldn’t sense your fear.

“Did you make money tonight? I need to pay Hongjoong back,” Yunho asked, his voice calm but firm, his eyes coldly scanning the room.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Hongjoong, the memory of his conversation with Seonghwa flashing through your mind. You felt a lump form in your throat but forced yourself to stay composed.

“Y-Yeah... I made over $500 tonight,” you stammered, your voice barely steady. Not wanting to provoke his impatience, you quickly moved across the room to where you’d stashed your earnings.

Your fingers fumbled slightly as you retrieved the cash, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back. Turning around, you saw his eyes fixed on you, unblinking and expectant.

You took a few steps toward him, holding out the money. “Here. This is everything I made tonight.”

Yunho’s eyes flicked down to the cash before reaching out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the bills from your hand. His expression remained unreadable, his demeanor cool and detached as he began counting the money.

You watched him in silence, your heart racing as you waited for his reaction, unsure of what he would do next.

Yunho’s eyes lingered on the cash for a moment before he tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll be right back,” he said curtly, his voice giving nothing away as he turned and left the room.

Your chest tightened with worry, the memory of Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s conversation echoing in your mind. You couldn’t just sit back and wait.

Quietly, you slipped out of your room, trailing behind Yunho at a safe distance. You kept your footsteps light, your body pressed against the walls as you moved through the dimly lit hallway. The air felt colder, the silence unsettling as you watched him approach Hongjoong’s office.

He knocked once before entering, the door clicking shut behind him. You crept closer, your heart pounding as you leaned in, pressing your ear to the door.

Muffled voices filtered through, their tones low and serious. You could barely make out Hongjoong’s voice, cold and commanding, followed by Yunho’s calm but measured replies.

Your breath caught as the conversation grew more intense, the tension palpable even through the thick wood of the door. You pressed closer, desperately trying to hear more, hoping that Yunho would make it out unscathed.

Suddenly, the voices stopped. Your blood ran cold, panic flaring as you realized the room had gone completely silent. You held your breath, frozen in place, waiting to see what would happen next.

You pressed yourself closer to the door, heart pounding as the conversation grew clearer.

“Yunho,” Hongjoong’s voice was cold, his tone laced with disappointment. “Seonghwa and I know about your little incident earlier. You do realize we agreed—no more of this. We’re not allowed to get involved in these crimes again... not after what happened last time. It almost got Seonghwa killed.”

There was a heavy pause, the weight of Hongjoong’s words sinking in. Through the door, you could feel the tension radiating from the room.

Yunho let out a sigh, his voice quieter as he replied, “I... I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” There was a genuine remorse in his tone, but you could also hear the frustration buried beneath it.

The room went silent again before Hongjoong’s voice cut through, his words cold but calm. “Look, we’re not going to do anything drastic... but you could lose your title for this. We made rules for a reason. If you can’t follow them, you don’t deserve the position you have.”

You could almost picture the scene: Hongjoong’s eyes locked on Yunho, his presence imposing and unwavering. There was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and you realized Hongjoong had stood up.

The air grew heavy, your chest tightening as you heard his footsteps approach Yunho. “We can’t afford any more mistakes,” Hongjoong continued, his voice low. “Get your act together... or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Your blood ran cold, your hands trembling as you clung to the door. You knew Yunho was in trouble, and if Hongjoong was serious, things could get a lot worse. You held your breath, waiting to see how Yunho would respond.

“Yes, boss,” Yunho’s voice was subdued, obedient, his defiance seemingly extinguished. You heard footsteps approaching the door, and your heart leapt in panic.

Without wasting another second, you darted away from the door, hurrying back to your room as quietly as possible. You slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Sitting on your bed, you tried to catch your breath, your mind racing with everything you’d just heard. You couldn’t shake the coldness in Hongjoong’s voice, the threat lingering ominously. What would happen to Yunho now? And if they found out you were eavesdropping...

A sharp knock on your door snapped you out of your thoughts. Your heart jumped, panic briefly flashing through you. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and to your surprise, it was Jongho who stepped inside. He closed the door behind him, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they locked onto you.

“Oh!” you blurted out, guilt from spying on Yunho and Hongjoong still fresh in your mind. You quickly composed yourself, remembering why he was here. “Oh, right... my allowance...” you muttered under your breath, feeling slightly embarrassed for forgetting.

Jongho raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he approached you. “Did you have a good night at work?” he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes seemed to be searching for something, observing you closely.

You nodded, keeping your response brief, the tension from earlier still weighing heavily on you. Jongho stood over you, his presence imposing as his eyes lingered on you, his expression unreadable.

Before he could say anything, another knock interrupted the moment. You sighed, the fatigue and anxiety catching up to you as you turned your head toward the door. Jongho’s eyes narrowed, annoyance flickering across his face as he looked over, clearly displeased by the interruption.

The door creaked open, and Yunho stood there, his face void of emotion, his eyes flicking between you and Jongho. The tension in the room grew heavy, the air thickening as the two men stared each other down.

“It was my turn tonight,” Jongho snapped, his irritation evident as he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing at Yunho. His posture was firm, claiming his authority without hesitation.

Yunho’s jaw tightened, his eyes hardening as he stood his ground. “We both share her,” he retorted coldly, his voice laced with defiance. “And if anything, I was already about to fuck her... I just had to pay Hongjoong back first.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your face flushing a deep shade of red as their words sank in. Their bluntness left no room for misinterpretation, and the realization hit you hard—they were both in the mood, and they both wanted you tonight.

You swallowed, the tension between them palpable as they stood on either side of you, their eyes flicking to you before returning to each other. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your mind spinning as you processed the situation.

Jongho’s eyes narrowed, his irritation turning into something darker, his stance unwavering as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving Yunho. “You had her last time. Tonight, she’s mine.” His voice was firm, possessive, his authority undeniable.

Yunho’s lips curled into a mocking smirk; his demeanor calm but his eyes flashing with challenge. “That’s not how it works, Jongho. We agreed to share, remember?” His tone was taunting, his posture relaxed but his intent unmistakable.

Caught between them, you could feel the tension crackling in the air, their rivalry intensifying right in front of you. Your pulse quickened; your body frozen as you realized you were the center of their standoff.

"Fine. you are so damn greedy now." Jongho hisses. "You can go after me." He finished as he starts lifting your shirt up exposing your skin. You just sat there in shock flickering your eyes on both of them.

"I am not going after you." Yunho glares at Jongho. Jongho smirks pulling you onto his lap. "We are sharing her tonight." Yunho's voice got deeper. You look into Jongho's eyes nervously feeling your face heat up. You shifted on Jongho's lap trying to sit more comfortably until you felt Yunho's hands travel up your body, snaking over your neck caressing your cheeks. You soon started leaning towards Jongho to kiss him, Jongho's lips crashed into yours as you both started making out.

You felt Yunho removing the rest of your clothes off, exposing your entire body to both of them. Jongho was the first to pull away and reattach his lips onto your neck sucking and kissing the skin. You moaned and slowly started moving your hips on Jongho grinding on him. Jongho groaned at the feeling, gripping your waist to keep you moving on him.

"She is so fucking needy." Jongho teased looking up at Yunho. "She is already soaking." Jongho let go of your neck and waist pushing you off causing you to whine. Yunho smirked and immediately pulled you onto his lap.

"Is that so?" Yunho smirked whispering and nipping on your earlobe. You nod softly as Yunho re-adjusts his position underneath you and places both of his hands on your breasts, squeezing them as they were stress balls. You whimpered at the feeling, Yunho smirking at your reactions. Yunho resting his chin on your shoulder as he continues to play with your breasts, squeezing and rubbing them.

Jongho on the other hand was now unzipping his pants, pulling his cock out. Yunho groaned as you started shifting on his lap softly grinding on his crotch.

"Fuck, you are needy." Yunho hisses. You hum in response. "Okay stop teasing me Y/N." Yunho throws you off of him and pins you on the bed.

"So, who is taking what tonight?" Jongho asks. Yunho sighs, looking down at you.

"Actually, I will take her mouth. I want to see her pretty face as I fuck her." Jongho smirks. Yunho nods just accepting it. Yunho flips you over and forces you on your knees as he stands behind you. You watch Jongho go over you and kneel down in front of you.

Yunho slides his hand over in between your folds rubbing two fingers back and forth before doing anything else. You immediately start moaning trying to close your legs together but his other hand grips one thigh to keep them open.

"Yunho!" You moan trying to stay calm, but you can't. Soon Jongho grips your face and presses his tip against your lips forcing himself in. Your eyes started watering but kept moaning and now gagging.

"Fuck..." Jongho curses now gripping ahold of your hair holding it up. You felt Jongho's cock twitch inside your mouth and soon you felt Yunho's hand leave, being replaced with his cock. You felt your insides go into knots as Yunho shoved himself deep inside you.

"She is completely wet..." Yunho breathing got heavy as he slowly started thrusting in and out of you.

"She is enjoying this too much." Jongho groans. You feel Jongho's tip hit the back of your throat causing you to gag and cough out.

"Too much to handle?" Jongho looks down at you keeping himself deep inside your throat. You look up at him feeling completely dizzy, eyes tearing up and you moan louder sending vibrations against Jongho's cock as Yunho slams harder into you. You felt your legs going numb as you kept trying to hold yourself up.

"Stop shaking like a weak scared puppy." Yunho groans and grips your waist tightly, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. You moan out and immediately pull away from Jongho's cock. Drool and saliva stick to your bottom lip and the tip of his cock as you moan loudly from the pleasure Yunho is giving you.

"Fucking bitch." Jongho snaps pulling your hair back and slamming himself back into your mouth. You have no chance to breath or moan. You try to grab ahold of jongho's thighs trying to hold on. Jongho pushes your head deeper, soon you started swirling your tongue around his shaft.

"Fuck I am close..." Jongho curses. Yunho groans bucking his hips into you. Wasn't very long until Jongho came right inside your mouth. Yunho on the other hand was still fucking you and Jongho finally pulled his cock out as he looked down at you leaning towards you.

"Make sure you swallow it all." Jongho speaks as you try to. Your nose scrunches up, but you just obey his order and continue moaning. Yunho hisses as you feel his cock twitch inside you.

"Fuck..." He curses as he releases inside you. You heavily breath out, chest puffing in and out as you try to catch your breath. You whine as Yunho pulls out of you.

"She is completely fucked." Jongho’s smirk deepened as he reached out, his fingers gripping your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

His touch was firm, commanding, yet there was a certain level of control behind it. Your breath hitched, your body tense under his intense gaze. Your eyes were clouded with exhaustion, struggling to stay open after the long night. Everything felt hazy.

"Look at me," Jongho murmured, his voice low but demanding. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his smirk never fading. "I think I can do another round with her." Jongho hums looking into your eyes.

"We can swap places this time. I want to see her pretty face now." Yunho gets up switching sides with Jongho. You felt completely weak and didn't think you could handle a 2nd round with both of them.

You looked at Yunho completely tired. He leans down towards you sitting on his knees.

"You are doing a good job tonight..." Yunho hums caressing your face. You shifted on your knees looking into his eyes blushing as his compliment.

Very soon you felt Jongho slam deep into you causing you to cry out. Your arms gave up and immediately fell onto Yunho's lap feeling over stimulated inside.

"Get up." Yunho picks your face up harshly squeezing your face. You look up at him moaning once again as Jongho grips your waist, pounding into you.

"Jongho!" You moan loudly out gripping onto Yunho's thighs, digging your nails into them looking up at Yunho. Yunho smirked as he presses his cock against your lips. You leave a soft lick against the tip, moaning against it.

"Fuck." Yunho hisses at the feeling. You feel your insides completely melting.

"I don't even think you can fit me in your mouth..." Yunho hums as you continue licking and moaning against him.

"Hm? Got nothing to say?" Yunho smirks. You turn your head to the side but immediately get turned back towards Yunho. He grips your face harshly causing you to whine.

"I bet she is enjoying this." Jongho groans. Yunho nods in agreement as he sits up and pushes himself down your throat. You immediately cough at the feeling of it hitting the back of your throat. You try to swirl your tongue around the shaft as Yunho starts bucking his hips into your throat.

"Fuck. Y/N." Yunho groans throwing his head back as he continues. "She definitely is..." He grips ahold of your hair biting his lower lip.

"She is taking us very well... She deserves a great allowance this week." Jongho readjusts himself before slamming back into you. You were soaked and messy all over.

"I am close again..." Jongho moaned as his thrusts got sloppier, you soon felt another release inside you. Yunho was still fucking you and not very long until he came inside your mouth as well.

"Make sure you swallow it..." Yunho huffs out as he pulls himself out. You nod and try your best feeling completely wrecked and messy.

"I... Can't do anymore..." You whimper feeling your body tremble as you fell onto Yunho's lap after the sessions.

"You did amazing tonight..." Yunho caresses your face, and you can tell they were satisfied with you.

"You need to take a shower and get ready for bed. We will pay you later." Jongho helps you up from Yunho's lap and you nod slightly leaning against Jongho completely exhausted.

"We might need to help her take a shower." Jongho laughs at how weak you are now.

"N-No. I can do it." You huff out pushing yourself up and grabbing clothes to take a shower.

After your shower, you rushed straight to bed, exhaustion weighing down on you. The moment your head hit the pillow, your body relaxed, ready to finally drift into much-needed sleep. But before you could completely unwind, the door creaked open.

Jongho.

You groaned, pulling the blanket up slightly. “Please… I’m too tired. No more,” you whined, your voice muffled against the pillow.

To your surprise, Jongho chuckled. “No, I’m not here for that,” he reassured you, his tone unusually light. “I wanted to give you a gift… along with your allowance.”

That caught your attention. You peeked up at him curiously as he approached your bedside, his usual confident expression softening ever so slightly.

“I was going to do it earlier,” he continued, irritation flashing across his face, “but Yunho interrupted.” His annoyance was evident, but he quickly shook it off, reaching into a bag.

“Don’t tell or show the others I got you this,” he muttered, almost embarrassed as he pulled out a plush teddy bear. The sight of it was almost comical in his hands, so out of place for someone like him. He looked almost… defeated, as if giving it to you made him feel exposed in a way he wasn’t used to.

Your heart warmed at the gesture. A small, genuine smile formed on your lips as you reached for the plush, hugging it tightly against your chest. “It’s very cute. Thank you, Jongho…” you murmured, your voice soft as you nestled into the comfort of the gift.

Jongho cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the moment stretching on. “Anyways… goodnight, Y/N,” he said quickly before turning to leave, his usual composed self-cracking just slightly.

As the door shut behind him, you buried your face into the plush bear, a rare sense of comfort washing over you. With a deep breath, you finally allowed sleep to take over, the tension of the night fading away.

•

DIES.

(Nothing else. No Notes. Sorry y'all I am a true freak.)

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - under the checkered flag (part one)

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which a girl who doesn’t believe in risks takes the biggest one of all—falling for a man who lives for the thrill.

note ; the TikTok that started it all (you need to watch this to envision racer!jk) GUYS I CANT BELIEVE PART ONE IS HEREEEE i hope u lil angels enjoy!

playlist here

series masterlist here

You stand at the edge of the VIP lounge, the sharp click of your heels against the smooth marble floor a quiet punctuation in a room filled with soft murmurs and the electric hum of anticipation. The glass windows before you stretch wide, offering an unobstructed view of the track below. The roar of the crowd rises and falls like a living thing, almost drowned out by the whir of engines, but you remain removed from it all, as though encased in a bubble of calm.

The race is unfolding in front of you, a blur of speed and motion that holds the crowd in rapt attention. But not you. You’re not here for the spectacle. You’re here because you have no choice.

If it was up to you, you would be curled up at home with a good book.

Your world exists in the quiet hum of spreadsheets and contracts, in the tick of a clock that keeps perfect time with your efficiency. You are the one who makes sure the numbers line up, the one who offers solutions from behind the scenes while others bask in the glory. The event, with its flashing lights and intoxicating energy, is nothing more than background noise to you. The true task at hand are your clients—pleasing them, keeping them content, ensuring they leave with what they need.

Around you, they chatter excitedly about the race, discussing drivers with fervor, as if each name carries the weight of a story, a legend. You smile politely when needed, nodding along to their enthusiasm. It’s part of the job, after all. But the adrenaline, the hunger for victory, the dizzying rush of competition—none of it calls to you.

Your clients are electric with excitement, each eager to bask in the glamour of it all. They laugh, they network, they try to rub elbows with the important people in the room, as if each conversation could bring them closer to something more. You, however, remain at the fringes, a quiet observer of the spectacle. You sip your drink, a touch too sweet for your taste, but it’s expected. You nod politely, always maintaining your composure, never letting them see the distance you’ve carefully cultivated.

The cars race by in a blur of metallic color, their engines a symphony of power and precision. But you stand untouched, removed from it all—an island of quiet in the midst of a storm. Your thoughts drift, but not far—always circling back to the task at hand. You are, after all, a woman of purpose.

Still, the world around you shifts ever so slightly. The energy is palpable, like the thrum of an engine idling before it roars to life.

You’re in the middle of a conversation with Nari, one of your clients, who’s standing beside you, happily chatting away about the race. It’s not an unpleasant exchange, though you keep it measured—carefully maintaining the reserved, corporate presence that’s expected of you. You listen, nodding at appropriate intervals, offering the occasional smile as she recounts the excitement surrounding the event.

Nari, unlike the others in your circle, doesn’t seem to care about the business aspect of the evening as much. She’s enjoying herself—really enjoying herself, letting her enthusiasm radiate out. She’s warm, and that makes her easy to talk to, even if you remain a bit distant in the conversation.

Then, in the middle of a sentence, she slaps your arm—not once, but twice. The suddenness of it makes you blink in surprise, your mind instantly jumping to work. You glance at her, half-expecting her to make some point about the contract or a deadline that’s come up.

But when you turn to her, Nari isn’t looking at you with business eyes. She’s gazing intently at the track, eyes wide with awe. “Look!” she says, voice full of excitement.

You glance down at the racing circuit below, but everything is a blur—a sea of people cheering, the cars zipping by at breakneck speeds. You don’t understand what’s drawing her attention, but you follow her gaze to the far end of the track.

And then you see it.

A man stands near the pit crew, a figure who stands out effortlessly, almost as though the world around him fades away. It’s not just his presence—it’s the way the crowd reacts to him. Eyes are locked on him, whispers swirl, and every now and then, a fan cheers what you assume is his name in admiration.

Nari catches the look on your face and laughs softly. “That’s Jeon Jungkook,” she says, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite place, something between awe and admiration. “You’ve heard of him, right?”

You shake your head, still a little lost. “Should I have?” you ask, keeping your tone polite, though it’s laced with curiosity.

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “He’s only one of the best race car drivers in the world. This whole event is basically about him. I would die for just 10 minutes alone with him.”

You follow Nari’s gaze again, watching as “Jungkook” moves with effortless confidence—his every step radiating a quiet, undeniable power. His race car driver’s suit hugs his frame, the white fabric lined with dark accents and the bold logos of his sponsors. The suit, though simple in design, speaks of his place in this world—the world of speed, danger, and high stakes. It’s pristine, a sharp contrast to the messiness of the pit area, yet he fits into it as if he belongs there completely.

But it’s not just the suit that catches your attention. There’s something magnetic about him. The lip piercing—just a small glint of silver beneath his lower lip—gives him an edge, while the eyebrow piercing above his sharp eyes seems to dare the world to approach him. His hands, resting casually at his sides, are covered in tattoos—delicate yet bold designs that snake up his fingers and wrists, visible even beneath the sleeves of his racing suit. His dark hair, tousled just enough to look effortless, adds to the allure, making him seem like a man who’s too cool to care and too talented to be ignored.

You can’t help but look him over. He’s a stark contrast to anyone you’ve known—his raw energy, his daring look, the kind of man you’ve only ever heard about in stories, the kind you’ve never quite crossed paths with. Not that you have much experience in that department. The world you come from is much more… structured. A world of numbers, strategies, and controlled environments. Nothing like this chaotic, exhilarating universe of racing, adrenaline, and the crowds that follow it.

Nari nudges you lightly. “He’s kind of... impossible to miss, don’t you think?”

You nod, still trying to process the whirlwind of everything around you. “I can see that.”

For a moment, you just watch him—a man who seems so comfortable in his world, his confidence radiating with every movement.

Jungkook’s car, marked by his distinctive racing team’s logo, takes its position at the front. He stands next to it, his figure impossibly calm before the storm, waving to the crowd with an easy, practiced smile that seems to light up the entire stadium. The way he moves, the confidence in his every gesture, makes the rest of the world around you blur into the background. All eyes are on him, from the front row of the VIP box to the fans pressing their faces against the barriers.

His smile is magnetic, a gesture that holds the room in its sway, and then—just as quickly as it arrived—he slips behind the wheel, his body moving with a fluidity that hints at a lifetime of discipline. The helmet is a perfect fit, the visor obscuring his face but never hiding the intensity in his posture. His team surrounds him, final checks being made, and then he’s in the car: strapped in, ready to take on the track with the same precision he’s mastered over the years.

You can feel the energy in the room shift, like the collective breath of a thousand people held in unison. As the engines hum louder, the cars tear forward into the first turn, their bodies slicing through the air like knives. You don’t know much about racing, but you can’t help but feel the sheer power, the danger of it all—the skill it takes to navigate at such speeds.

Nari, beside you, is practically vibrating with excitement. She can hardly sit still, her eyes never leaving the track. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she says, her voice a mix of awe and gratitude. She glances at you, her smile wide and genuine. “You’re seriously the best consultant I’ve ever worked with. This event? Amazing! You have to bring me to more of these. I can’t even handle how cool this is!”

You smile, acknowledging her praise, but your attention drifts back to the track. You’ve never seen anything like this before—never experienced a race in person, never felt the air thrum with the excitement of speed and skill. The crowd’s reactions are infectious. Their eyes never leave the cars, their cheers rising and falling with every passing lap. The noise is overwhelming, yet somehow it doesn’t drown out the sharp clarity of the moment. It’s like you can hear the tires gripping the track, the engines growling in perfect synchronization with the heartbeat of the race itself.

And then, there he is again—Jungkook. His car glides effortlessly through each turn, sharp and controlled, never losing speed. It’s almost as if the car is an extension of himself—his hands on the wheel, his foot pressing the pedal, a perfect partnership of man and machine.

The rest of the VIP section is just as absorbed as you are now, their eyes locked on the track. No one seems to care about anything else. All conversations have died down, replaced by the collective focus on the man in the race car. He’s the center of the universe in this moment, and the crowd knows it.

You watch him move, almost hypnotized by the way his car zips around corners, its sleek frame barely brushing the edge of the track. His body remains a steady presence inside the car, every movement smooth, fluid, like he was born to be in this exact moment.

Nari’s voice breaks through your thoughts again, louder this time, almost giddy. “He’s incredible, right? I swear, no one drives like him. He’s untouchable.”

You nod, barely aware of the words you’re saying in response, your gaze still fixed on him. He’s the kind of person who draws attention effortlessly—someone who doesn’t just race; he commands the track, making it seem like the rest of the world moves at a slower pace. It’s almost impossible to look away.

But after a few more minutes of intense watching, everyone seems to fall back into the habit of corporate mannerisms.

The night stretches on, the hours bleeding into one another with a blur of handshakes, small talk, and the kind of polite smiles that never quite reach your eyes. You can feel the weight of the evening in the tightness of your cheeks from all the forced grins, the exhaustion starting to settle into your shoulders. You keep your posture straight, your voice steady, your words measured, as though each conversation is a carefully placed step along the invisible path you’ve created for yourself. But, truth be told, it’s all starting to feel like too much.

The race has come and gone. The crescendo of excitement has dwindled down to polite murmurs and the clinking of glasses, but the energy remains alive in the air, electric, like the hum of a far-off engine. Around you, investors, some of your coworkers, and clients continue their conversations, chirping in your ear with their endless chatter about the race, the drivers, the statistics—everything and anything, as long as it keeps them entertained. And you? You’re just trying to stay afloat, to steer the conversation back to the real reason you’re here: the merger.

You focus on the man in front of you, nodding at the right times, keeping your voice neutral as you slip between sentences about engines and market strategies. Your mind drifts, but you catch yourself, keeping it professional. It’s a balancing act, one you’ve mastered after years of doing the same dance, smiling just enough, listening with enough attention to make them feel heard, but never too much, never enough to let anyone see the quiet retreat inside your head. You nod at the right times, laughing at the jokes that aren’t funny, offering the occasional “That’s right” when a client drones on about the race they just witnessed.

Then, as you try to pull the conversation back toward the merger details with your client—an overly enthusiastic man who seems more interested in talking about his recent investment portfolio than the deal at hand—you hear it.

A ripple. A whisper. A soft murmur of voices, high-pitched and full of excitement. Female voices. And then, the faint sound of heels clicking against the floor, echoing slightly in the VIP box.

You don’t immediately turn, but the shift in the room is subtle. The air grows thicker with anticipation, the laughter quieter, as though everyone is holding their breath. It’s only when a few heads turn, followed by more murmurs, that you realize what’s happening.

Someone important has entered the VIP box.

Someone you recognize from Nari’s earlier fangirling.

Jungkook.

The shift is almost imperceptible at first, a movement in the periphery of your vision that catches your eye—a figure so distinct, so naturally commanding, that it’s hard to miss. He’s not making an announcement, not demanding attention. He simply enters, and it’s as if the room bends around him, reshaping itself in a way that makes him the undeniable center of gravity. His presence is magnetic. Without even trying, he draws every pair of eyes in the room to him.

You hear the soft laughter of women who have gathered around, trying to look casual, trying to seem unbothered, but the way they adjust themselves, the quick flickers of glances—they can’t help but steal a look at him. And you? You feel the sudden pressure of the moment—his presence now hanging thick in the air like an unspoken truth.

You try to keep your focus on the client in front of you, but your gaze inevitably slips toward him. There he is, still in his racing suit, but now a little looser, his jacket untucked as he walks through the crowd. His casual swagger, the way his head tilts slightly as he acknowledges a few familiar faces—everything about him oozes confidence. He’s not trying to be noticed. But somehow, he is.

Your heart races in a different way now—not because of the speed of the race, but because of the way he moves, the way the crowd subtly parts to make room for him, as if they know who he is and who they are in comparison. He’s an anomaly, a figure who doesn’t belong to this world of quiet mergers and business deals.

You can feel a flutter in your chest, an inexplicable tension rising, but you push it down. You can’t focus on that now. You can’t focus on him. Not with the clients still chattering away, not with your responsibilities still weighing heavily on you. Yet, you can’t ignore the way the room feels suddenly sharper, the air charged with an energy you hadn’t felt before.

There’s a soft rustle of clothing behind you, and when you glance back, you see Nari slipping through the crowd toward Jungkook, her excitement evident in the way her eyes brighten. She’s not the only one. The women around the room are shifting, making their way toward him with a subtle urgency, like moths to a flame.

You return to your client, attempting to steer the conversation back to business, but your mind is drifting again. You can’t help it. You’re aware of every shift in the room, every small movement he makes. He hasn’t looked in your direction yet, but you feel the gravity of his presence—his proximity changing the way you see everything in this space.

For a moment, you wonder why everyone is so captivated. What is it about him that makes it impossible for anyone to look away?

Jungkook moves through the crowd with the effortless grace of someone who has long ago learned the rhythm of the world he inhabits. He’s calm, composed, exchanging polite handshakes with the investors who surround him, his presence making each gesture seem deliberate, calculated. The hum of voices rises and falls in time with his movements, the crowd parting for him like a river parting for a stone. He’s not rushing, not in a hurry. He’s here because he belongs here.

As he works the room, the questions swirl in your mind. Why is he here? What’s the connection? You can’t imagine him needing anything from these people—not with his reputation, not with the wealth and fame that follow him wherever he goes. But still, there’s something about the way the investors are all hanging on his every word, leaning in as though his presence is a golden ticket. You can’t help but wonder if it’s all about money, if this event has as much to do with business as it does with the race itself.

The realization is jarring for a moment. You, someone who is used to orchestrating behind the scenes, someone who deals in numbers and contracts, now find yourself in a room where money and power are on display in ways that are almost foreign to you.

The buzz of conversation shifts, and before you can dive back into your thoughts, Nari is suddenly beside you, her voice loud with excitement, a bright flush of energy in her cheeks. “I can’t believe it!” she practically squeals, looking like she might burst. “He just shook my hand—he shook my hand. I need him so badly, you have no idea.”

You blink, caught off guard by the intensity of her words. She’s practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide as she looks back toward him. There’s a kind of longing in her gaze, something that makes the entire room seem a little more... charged, as though everyone’s attention is fixated on him in a way that you simply can’t understand.

You nod, offering a half-hearted smile. “Oh, wow.” The words are polite, simple, just enough to acknowledge her enthusiasm without drawing too much attention to yourself. You’re not sure what to say—what can you say? She’s swept up in the excitement of the moment, but you can’t bring yourself to share that same energy.

Instead, you find your gaze slipping to the snack table at the far side of the room. You don’t want to be in the center of all this, don’t want to be caught up in the growing buzz surrounding him. You slide away from Nari, keeping your movements minimal, your presence as unnoticeable as possible.

The snack table is a welcome refuge—quiet, untouched by the frenzy of the crowd. You stand there for a moment, inhaling the sharp, tangy scent of the cheeses and the subtle sweetness of the wine, a quiet comfort in the sea of noise around you. You nibble on a small piece of cheese, your fingers careful and measured as you pop it into your mouth, savoring the simple relief of it.

Your eyes flick to Jungkook once more—he’s still shaking hands, still effortlessly charming those around him with his easy smile. But now, you feel distant from it all. The noise, the chatter, the way people react to him—it’s all so foreign to you. You slip another piece of cheese into your mouth, focusing on the taste, the quiet that surrounds this small corner of the room. It’s easier here, simpler. You don’t need to pretend, don’t need to keep up with the energy everyone else is feeding off.

And for the briefest moment, you wonder if this is how the world of racing works—how Jungkook works. Not for the thrill, not for the rush, but for the way it makes everyone around him move a little differently, makes them feel things they didn’t know they could. The thought doesn’t linger long before you pull yourself back to the present, focusing instead on the taste of the wine, the cool glass in your hand, the familiar comfort of a world you understand.

The hum of conversation from the other side of the room feels distant now, muffled by the quiet solace of the snack table. You nibble on the cheese with a soft sigh of relief, the familiar taste grounding you. The wine has a slight sweetness, and it’s just enough to keep you in the moment, away from the chaos of the night. The tension from before starts to melt away, and for a few seconds, you let your mind wander—distracted, content with the quiet rhythm of the evening.

You hum lightly to yourself, just enough to fill the space around you but not enough to draw attention. The world feels a little more manageable from here, and you savor that, the small comfort of solitude. You barely even notice the shift in the air at first—the subtle change in the atmosphere that suggests someone has approached.

It isn’t until you feel it—the shift of warmth beside you—that you glance to your left.

And there he is.

Jungkook. Standing beside you. His presence is so undeniable, so magnetic, that it feels like the rest of the room fades just for a second. He’s close, closer than you anticipated, and the sharp contrast between his energy and the calmness of your little corner hits you all at once. The way he stands, so comfortably in his own skin, his posture relaxed but undeniably confident—it makes everything else around you seem smaller.

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, your mouth still full of cheese. You’ve barely swallowed when his voice breaks through the moment, teasing, light. “I think you’re the first person here not begging for my attention,” he says with a sly smile, his eyes glinting with amusement.

For a split second, you almost choke—cheese threatening to go down the wrong way—but you manage to swallow, your throat suddenly tight with nerves. You cough lightly, your cheeks flushing instantly at the way his words sink in. Begging for his attention? You weren’t begging for anything. You hadn’t even expected to be noticed by him at all.

You look up at him, trying to compose yourself, but the sudden proximity makes everything feel a little too overwhelming. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the flush spreading across your face, but you don’t dare look away from him. Not with him so close, his smile like a direct challenge to your calm.

He’s even more striking up close—everything you’d caught from a distance now amplified. The faintest trace of cologne drifts in the air, something fresh and woodsy, like a walk through a forest after the rain—sharp, clean, and oddly comforting. His scent clings to the space around you, making it feel like he belongs in this small, intimate moment with you. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s enough to make your pulse race in a way you don’t expect.

His face is sharp, defined in a way that makes you almost forget to breathe. His jawline is strong, perfectly sculpted. But it’s his eyes—those big, dark eyes that hold you, flickering with mischief—that draw you in completely. They’re intense, like he’s looking right through you, and yet there’s an ease to him, a calmness that contrasts the usual intensity of his presence. The smile on his lips is soft, almost like he’s amused by something only he knows.

His racing suit is open at the collar, the fabric still tight enough around his shoulders to highlight the muscle beneath. You can see the tattoos again, this time more defined in the soft light—the intricate designs that snake down his hands and wrists, the way they seem to tell stories of places he’s been, people he’s known. They make him feel untouchable, like someone who belongs to a world you don’t understand.

But what really gets to you, what truly stops you for a moment, is the way he stands so effortlessly. There’s no pretense, no act. It’s just Jungkook—confident, unbothered, and entirely himself. And you, the shy, reserved woman who doesn’t know how to even respond to the comment he just made, find yourself completely at a loss.

You chew the inside of your cheek, still trying to compose yourself, and force a smile, but it’s a weak one, barely holding up under the weight of his gaze. “I—I wasn’t really—” You clear your throat, still feeling a little breathless. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore anyone.”

His grin widens, like he’s amused by the awkwardness you’re trying to hide. “No harm done,” he says, his voice low, warm, and entirely too captivating. The way he looks at you, almost like he’s studying you, makes it hard to focus on anything but the feeling of his presence beside you.

In that moment, you realize you’re standing far too close to him. You take a small step back, trying to maintain some sense of space, but the tension between you feels electric, sparking in the quiet gap that’s now between you. His gaze never wavers, though.

There’s a beat of silence between you, one that stretches just long enough for you to feel every little awkward movement, every small shift in your body. You can feel the heat still lingering in your cheeks, but you try to focus on the moment at hand—on the cheese, at least. It’s easier that way.

You glance down at the spread, your hand reaching out without thinking, grabbing another small wedge of cheese, and offering it to him. You can’t help it. It feels like something you should do, a simple gesture to fill the space and keep things light.

“Would you like some?” you ask, your voice far quieter than you’d like it to be. You hold the piece of cheese out toward him, your hand trembling just slightly at the edge of the plate.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker to the cheese for a moment, and then back to you. His lips twitch upward in an amused smile, the kind that seems to reach his eyes as well, making them sparkle in the soft light. He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his gaze.

“No thanks,” he says, his tone warm and playful. “I’m good.”

You nod, feeling a little foolish but trying to brush it off. “Right, of course. You’ve probably had enough to eat before this with all the racing... and the shaking hands,” you add with a faint, awkward laugh, hoping it will hide the embarrassment that’s suddenly crawling up your neck.

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you can feel his gaze still lingering on you—intense, curious, like he’s trying to figure you out. You shift uncomfortably, biting your lip, trying to think of an excuse to slip away. Your mind races, trying to find the perfect moment to exit without drawing too much attention to your awkwardness.

“So, uh…” You clear your throat, trying to sound casual, but the nervousness makes it impossible. “I should probably—uh—get back to my clients.” You take a small step back, but Jungkook doesn’t make it easy. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make any effort to let you go. Instead, he just smiles wider, watching you with that same unshakable intensity.

“You sure?” he asks, almost like he’s genuinely intrigued. His voice drops a little, softer now, but still playful. “You’re not leaving because of me, are you?”

Your cheeks burn again. You wish there was a hole in the floor you could crawl into. Why is he so intense?

“No, no, I just—” You stumble over your words. “Just… a lot of work. You know.” You laugh nervously, but it sounds like something forced, something too hollow.

You can feel the weight of the conversation press in on you, like the walls are closing in with each passing second. You offer a tight smile, hoping it’s convincing. “It was nice talking to you, though. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You take another small step back, but Jungkook leans in just a little, his voice low enough that it feels like it’s just for you, a private joke between the two of you.

“You know,” he begins, his smile still tugging at his lips, “you’re the first person I’ve met tonight who hasn’t been totally starstruck by me. It’s… kind of refreshing.”

His gaze flickers down to the cheese again, and you see the teasing glint in his eyes. It’s like he’s playing a game, but you’re still trying to catch up.

You glance at the plate again, trying to avoid his gaze. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be too obvious about it,” you say with a nervous laugh, hoping your attempt at humor doesn’t come off completely awkward. “I mean, it’s just cheese.”

Jungkook laughs, and it’s a warm, low sound that seems to make the air around you feel a little lighter. You look up to see that he’s still watching you, his eyes filled with that same curiosity.

You swallow, still feeling the heat of your blush, trying to keep your composure. “I—uh, I’ll let you get back to your…” You glance around the room, trying to find something to distract yourself with. “Fans,” you finish lamely, gesturing vaguely to the women still surrounding him.

He raises an eyebrow, amused, as if your attempt to pull away is both endearing and mildly amusing. “Right. Fans.”

You take another step back, your hand instinctively reaching for your glass of wine, though it’s still mostly full. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you as you start to turn away, but you don’t look back. You can’t. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll never escape this moment with him.

Social interactions were never your strong suit. Better luck next time.

You slip away from the table, but as you move through the crowd, you can’t quite shake the feeling that Jungkook’s presence is following you. You make your way to the group of clients, trying to dive back into the sea of business chatter, but your mind keeps drifting. You catch yourself glancing around the room, as if waiting for something—anything—to pull your attention away from the chaos of the evening.

And then, of course, there’s the unmistakable sound of chatter about Jungkook, quiet but deliberate. You don’t need to turn around to know who won’t shut up—Nari.

She’s yapping away to some of your colleagues, other girls you work with that are swept up by Jungkook. There’s a few moments where you wonder if you should join, take some time to yourself to listen in on what they have to say about him, but you hold yourself back.

You end up spending more time burying yourself in the crowd, talking to any man who has ears. After all, your boss and you were managing the largest merger of the year and it would be incredibly irresponsible not to focus on the task at hand.

However, after twenty minutes of empty conversations and nothing getting you closer to your goal, you excuse yourself to go to the restroom and freshen up.

On your way, you discreetly look around for Jungkook—not like you care, but just out of curiosity. As any sane person would do.

You sigh quietly to yourself, shuffling towards the restroom. As you walk down the hallway, you see a buff figure walking towards you. It really is quite dark in the hallway, they should really—Ah fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sirens are going off in your head like someone’s under arrest. But it’s too late. He’s already there.

He stops in front of you, blocking your path to the bathroom. “Leaving the snack table so soon?” Jungkook’s voice is light, but there’s something about it that still makes your heart skip a beat. He is close enough for you to feel his presence but not so close that it feels suffocating. His tone is playful, teasing, as if he’s aware of how you’re trying to avoid him.

“I thought you were just getting started with the cheese,” he adds, his lips curling into that mischievous smile again.

You pause, glancing over your shoulder to see if anyone can save you, your expression betraying nothing but a slight flicker of embarrassment. “I, uh… I had to get back to my clients.” Your voice is quieter now, more measured, the words leaving your mouth carefully. You try to stay calm, despite the heat still rushing to your face. “You’ve got plenty of people to talk to, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t seem to be deterred. He leans in slightly, his smile widening, but his gaze softens just enough that you notice the change. “Not everyone, though.” He pauses, his eyes briefly scanning over you. “Everyone else is... well, they’re all talking to me, but no one’s really listening, you know? It’s not the same.”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain your composure. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“No worries,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, the hint of something more vulnerable flashing in his eyes for just a moment. “I’ll talk. You don’t have to.”

There’s a slight playfulness there, but also something more genuine in the way he’s looking at you now. “I’m just curious. You don’t seem like you’re here for all this. The whole… racing thing.”

You blink, surprised by his perceptiveness. “I’m here for work,” you say, your voice almost reflexive. You don’t know why you feel the need to justify it, but you do. It’s who you are. It’s what you do.

Jungkook’s eyes remain on you, his curiosity still simmering beneath the surface. He doesn’t push, but there’s a quiet persistence in his gaze. “That’s fair,” he says, nodding. “But you know, sometimes... people miss out on the good stuff when they’re too focused on work.”

You can’t help but laugh lightly, though it feels slightly awkward. “I’m not really one for distractions.”

He smirks, eyes dancing with amusement. “I wouldn’t call me a distraction,” he says, voice lowering ever so slightly. “More like… a different perspective.”

You hesitate, unsure of how to respond. Something about the way he’s looking at you makes the air feel thick, but not uncomfortable—just charged with that same curiosity that keeps you on edge. But the last thing you want to do is make things more complicated than they already are.

“I’m not—” You stop yourself, realizing you’re just rambling now. “I’m not really someone who… stands out.” The words slip out before you can stop them, but as soon as they do, you regret it. You want to take them back.

“Hm,” He whispers, leaning in and looking around like he’s sharing a secret with you. “I disagree.”

And with that, he turns on his heel, brushes past you, and disappears back into the room of investors and financial advisors.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It’s a slow Saturday, the kind that moves at its own pace, unbothered by the rush of the world. You savor days like this—quiet, predictable, wrapped in the small comforts of your routine. Grocery shopping, yoga, a few errands. Nothing extraordinary, nothing chaotic. Just peaceful.

You hum softly to yourself as you push your cart down the aisle, scanning the shelves for the last few things on your list. The fluorescent lights above hum just as softly, the occasional beep of a barcode scanner echoing somewhere in the distance.

Your grocery store isn’t a grand, upscale market—it’s just the one closest to your apartment, the same one you’ve been going to for years. It’s the cutest little shop, nothing like those expensive groceries in the middle of the city. You’ve never even spotted a celebrity here, despite Seoul being a city where that should be possible. But that’s fine with you. You prefer the anonymity, the ability to mind your business in your leggings and oversized hoodie, hair barely tamed into a ponytail.

You reach for a box of cereal, standing on your tiptoes to grab it from the top shelf. But the moment your fingers brush against it, disaster strikes.

A domino effect.

One box tips, then another, and before you can react, an entire row of brightly colored cereal boxes comes tumbling down in an avalanche of poor balance and regret.

You yelp softly, scrambling to catch at least one of them, but your coordination fails you miserably. The boxes hit the ground in a loud thud, rolling slightly before settling in a messy pile at your feet.

You stare at the disaster, your brain short-circuiting as you try to decide whether to pretend it never happened or make a run for it. But then—

A low chuckle.

A very familiar chuckle.

A chuckle you heard less than 24 hours ago.

You freeze, your entire body stiffening before you slowly turn your head.

And there, standing way too close in your very normal, very not-celebrity-worthy grocery store, is Jeon Jungkook.

Holding a carton of almond milk and pushing a cart full of groceries.

Dressed in a black hoodie, sweatpants, and a backward cap, looking annoyingly good for a man just trying to buy groceries.

You blink, convinced you’re hallucinating. This can’t be real. Why is he here? Why is Jeon Jungkook grocery shopping like a normal person, in your store, might you add?

His grin widens when your eyes meet, pure amusement lighting up his face. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he muses, crouching down to pick up one of the fallen cereal boxes. “Or are awkward encounters just your thing?”

Your soul tries to exit your body.

You open your mouth, but no words come out, your brain still struggling to bridge the gap between last night’s VIP suite and this very ordinary grocery store aisle.

“Are you…?” You trail off, because duh, of course he’s him. There’s no mistaking those tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves, the lip piercing catching the light as he smirks at you like you’re the most amusing thing he’s seen all day.

Jungkook tilts his head, as if waiting for you to finish your sentence. When you don’t, he laughs lightly. “Am I what? Grocery shopping? Yeah. Kind of unavoidable if I wanna eat.”

You blink again, your brain still short-circuiting. “I just— I mean, I didn’t think you did normal things like this.”

His grin turns downright mischievous. “What do you think I do? Have groceries magically appear in my fridge?”

You fluster, feeling ridiculous. “Well… kind of?”

He laughs, shaking his head as he hands you one of the cereal boxes. “Nah, I like picking out my own snacks. What if my assistant gets the wrong ones?” His voice dips slightly, playful. “I take my cereal very seriously.”

You let out an exhale, trying to find your footing in this conversation. “I see,” you murmur, glancing down at the boxes scattered around your feet. “Unfortunately, I seem to have tried to kill them all.”

Jungkook lets out a dramatic sigh, crouching again to pick up more. “Tragic. They never stood a chance.” He looks up at you, eyes twinkling. “But hey, you’re consistent. First nearly choking on cheese, now this. What’s next? Knocking over a fruit stand?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Please don’t remind me about the cheese.”

“But it was my favorite part,” he teases. “Seeing you all flustered.”

You huff, quickly gathering the rest of the cereal and shoving it back onto the shelf. “I wasn’t flustered.”

Jungkook leans against the cart he just now retrieved, his smirk lazy, knowing. “Mmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced at all.

You clear your throat, desperate to change the subject. “So, um… do you always shop here?”

He shrugs. “It’s close to my place. And quieter than those big department stores. Less people trying to take pictures of me while I buy bananas.”

You stare at him. “People take pictures of you while you buy bananas?”

“Oh, yeah,” he deadpans. “One time, a fan took a picture of my shopping cart and started analyzing what kind of guy I was based on my snack choices.”

Your eyes widen. “And what was the verdict?”

Jungkook sighs. “Apparently, my protein bar choices scream ‘emotionally unavailable.’”

You snort. “Well, they might not be wrong.”

His jaw drops in playful offense. “Wow. And here I thought we were getting along.”

You laugh, feeling yourself relax—until his expression shifts, something softer in his gaze now. He studies you for a moment before speaking.

“I was actually hoping I’d see you again,” he admits, and your stomach flips violently. “You left so fast last night, I didn’t get the chance to ask for your number.”

Your brain short-circuits again. You blink up at him, completely dumbfounded. “Wait. Why would you want my number?”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, amused. “Because I want to text you?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle to find an answer that makes any sense. “But… why?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You don’t. Not at all.

The idea that he—a man who could have anyone, a man who’s probably been linked to actresses and models and the kind of women who look like they belong in his world—would want to text you is beyond comprehension.

So you do the only thing you can think of.

You smile politely and say, “I appreciate it, but… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jungkook blinks, caught off guard for the first time since this conversation started. “Wait. Are you rejecting me?”

You shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too warm. “I just… don’t think we’re the kind of people who text each other.”

He looks at you for a long moment before shaking his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You clutch your cart a little tighter. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He exhales, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Then, with a playful salute, he backs away. “Alright. No number—for now.” He winks. “But I have a feeling this isn’t the last time we’ll run into each other.”

And with that, he disappears down the aisle, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, wondering how on earth your quiet Saturday turned into that.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Monday morning, you find yourself back at your desk, the quiet hum of the office filling the space around you. The excitement of the race lingers, its echoes still vibrating in the air. Clients are still singing your praises in your email inbox, and your boss is smiling more than usual, clearly impressed by the successful merger. For the first time in a while, you feel like you’ve done something right. The buzz of the event, of the energy you felt while navigating the chaos, is a distant memory, but it lingers in a more subtle way—quietly at the back of your mind.

You sip your coffee, staring at the screen in front of you, but your thoughts drift every now and then. The loud office, the steady rhythm of typing, all fades out a little when you remember your Saturday. Jungkook’s smile, his presence... it’s all still there in fragments, playing in your mind. You shake your head, trying to push it down. No need to revisit it. Not now.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Jisoo’s voice breaks through your thoughts, bright and full of energy as always. You look up to see her standing in front of your desk, her hand on her hip and a wide grin on her face. Jisoo, your coworker, your work best friend and polar opposite, always seems to bring light with her wherever she goes. Her laughter is loud, her confidence undeniable. If you had a tenth of her charm, you’d feel unstoppable. But you don’t. And that’s fine. You just admire it from afar, wishing you could be more like her.

She tilts her head, eyeing you for a second. “How was the race Friday night?” she asks, sliding into the chair across from you without waiting for a response. “Clients were probably all over you. Everyone is still talking about it.”

You shrug casually, hiding the way your heart rate picks up at the mention of the event. “It was fine,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “Same as any other corporate event. Just a lot of small talk.”

Jisoo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Small talk? You saw all those famous drivers. Some of the most handsome guys out there! Bet you had a blast.”

You shake your head with a soft laugh, pushing the thought of Jungkook back where it belongs. “Yeah, it’s not really my scene. The clients were happy, though, so that’s what counts.”

Jisoo leans forward, narrowing her eyes with that playful glint you’ve seen a thousand times before. “Hmm… that totally doesn’t sound convincing. There’s gotta be something interesting that happened. Something crazy? Don’t leave me hanging.”

You feel your cheeks warm just at the thought, but you quickly wave it off, your hands busy shuffling papers on your desk. “Nothing really. Just a lot of racing and cheering.”

Jisoo raises an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced. She glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot before lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Wait, hold up. Wasn’t that sexy driver Jeon Jungkook there?” She grins widely, like she’s figured out some huge secret.

Your heart stutters for a second, and you try to play it cool. You casually shrug, pretending like you don’t care. “I don’t know. I don’t really keep track of the drivers.” Your voice is light, but inside you’re anything but calm. The heat creeping up your neck betrays you.

Jisoo’s grin only widens, clearly enjoying the moment. “Uh-huh. Sure. I see the way you’re reacting right now. You have a celebrity crush on him, don’t ya?”

You feel the flush in your cheeks deepen, and you quickly take a sip of your coffee, hoping it’ll hide your embarrassment. “I mean... he was there. Yeah.” You try to make it sound like it doesn’t matter, like you didn’t notice the way his presence shifted the energy in the room, but your tone is too soft, too uncertain. Jisoo is practically bouncing in her seat with amusement.

“Uh-huh. And I bet you’re also going to tell me you didn’t catch a glimpse of him at all?” she teases, leaning forward now, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “The guy with the tattoos and the eyebrow piercing? The one who looks like he was born to be the center of attention?”

You swallow, suddenly feeling trapped in your own embarrassment. “Okay, fine,” you admit, trying to shrug it off. “He looked... fine.” Your voice is barely a whisper at the end, and Jisoo bursts out laughing.

“I knew it! You look like you’re ready to faint.” She pauses, grinning like she’s uncovered the biggest secret of the year. “You are totally flustered, and it is adorable.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands for a second, but Jisoo only laughs harder. “Oh, come on! You have to admit—he’s got the whole bad-boy charm down, huh? I mean, who wouldn’t be a little flustered?”

You shake your head, trying to hide your growing smile. “I wasn’t flustered. I just... hate this conversation topic.” Your voice sounds weak even to your own ears, but Jisoo seems to take that as all the confirmation she needs.

“You totally are.” She shakes her head, still grinning. “It’s okay, though. I get it. I mean, we don’t usually meet guys like him in our usual work world.”

You wince slightly, but Jisoo just gives you a wink, clearly teasing but with no malice behind it.

Just as you try to collect your thoughts, to brush off the teasing from Jisoo, your work phone rings, cutting through the tension like a lifeline. You nearly jump out of your seat, grateful for the distraction. Jisoo, ever the playful force of nature, grins even wider, leaning over your desk to grab the phone with a mischievous look in her eyes.

“Hello, this is (Y/N)’s phone,” she says in a mock-serious tone, her fingers tapping at the bobblehead on your desk in time with the words, clearly enjoying herself. “How may we help you today?”

You raise an eyebrow, exasperated but relieved that the attention is off of you for a moment. Jisoo’s antics, as usual, are borderline absurd, but they’re what you need to keep your mind from spiraling. She waves the phone around a little, tossing the bobblehead in the air and catching it again, all while you try to ignore her antics and focus on the tasks at hand.

Then, you hear the voice on the other end. A man’s voice, smooth but businesslike, and it immediately pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Is this (Y/N) (L/N)?” the voice asks, formal and crisp.

You freeze, blinking at Jisoo as she gives you a confused look. You didn’t expect a work call at this hour. You rip the phone out of her hand. “Uh, yes, this is (Y/N),” you say hesitantly, wondering who it could be. You didn’t recognize the voice, and the formal tone sets off a strange feeling in your stomach.

“Great,” the man continues, not missing a beat. “I’m calling on behalf of Jeon Jungkook. You may have met him in the VIP box at the racing event on Friday.”

For a brief second, the world seems to tilt. You hear the words “Jeon Jungkook” and your mind goes blank. The name registers, but everything around you suddenly feels a little… fuzzy. Jungkook? Why would he be calling you? Better yet, how the fuck did this dude get your work number?

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you slam the phone down, your heart racing in your chest. The noise of it hitting the receiver echoes in your ears like a deafening gong.

Jisoo’s eyes go wide, her playful demeanor completely wiped off her face. “What was that??” she asks, leaning back in her chair with raised eyebrows, clearly confused and a little amused.

You stare at the phone for a moment, unsure of what just happened. The shock is settling in, but you’re still stuck on the absurdity of the call. Was this some kind of joke? You slowly pick the phone back up, your voice soft and shaky. “Sorry, I’m here,” you say, clearly flustered. “What… what was that about?”

The man’s voice comes back, just as calm and formal as before. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Jungkook’s manager. He wanted to get to know you better, and I’m calling to see if you’d be open to that. Maybe you could meet with him sometime?”

You freeze again. You can barely process the words. This doesn’t make sense. Why on earth would Jungkook, the famous race car driver, want to meet you? You’re literally just a girl, the quiet one who barely makes waves. The idea of it is almost laughable.

You’re aware that Jisoo has been silently watching you the entire time, her eyes locked on the phone with a curious, mischievous glint. Her hand hovers near the receiver, waiting for you to react. You feel her gaze on you, but your brain is too overwhelmed to process much else.

“Uh, what?” You barely whisper it, as though saying it aloud would make it real. Your voice is barely a sound, and yet the words hang in the air like a strange invitation that you never asked for.

The man on the phone continues, his voice still calm, but you can hear the faintest note of uncertainty. “Sorry, I know this might be weird. It could be a casual hangout, nothing too formal. He just wanted to know if that’s something you might be interested in.”

Your mind is whirling. This is not happening. This is too much. You’re just trying to make a living, trying to do your job. You’re not someone who would—could—be on Jungkook’s radar. Why would he be interested in you?

Before you can make any decision, before you can even properly process the insanity of the situation, Jisoo, ever the opportunist, rips the phone from your hand. “Hello?” she says cheerfully, clearly not noticing your state of shock. “I’d love to meet with him. When would he be free?”

She’s already grinning like a Cheshire cat, and without missing a beat, she adds, “Oh, and you can just text the details to me. Thanks.”

She gives the man your cell number.

You stare at her in disbelief as she hangs up, completely unaware of your growing panic. Jisoo looks up from the phone with a broad grin. “There! It’s all taken care of. I’m sure Jungkook will be thrilled to meet you.”

You blink, trying to process what just happened. “Jisoo, no! I don’t—” You feel a knot form in your stomach. “Why did you do that? I don’t even know what’s going on! This is insane!”

She shrugs, still smiling. “You’re welcome! Don’t worry, you’ll thank me later when you’re hanging out with Jeon Jungkook. Why the fuck are you not ecstatic right now?”

You can’t find the words to explain how out of your depth you feel right now. You wanted no part in this, no entanglements with a race car driver, especially one as out of reach as Jungkook.

You sit there, in stunned silence, trying to get a grip on what just happened. Jungkook’s manager—his manager—called you.

Jisoo’s grin only widens as she watches your face slowly turn a deeper shade of red. She leans back in her chair, clearly enjoying the chaos she’s just set in motion. “I just gave you a golden opportunity, and I’m pretty sure Jungkook is going to be head over heels for you in no time.”

You bury your face in your hands for a moment, overwhelmed by the rush of it all. “Jisoo, I don’t—this is insane! Why would he be interested in me? I don’t even know how to talk to people at these events. I literally choked on cheese in front of him.”

Jisoo laughs loudly, drawing the attention of a couple of nearby coworkers. “Oh please,” she says with a dramatic eye roll, clearly not buying it. “Clearly, you’ve got this whole I’m just a little scared shy girl thing going on, and you’re the only person who isn’t swooning over him. That’s what makes you so intriguing. You’re sooo chill about everything.”

She smirks, her fingers tapping on the desk. “And let’s be honest, you’re not exactly hard to look at either.”

You nearly choke on your own air at her comment. “Stop it, seriously,” you mutter, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. You’re too embarrassed to even look at her now, feeling like the walls are closing in.

Jisoo watches you with a knowing smile. “I mean, he’s a race car driver, and he’s interested in you,” she says, practically swooning with dramatic flair. “This is like every rom-com plot you could ever dream of! You’re totally going to fall for him, I can already tell.”

You groan, sinking lower into your chair. “This is not a rom-com, Jisoo. It’s a nightmare.”

She leans forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah, well, in the rom-com, the shy girl always ends up with the cool, charming guy, doesn’t she? But instead of running away, you should go for it. Trust me, I’m good at reading these things.”

You look at her, horrified. “I don’t want anything to do with this. I just—he’s not my type. I’m not his type.”

Jisoo scoffs dramatically. “You don’t even know your type! Maybe Jungkook is your type. Have you ever even given it a chance?”

Before you can answer, your cell phone buzzes, pulling you out of the whirlwind conversation. You glance at the phone screen, feeling your heart jump into your throat as you see an unrecognized number pop up.

Your finger hesitates over the screen before you reluctantly swipe to open the message. Your eyes widen as you read the text:

"Hey, it’s Jungkook. Was kinda harder to find you than I thought it would be. Hope you’re okay with my manager calling you, I know that might’ve been weird."

You blink a few times, staring at the message as if it might disappear, but the words remain, taunting you from the screen. Your fingers freeze over your phone, and you can feel your heartbeat accelerate. What in the world is happening?

Jisoo, clearly seeing your reaction, leans in eagerly, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Oh my god, is that him? Is that his text? You have to show me!”

You’re too stunned to respond right away, your face burning as you hold the phone in front of her. She snatches it from your hands without hesitation, her eyes dancing with glee as she reads the message aloud in a dramatic whisper.

She looks up from the screen, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh. My. God.” She says, her voice almost a shriek. “This is so much better than I ever imagined. He’s flirting with you! He literally said he had to find you. Do you know what that means?!”

You shake your head slowly, in total disbelief. “This is too much.”

Jisoo shakes the phone in your face. “No, this is perfect,” she says, barely able to contain her excitement. “You’ve got a race car driver hitting on you! What is wrong with you?”

You close your eyes and press your palms to your forehead. “I don’t know, I’m just... so confused.”

Jisoo stands up, grabbing her own phone from her desk. “You’re going to reply to him, okay? And you’re going to do it now.” She waves her phone around in the air like she’s orchestrating some kind of performance. “This is your chance. You can’t just let it slip away like some boring corporate drone. You need to text him back.”

“Jisoo, I can’t,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know what to say to him. What does he want with me?”

Jisoo looks at you, her eyes wide with exaggerated seriousness. “You’re going to text him, and you’re going to make it clear that you’re not some shy girl who can’t handle a little attention.” She smiles mischievously. “Just text him back. And if you can’t do that, I’ll literally rip the phone from your hand and do it for you.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can speak, Jisoo grabs the phone out of your hand and types away at the screen with lightning speed.

“Done,” she says, grinning like a cat who’s caught the canary.

“What did you—” You stop yourself as she quickly hands you the phone. The message has been sent.

You look at her in pure shock. “Jisoo, you didn’t…”

“Oh yes, I did,” she says, practically skipping around your desk. “You’re welcome. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

You stare at the message she sent: “Hey! Thanks for reaching out. It wasn’t weird, don’t worry.”

Before you can say anything else, Jisoo gives you a wink and turns to walk back to her desk, completely unfazed by the whirlwind she’s created.

You look down at the phone in your hand, its screen glowing with the weight of a decision you’re not ready to make. The thought of being pulled into a world like Jungkook’s—one filled with chaos, adrenaline, and a dangerous kind of freedom—feels foreign to you, like a path you’re meant to observe from a distance, never walk. You’ve always preferred the quiet, steady hum of the sidelines, watching the world swirl around you without ever getting caught in its current.

Your life, in all its routine and predictability, feels safe, contained. You’ve spent years navigating the corporate world, where the language is numbers, the rules are clear, and nothing is left to chance.

Your ex boyfriend was just like you—someone who understood the rhythms of work, someone who shared your focus on the future, the steady climb up the ladder. People like Jungkook, with their wild tattoos, sharp piercings, and the constant rush of danger, are the antithesis of everything you’ve ever wanted. He’s everything you’ve carefully kept at arm’s length.

But now, here you are—unexpectedly entangled in a world you never asked to be part of, a world that feels as reckless as it is foreign.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @yooniepot @bookstoread199 @pipipipiiiii @someonegoood @vintagemoonsstuff @kittisuuuuu @ttanniett @loonareads @jincapableoflove @jkxlvrr @taekrve @jenniebyrubies @senaqsstuff @somisarchive @somehowukook @mysjammy @busanbby-jjk @mimi1097 @mikrokosmosellen @indyuhhhhh @vantelover1306 @haru-jiminn @sky-23s-world @minimoninini @bighitfics @mellyyyyyyx @outofworldvy @smartkive @dontcallmeelle @beomluvrr

[holyblonded]

the putellas test | birds of a feather

pairings: hopkins!paige bueckers x black!oc, alexia putellas x platonic!reader, alba putellas x platonic!reader

summary: alexia plans a series of test to see if paige is worthy enough to date her niece

warnings: none(?)

notes: i’m finding my grove back for this series 👻

Paige had barely stepped foot inside the Putellas household when she realized two things:

1. Alba was definitely the fun, carefree aunt.

2. Alexia Putellas was about to ruin her life.

It wasn’t that Paige had expected smooth sailing. She had heard plenty of stories about La Reina from Cecilia. The unwavering discipline. The intensity on and off the pitch. The death stares. Cecilia always said it with love, of course, but that didn’t make it less terrifying.

And now here Paige was, standing in the middle of the Putellas living room, completely at the mercy of one of the greatest footballers in history.

“Ah, so this is Paige Bueckers,” Alexia said, arms crossed, her voice void of any warmth. Paige blinked at the intensity in her gaze.

She had met Geno Auriemma, a man who practically yelled for a living, and he still didn’t intimidate her half as much as Alexia Putellas did in that moment.

“Uh, yeah. Hi?” Paige offered, throwing in a small wave for good measure.

Cecilia, her own girlfriend, stood off to the side, looking way too amused for someone who was supposed to love her.

“She’s real, Ale,” Alba teased from the couch, sipping her coffee like she was about to enjoy a show. “Not a hologram.”

“Yet to be determined,” Alexia muttered, her eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she straightened up and gave Paige a once-over, scanning her like a book.

Paige had never felt so judged in her life.

“Do you have a problem?” she blurted before she could stop herself.

Alba choked on her coffee.

Cecilia’s eyes widened. “Paige why—”

Alexia raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

Again, Paige had two options: backtrack immediately and pray for survival or commit to it.

She sighed. “You’re staring at me like I just walked into a courtroom without a lawyer.”

Alba burst into laughter breaking the silence, actually wheezing as she clutched her stomach.

“Oh, I like her,” Alba grinned, wiping a tear from her eye. “You picked a good one, neboda (niece).”

Alexia, however, remained stone-faced. Paige swallowed.

Cecilia, still looking a little worried, decided to step in. “Ale, don’t scare her off. I’ve had this one since kindergarten.”

Alexia exhaled loudly and finally uncrossed her arms. “Fine,” she said. “Let’s see if she survives the test first.”

Paige froze. “The what?”

Alba whistled. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. She did these with my partners too.”

“How well do you know Cecilia?” Alexia demanded, hands on her hips.

Paige blinked. “Uh… really well?”

“We’ll see about that.” Alexia pulled out a notebook and flipped to a page clearly labeled “Paige Test.”

Alba snorted. “Oh, she’s been planning this.”

Paige’s heart started racing. “Is this a joke?”

Alexia stared at her like she had just said she preferred orange juice over apple juice.

“First question,” Alexia said, ignoring Paige’s mild panic. “What’s Cecilia’s go-to comfort meal?”

“Easy,” Paige smirked. “Cocas.”

Cecilia grinned. “Correct.”

Alexia frowned, flipping the page. “Butchered the pronunciation, but, fine. What was Cecilia’s favorite toy as a kid?”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. “Her stuffed koala, Coco.”

Alba gasped. “Wait, Coco still exists?”

Cecilia groaned. “Yes, and now I regret telling Paige she’s still around.”

Paige beamed. Alexia narrowed her eyes.

“Alright, last one,” Alexia muttered. “What was the name of Cecilia’s first pet?”

Paige hesitated, then said, “She never had a pet.”

Cecilia gave her a proud nod. “Correct.”

Alba whistled. “Damn, I was hoping you’d get that one wrong. Just cause.”

Alexia huffed, clearly annoyed that Paige passed the first round. “Fine. But that was just the warm-up.”

Paige suddenly had a bad feeling.

“Why are we at a field?” Paige whispered, standing stiffly on the pristine turf pitch as if she’d accidentally wandered into a gladiator arena.

Alexia smirked, casually tossing a ball between her hands like a villain in a sports movie. “If you’re going to date my niece, you need to prove you’re worthy.”

Paige crossed her arms. “I feel like I should’ve signed a waiver for this.”

“Beat me in a 1v1.”

Paige blinked. “What.”

On the sidelines, Cecilia was already cackling, her phone out to document the unfolding disaster. “Amor, I love you, but you’re so screwed.”

Alba, who had settled comfortably into a lawn chair with an iced coffee, nearly choked on her drink. “Oh, this is going to be hilarious.”

Paige turned back to Alexia. “You’re playing like it’s a Champions League final, aren’t you?”

Alexia raised a brow. “Of course.”

Paige exhaled. “Cool. Just wanted to mentally prepare myself before I get sent into early retirement.”

The game started, and within ten seconds, Paige knew she was doomed. Alexia moved like she was playing an intense game, which, unfortunately for Paige, meant she had not a single ounce of mercy in her bones. The second Paige even thought about trying to defend, Alexia nutmegged her so smoothly that Alba screamed from the sidelines, falling out of her chair in laughter.

“Oh my god—SHE COOKED YOU,” Alba howled, kicking her feet on the ground.

Cecilia wasn’t much better, barely holding the camera steady as she gasped through laughter. “Amor, bend your knees, stay low—oh, never mind. She got you again.”

Paige was starting to sweat. She knew she wasn’t a football player, but this was getting embarrassing. She tried again, this time using her basketball instincts to anticipate Alexia’s movement. It almost worked until Alexia spun around her like she was an orange traffic cone and easily slotted the ball into the mini goal.

Paige groaned. “Did you have to add the spin move? That was excessive.”

Alexia smirked. “I was holding back.”

“Holding back?” Paige echoed, hands on her knees. “I think my soul left my body on that last turn.”

Alba clapped her hands like a delighted spectator. “Ale, you should’ve been a bullfighter. The way you let her charge and then just moved out of the way? Beautiful.”

Paige shot Alba a betrayed look. “You’re supposed to be the fun aunt.”

“I am,” Alba grinned. “That’s why I’m enjoying this so much.”

Fifteen minutes later, Paige lay face-down on the grass, sweaty, breathless, and questioning every decision in her life.

Alexia stood over her like a victorious warrior. “That was embarrassing.”

Paige groaned, her voice muffled against the grass. “You slide tackled me.”

“This is Spain,” Alexia shrugged. “We don’t take it easy.”

Cecilia jogged over, shaking her head. “Ale, you’re literally the most overprotective person in the world when it comes to family, but you just sent my girlfriend flying across the field.”

Alexia crossed her arms. “If she wants to date you, she needs to be strong enough to protect you.”

“From what? A rogue defender? A pigeon in Plaça Catalunya?” Cecilia shot back. “Besides, she’s a basketball player!”

“You never know,” Alexia muttered ominously.

Paige groaned louder, still sprawled on the ground. “Is this the last test?”

Alexia smirked. “One more.”

Paige dared to glance up. “Oh god.”

Alba grinned. “Good luck. This one’s psychological.”

Paige sat slumped on the couch, exhausted, while Alexia paced in front of her like an overzealous teacher preparing for a final.

Cecilia sat cross-legged next to her, munching on a snack with the carefree air of someone who had zero stress in life, unlike Paige, who had just been subjected to a day of physical and psychological warfare.

Alba was leaned up against the kitchen counter, watching the whole ordeal like it was a reality show.

Alexia finally stopped pacing, turning to face Paige with the gravity of a judge about to deliver a verdict.

“Final question.” Her voice was calm, but there was something undeniably intense about it.

Paige, despite being wiped from the impromptu 1v1 and whatever else Alexia had put her through, sat up a little straighter, her exhaustion fading under the weight of the moment.

Alexia took a step closer, studying her with sharp, discerning eyes. “Do you love Cari?”

Paige didn’t hesitate. “With everything in me.”

Cecilia, who had just been about to take another bite of her snack, paused, her expression softening.

Alba let out a quiet “Awww” from the kitchen.

For a moment, the room was silent. Alexia simply stared at Paige, as if searching for any cracks in her answer. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she gave a slow, approving nod. “Good.”

Paige exhaled, feeling relief flood her body. Maybe, finally, she had passed the test—

Then, with absolutely no warning, Alexia leaned in close, her voice dropping to an ominous whisper.

“Because if you ever hurt her,” she murmured, “I know people.”

Paige froze. Her brain went blank for a solid five seconds before she blinked rapidly.

“Did you just threaten me?”

From the kitchen, Alba howled with laughter, nearly knocking over her drink. “Ale, you can’t just say that to her!”

Alexia shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m just saying.”

Paige turned to Cecilia, still slightly shaken. “Does she actually know people?”

Cecilia sighed like someone who had pondered this question too many times. “Honestly? I don’t even know.”

Alexia remained dead serious for a moment longer, letting the weight of her words linger. Then, finally, she cracked a smile, the first genuine one she’d shown all day.

“Welcome to the family, Paige.”

Paige exhaled deeply, her entire body sagging into the couch.

“Jesus Christ.”

Alba, still grinning, raised her glass in Paige’s direction. “You survived, Bueckers. I honestly wasn’t sure if you would.”

Paige groaned. “Neither was I.”

Cecilia leaned into Paige’s side, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You did good, amor.”

Paige huffed. “I better have. I think I aged five years.”

Alexia smirked, arms crossed. “That was nothing. You should’ve seen what I did to Alba’s first girlfriend.”

Paige paled and her throat grew dry.

Alba threw her head back and cackled. “Ale, stop terrifying her!”

Alexia just smiled. “No promises.”

[shinhyunjin]

── .✦ little white lies.

⟢ pairing: hwang hyunjin x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, non-idol au, established relationship

⟢ word count: 1.9k

⟢ summary: the one where a street interviewer asks the story of how you met.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! i don’t really know what this is, but i clearly got the idea from @/meetcutesnyc on tiktok. i feel like i could maybe turn this into a short series and write one for the rest of the members if you like this one enough. anyway, this is my first fic on this blog, so if you enjoy it please do show it some love<3

“Excuse me, are you two a couple?”

You stop in your tracks at the question, staring at the stranger that was now blocking your way, as he stood in front of you and your boyfriend—a small mic in his hand and cameraman behind him recording the scene before him.

Your first instinct is to look up to Hyunjin, who is already tightening the hold of his hand on yours and pulling you closer to him.

“We are” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

You find the confused yet protective crease between his eyebrows particularly cute right then, so you smile.

“Would you mind telling us the story of how you met?”

“Oh, you’re that guy?!” You jump in excitement.

Hyunjin’s frown only deepens for a moment, feeling like he is missing a chapter—or a whole book—when the guy in front eagerly nods his head and laughs at your sudden enthusiasm.

One look at you, however, and a glimpse of the smile lighting up your face, is enough for him to go with whatever it is happening right then.

“Baby, they make videos on TikTok asking couples how they met” you explain to him nonetheless, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb to ease the small tension he felt after seeing you interact so comfortably with another guy—a stranger one at that.

“Oh,” Hyunjin lets out, suddenly feeling embarrassed over how defensive he was until then. “We met at an art gallery” he tries to redeem himself by kindly answering the question.

“It was actually kinda funny” you add with a small giggle that has all three guys smiling at you.

“If that’s your way of saying we were one second away from committing a crime, then—”

“Oh, hush” you playfully shut him up, enjoying all too much the dramatic roll of eyes he gives you in response. “It wouldn’t have been a crime. I think”.

Your last addition earns a quiet chuckle from the cameraman, and you wonder if that’s making it into the final video.

“Long story short,” you begin. “I was admiring one of the sculptures, minding my own business, when out of nowhere someone bumped into me. I was caught off guard, of course, so I inevitably lost my balance and bumped into the base that was holding the sculpture” you can’t help but give your boyfriend an accusatory look. “I saw my life flash before my eyes when it started swaying in front of me”.

“I was fast enough to hold it in its place before it fell, though” Hyunjin chimes in before the blame is fully thrown at him. “And thankfully there were only, like, two other people in the room with us and they were too busy checking out the paintings on the walls, so after exchanging panicked looks with this cutie right here, we rushed out of there before we got scolded”.

“We laughed it off as soon as we were in the next room and we couldn’t care less about the stares we got” you explain amidst a small laugh. “It was kind of odd, in a good way, because it felt like we knew each other already”.

“Yeah, it was weird in the best of ways” Hyunjin agrees with an adoring smile. “I obviously wanted to get to know her after that, and I just happened to have an extra ticket to a paid exposition within the main one that day, so I offered it to her in order to apologise for bumping into her and she luckily said yes”.

“And then after that I invited him for coffee to thank him for the ticket”.

Hyunjin chuckles. “And then I asked her out for dinner that same night”.

“So it’s fair to say it was love at first sight?” The guy asks with a grin.

“Definitely” the two of you answer in unison, locking eyes at the realisation and smiling in a way that was hard to tell whether you were aware there were other people in the world.

“We pretty much got together that same day” you admit with a shy smile.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Four years,” Hyunjin replies.

“Four years and two months” you specify, just for the sake of teasing him.

He smiles and bites his tongue not to add ‘and eleven days’, because that would only lead to you doing the math and figuring out the amount of hours as well, and then him having to figure out the amount of minutes if he wanted to win.

It is a battle you had gone through more than once already, and he refuses to go down that road again—not when there is a camera pointing at you and your whole interaction would be posted on the internet.

“Wow, that’s a long time” the man in front interrupts Hyunjin’s train of thought, bringing the mic closer to you. “What’s your favourite thing about him?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can choose just one” you timidly let him know, looking up to Hyunjin and feeling your cheeks burn as his chocolate eyes are already focused on you, awaiting for an answer. “I really love how sweet and attentive he is. He is always there for me and helps me get through my hardships, even before I even have to ask for his help”.

“And what is your favourite thing about her?” He now asks your boyfriend, who finds himself smiling brightly over your wholesome words and struggling to take his eyes away from you.

“Everything” Hyunjin replies truthfully once he manages to divert his eyes from you—just like you, finding it hard to choose just one thing he loves the most about you. “She’s the most caring and selfless person I’ve ever met. She’s always checking up on me and my family, making sure we’re all okay. And I also need to mention her smile, because whenever she smiles my day is immediately made”.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and lean your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, unable to hide the emotional pout forming on your lips, as his answer managed to warm your heart.

“So what is the next step in your relationship?”

“Moving in together” Hyunjin answers in a heartbeat, and you are grateful that it doesn’t come off as a surprise, for you had talked about it before—otherwise your heart wouldn’t have been able to take the news of his upcoming plans with you. “We needed to figure a few things out before doing so, but…” he looks down at you, smiling sweetly when your eyes lock and you nod your head, encouraging him to go on. “It’s about time we finally start properly making our life together”.

“And your names are?”

“Y/N” you’re the first to answer.

“I’m Hyunjin” he says.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Hyunjin and Y/N” the interviewer wraps it up with a smile. “I’m glad you guys are going strong and didn’t end up in jail that day”.

The two of you laugh, and you lean into your boyfriend when he lets go of your hand and gently places his arm over your shoulders instead.

Exchanging goodbyes after being informed that the video would be up the next day, you resume your walk to the all too familiar café around the corner—the one you were heading to before the impromptu street interview took place.

“So those are the kind of videos you’re watching all day…”

“Some of them,” you nod. “I’ve sent you a few here and there. Good to know you don’t actually watch them”.

“I do” he fights back, almost offended you believe he would ever disregard something you showed him. “I thought they were all staged, though. Didn’t know people actually got interviewed on the streets out of nowhere”.

“Is that why you were so defensive when they first approached us?” You laugh.

He huffs, making his bottom lip slightly stick out and having you internally fighting not to kiss him right then. “I thought he was asking if we were a couple in hopes of us not being one, so he could ask you out”.

“Asking me out out of nowhere when I’m walking hand in hand with a guy that is clearly my boyfriend, all while there is a whole cameraman recording us?” You tease with a tilt of your head.

“Hey, who knows?” he defends himself. “Can’t control what kind of weirdos are out there chasing after online views”.

“You’re so cute” you laugh breathily, pressing a soft kiss on his jawline. “We look too much like a couple, if you ask me. They would look stupid to even try”.

“Yeah… I think the hand holding and matching outfits give it away too well” he nods with a teasing smile, motioning to the colour palette you chose together that day.

“Thank God they caught us on a good outfit day” your relieved remark earns a laugh from him. “I can’t wait for the video to be up now, I love the way we met”.

“I know you do,” he softly rubs your hand with his thumb. “Which is why I was surprised you didn’t tell them the whole story”.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

Hyunjin amusedly shakes his head, remaining silent as you reach the café and he holds the door open for you to go in first.

When you’re invaded by the strong yet pleasing scent of coffee and reach the—thankfully—short line to order, he adds, “You left out the part where later on I admitted I intentionally bumped into you just so I could talk to you”.

You laugh at the memory.

It wasn’t like he wanted you to lose your balance and make you almost drop a sculpture that you would be paying until the end of your days, had it actually fallen down and smashed on the ground.

He was just going for a little shove on your shoulder with his own, just enough to make you turn around and allow him to apologise right after. But you were too pretty, and he was too nervous—that alone making him miscalculate the distance between your bodies and slam into your shoulder harder than he had intended to.

He came clean one month into your relationship—the guilt of almost getting you in trouble just because he wasn’t able to earn up the courage to go up and talk to you like any other normal person would, was becoming too much for him to keep a secret for any longer.

You were already in too deep by then to even care, though. If anything, you were flattered that he wanted to get to know you so bad that he ended up coming up with the most stupid—and risky—of ideas in order to do so.

“I thought you weren’t holding back when it came to embarrassing me” he confesses.

You chuckle, shaking your head in both amusement and embarrassment, before pulling him forward in line with you as the people in front do so as well.

“Well, if I did mention that, you would’ve told them about how I already had a ticket to the private exposition and lied about not having one just so I had a reason to stick with you, so…”

Hyunjin’s lips part into a beaming smile, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Little white lies could sometimes be beneficial; especially when they led you to the best relationship you ever had—the one you were sure would last for the rest of your lives.

“You’re right” he agrees with a smirk. “The internet doesn’t need to know how desperate we both were to get to know each other”.

[3motionally3xhausted]

‼️MIRACULOUS REDESIGNS‼️

I'm planning to do a BIG series of Kwami swaps (80 additional designs, plz wish me luck 🙏) but first I needed some basics of my design principles for each character and Kwami, so here are all the designs I'm working with::

To make the 80 designs more manageable, my plan is to work by the Miraculous first, for example I'll do all of the bee & all of the snake designs rather than all of Chloe & all of Luka's designs, that way I'm working in slightly smaller batches of designs & I can keep them unique enough from one another

And if anyone is curious, here's my chart for organizing the swaps and also the hero names:

(and I'm allowing comments on the document if you have any thoughts or alternate names (bc I'm not sold on ALL of them) so plz feel free to do so)

P.S. I don't intend on doing anything with this in terms of a story or lore, or even full illustrations, it's just something I've wanted to do for a long time

[zeldalizzy]

After a VERY long hiatus in this series... Tiana and Time!! I wanted to do something sweet and nostalgic feeling for this one, and i had the idea to do some southerners cooking together!! I imagine that Time wanted to make a sweet surprise for Malon, and Tiana was more than happy to help out, since food is Naveen's love language too! I did a fun, 1920's style, almost flapper outfit design, since i couldn't find a specific dress of hers that i thought was fitting for the scene lol 😂

i think tiana and time would be wonderful friends! also, malon and time and tiana and naveen could go on double dates and talk about their silly spouses and also their crazy life stories!! malon and tiana would make the best food too!

on a more serious note, time and tiana do have a lot of similarities; they both value hard work and the importance of family, as well as both having traumatic transformation experiences (cough cough Majora's Mask). Time had his own Bayou Adventure a la the Jungle Cruise in Majora's Mask. both have had odd experiences with strange voodoo like magic, and both had to learn the value of finding love despite their difficult upbringings. overall, i love that you guys picked this pairing!! 🩵

oh, by the way... i headcanon that Malon has a sweet tooth because 1) it just fits her personality, and 2) i imagine that she probably snuck some sugar cubes for epona and herself when she was a little girl (based off of my own personal experience with horses when i was little 😂🤭)

[flowerandblood]

The Song of Promises [1/3]

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: loss of virginity (both characters), sex content, unprotected sex, oral sex, targcest stuff, smut, angst, abduction, description of eye loss, mourning, child abuse, Aemond being a self-absorbed, vain guy ]

[ description: Aemond's childhood is filled with loneliness and regret until Daemon arrives in the Red Keep with his first-born child, daughter of Rhea Royce. The fact that neither of them has a dragon of their own binds them together with a thread of understanding, and their slowly developing relationship gives birth in the young prince's mind to a plan of which she is a part. Slow burn, childhood companions to lovers, first intimacy, rude, insolent, arrogant Aemond with big ego. ]

This is story that describes the events of what would have happened if Aemond had met Daemon's daughter earlier (i.e. as a child). The characters are exactly the same as in the original The Price of Pride, but still, this is a standalone story that can be read separately: you don't need to know that story to read this one.

I have tried to show how the need for closeness matures in adolescents as they get older until they fully understand what they want and how to achieve it. Decide for yourself what happened between them when and at what age so that you feel comfortable with it (let's agree that the ages from the books and the series do not apply here, because at the end of the chapter we are still before Helaena and Aegon's wedding: everyone is simply older than in the source material, decide for yourself by how many years).

A big inspiration for me to wrtie this story was my relationship with my husband (everything was going very slowly for us and each new base was an achievement and a great event). That said, this story you will read alternately from two perspectives (not the same events tho).

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond

That night he slept exceptionally badly: he wriggled in his bed for a long time, struggling to hold back tears of anger, thinking of what Aegon and his nephews had done to him. His older brother was spiteful by nature, but until now he had believed that they would support each another in the presence of the Strongs.

He was mistaken.

The pig with wings he had been given by them – according to Aegon's assurances, as a consolation prize – was eye-watering proof of the humiliation he had suffered at his hands for years. The way they all laughed out loud while he stood completely petrified with shame and the fact that they considered it amusing made his whole body begin to shake.

He wished the sun would never rise again.

When he woke up the next day, his meal was served as usual: to his delight, his mother, although she did not usually allow it, ordered his favourite sweet cinnamon rolls to be brought to him. While he still felt miserable, eating them made his spirits lighter, as the pleasant thought went through his head that his mother loved him.

During the sparring, Aegon acted as if he had forgotten what he had done to him the day before: he said something to him and laughed, as if he expected him to feel like replying to him after the humiliation he had suffered at his hands.

His silence, unfortunately, was not met with understanding from his brother either.

“Must you always be such a twat?” Aegon asked.

Again he did not answer, pressing his lips into a thin line with rage, and hit one of the targets with all his strength with a wooden sword.

He did not utter words that Aegon or his nephews could use against him.

He thought he would never give them a reason to mock him again.

Silence was safe.

However, he was snapped out of his reverie by the voice of Jace, who had been speaking to Luke during one of their short breaks.

“Mother said they would be arriving today. Daemon and his firstborn daughter. He killed her mother.” His nephew spoke in a whisper, clearly excited, but he stood close enough to understand what he said.

Daemon's firstborn daughter.

It was true that he had heard of her and knew that she existed, however, her person did not particularly concern him: she had no dragon and she was a girl, so she did not threaten him in any way, yet she also had nothing that would make him find the subject of her arrival interesting.

Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself, as he involuntarily strained his hearing, standing with his back to them, pretending to stretch before his next routine, paying no attention to the fact that Criston Cole was shouting something to him and Aegon.

“He killed her mother?” Squealed Luke, and Jace shushed him and tapped him on the head, clearly wanting his little brother to be quiet.

“It's gossip. Mother says we have to be kind to her. She won't have here anyone but us.” Jace explained to him.

Although he kept telling himself that he didn't care about some pathetic little girl without a dragon, the next morning he sat with his face pressed against the window, waiting for them to arrive.

He didn't know what he was actually waiting for: Daemon had always seemed intriguing to him. His uncle was confident and ironic, on top of which there was no one, except perhaps Ser Criston, who could match him in wielding a sword.

Deep down he admired him and the possibility of seeing him again thrilled him.

He twisted in his seat, rising higher on his arms as the gates to the courtyard opened and indeed, he saw his uncle on a white horse and a little girl with long, dark hair sitting before him in the saddle.

He snorted at the thought that, like his nephews, the gods had not bestowed upon her the Targaryen colour that he wore proudly on his head.

However, she was a legitimate child and had certainly inherited the colour of her hair from her mother, so he felt that this was not reason to mock her.

After all, his mother also had dark hair, and he held her in high regard and respect.

Daemon jumped off his mount lightly, then grabbed his daughter under the arms and helped her down, without waiting for the servant to run up to them.

He saw that she had started to look around – he thought that she was certainly enthralled and overwhelmed by the beauty and grandeur of the Red Keep, but when she turned her face towards him he recognised that her facial expression was more one of uncertainty and fear.

She will have no one here but us.

He killed her mother.

For some reason, for a moment, but only a moment, he felt pity for her.

Although she was not a princess or anyone special, news of her arrival and the reason for it had spread through the fortress very quickly; he usually preferred to stay in his chamber or in the library, but on this day he had left his safe places to stroll the corridors and the castle, hoping to see her.

He wanted to judge her carefully in his mind: he had formed an opinion about everyone, and she could not remain an exception.

A sting of disappointment spread across his chest when, to his displeasure, he did not see her until the next day during sparring, in the company of Jace and Luke. They spoke to her, gesturing vividly, apparently showing her everything they could, she, however, simply looked at them with big eyes, terrified, and said nothing, looking where they told her to.

“My Princes. Come over here. Let's begin.” Criston Cole called out towards them, clearly impatient.

He grinned under his breath with satisfaction, feeling a pleasant pride at the thought that Ser Criston preferred them to the Strongs and was clearly showing it.

Jace and Luke stepped closer, and Daemon's daughter approached with them, her eyes wide, her small hands clenched into fists from anxiety.

Looking at her closely, he decided she was not ugly: her face seemed pleasant to him, her eyelashes and eyebrows long and dark, accentuating her skin tone in some interesing way. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, as were her lips: she was a little shorter than Jace, but like them, she was dressed in a training garment.

“Our cousin used to practise archery in Runestone. We thought she could do it here too.” Luke said.

Cole straightened up and sighed, clearly frustrated.

“Consent would have to be given by Prince Daemon himself. I cannot make that decision alone.” He replied matter-of-factly, causing the girl to lower her head, disappointed.

Jace, however, was not giving up.

“Then we'll ask him.” He said with vigour, glancing at his cousin, who shook her head.

“I don't know where he is. I can't find him anywhere.” She muttered.

“Prince Daemon, from the information I have, set off to Essos before dawn. Without his permission, I cannot take responsibility for your safety, my Lady.” Ser Criston explained, already a little softer.

An uncomfortable silence fell around them, one he'd experienced for the first time in his life: it wasn't filled with irritation or rage, but with the fact that it seemed to him that neither of them knew how to act in such a situation.

Usually when Jace or Luke didn't know or couldn't do something, it was a source of pride and mockery for him and Aegon: their nephews reacted similarly to failures on their side.

However, he didn't know what he should feel or think upon hearing that a little girl didn't know that her father was now with his second family.

He looked at her to witness her reaction and felt a strange squeeze in his throat seeing that she obviously did not know about it – her lips were slightly parted in disbelief, her gaze wandering from one person to the next, as if she felt humiliated and abandoned, left alone in a place foreign and frightening to her.

“With your permission, I will return to my chamber.” She mumbled and bowed, only to turn and move towards the cloisters, disappearing into one of the corridors.

“Did you see that? She is crying like a little baby. Would you like to join her, brother? You two fit together.” Said Aegon and patted him on the shoulder, making his cheeks flush scarlet with shame.

“That's enough.” Cole said. “Get back to practising.”

Although he occupied his head with various activities for the rest of the day – mostly reading books on Westeros history – his thoughts kept returning to her face then, when she found out her father was gone.

She wasn't as annoying and provocative as Jace and Luke, of that he was sure – nor had she inherited Daemon's aggressive manner, at least not in the way he'd expected. As much as he wanted to assign her to the Black party, as Daemon had always supported Rhaenyra, he wasn't sure she was even aware of the division between them and that she had to choose.

She was thrown between strange walls and strange people, left alone.

Even for him, it was quite cruel.

But it was not his concern, he consoled himself in spirit, trying to start a chapter concerning Winterfell.

For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to the supper with excitement: he knew that his father-king would surely invite his niece to it and say a few warm words to make her feel at home.

He hoped she would be seated close to them and not next to the Strongs.

She shouldn't spend time with the bastards, but he didn't blame her for doing so – he guessed that she simply didn't know who they really were.

Perhaps I should tell her about it, he told himself in spirit sitting down at the table in his seat, recognising that, in fact, he would be doing her a favour by doing so.

Indeed, there was one more chair placed at the table than usual. His cousin walked into the chamber, accompanied by his mother and sister. Helaena was saying something to her, and Daemon's daughter was smiling, looking down at her feet, apparently trying not to fall over in her long, brown gown.

Once again he felt a sense of pride, for it was his sister and not his nephews who had made their guest feel better.

To his satisfaction, which, however, he did not give expression to, trying to keep a stony face, his cousin took a seat next to his sister, that is, opposite him and Aegon. When she looked in his direction he did not leave her gaze for a moment – however, when she smiled, he turned his face away, feeling embarrassed.

He felt a sense of distinction because she had paid attention to him.

No one ever did that, because he was a second son without a dragon.

But she didn't have a dragon either, he consoled himself in his mind, and for some reason he felt relieved.

They were alike.

As he expected, his father greeted her in the presence of everyone, apparently wanting to give her courage.

“As I'm certain you all know by now, we have a guest. It is my brother's daughter, whom I welcome with great joy and love. From now on, the Red Keep will be her home and I ask you to treat her with kindness and understanding. A strange place, even more so for a little girl, can seem frightening. I trust each of you to care for her as best you can.” He said, then nodded and allowed everyone to begin their meal.

One more interaction occurred between them that evening: when he tried to reach for a pate that was too far away from him, she helped him by handing him a platter. She smiled at him again then, and he reciprocated the gesture awkwardly, feeling that for some reason his palms had started to sweat.

His king had said they should be kind to her, so he simply followed his order as any good son would do, he assured himself in his head.

Then Jace suddenly spoke up.

“My King. Our cousin is an excellent archer and we think she should be able to practice with us in the Red Keep as well. Ser Criston said that without her father's permission this is not possible. Wouldn't the King's order be more significant?” He asked, and all eyes fled towards his father.

“Little girls shouldn't be involved in such things.” Said Queen Alicent, taking a sip of wine, for some reason casting a long look at Rheanyra, sitting across the table.

“Why?” His half-sister asked. “Are all women in this world the same?”

His father decided to put an end to this brief argument by giving his own opinion on the matter.

Viserys decided that she could practise archery during their sparring, if it didn't interfere with their training.

She usually stood on the side and shot her bow at targets standing in a completely different part of the courtyard, so everyone quickly forgot about the dispute and stopped paying attention to her.

Or at least that's what he tried to convince himself.

He often looked at her, because when their gazes met, she usually smiled.

It was a warm smile, devoid of prejudice or malice: he did not usually reciprocate the gesture, fearing that Aegon would see it and find another reason to mock him.

She spoke to Jace and Luke, also occasionally smiling in their presence, but when she did so while looking at him, she looked different.

Perhaps it was just his childhood desire to be special to someone, to be noticed, that made him live in the belief that his cousin wanted to know him better.

He craved it too: confirmation of his suspicions, of the fact that, indeed, he had caught her attention. The reason, after all, could have been any feature of his personality that no one had noticed before: his intelligence, his knowledge, his rhetoric, his calmness and composure, how different he was from his brother and nephews.

His pride, however, prevented him from taking the first step: he knew that if anyone found out he was seeking her company, his brother would again call him a twat and say that he liked to play with girls because he was one himself.

That left him internally torn.

The opportunity fell upon him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky when one afternoon, as always eager to search the library for more reading for the dull, monotonous evenings, he saw Daemon and his daughter sitting at the table, bent over a thick, old volume that he knew intimately.

High Valyrian.

His cousin lifted her head upon hearing someone enter the room and bestowed upon him a broad, soft smile – Daemon's expression was not as friendly and expressed boredom.

To his relief, she spoke up first.

“My father is teaching me the language of our ancestors. Would you like to join us?” She asked, surprising both him and her father.

Daemon sighed, but did not protest, spreading out comfortably in his chair, giving him a look as if challenging him.

On the one hand, he was terrified and just wanted to run away, but on the other, this was his chance to get closer to both of them.

He nodded, embarrassed, feeling his hands involuntarily clench into fists.

The fear of humiliation was greater than the excitement.

“Sit down.” Daemon commanded.

No one had ever spoken to him this way, not even his own father; for some reason, however, it did not frustrate him, but made him feel even more respect for his uncle.

I want to be like you, he thought in the back of his mind.

Confident and fearless.

So he sat down on the other side, in the empty chair next to Daemon, and moved closer to the table – he was ashamed that his legs still didn't reach the ground, but he hoped it wasn't apparent yet.

Just a few more years and he would become a man.

He felt much more confident when he saw that they had just reworked a chapter he had already read before.

“Perzys zaldrīzī ossēnagon daor.” Said Daemon, glancing at his daughter expectantly, apparently wanting her to translate the sentence.

“Fire cannot…” She started, but fell silent, clearly not knowing what one of the words meant.

“Fire cannot kill a dragon.” He spoke up, proud to show his uncle how broad his knowledge was.

“Good.” Daemon said.

He swallowed quietly, glancing at his cousin: her downward gaze and her hunched figure told him that she was sad that he hadn't even given her time to think.

He decided that perhaps he shouldn't come out in front all the time, lest he come across as vain.

“Zaldrīzo ānogar.” Said her father – he stirred in his chair, excited, knowing exactly what it means and that it is a fairly simple, even obvious phrase.

Daemon did it so she could respond too.

“The dragon…” She muttered, incorrectly constructing the sentence syntax.

When she looked at him, his lips uttered quickly the soundless ‘blood of the dragon’. She drew in a loud breath, an expression of relief flashed across her face.

“N-no. Blood. Blood of the dragon.” She quickly changed the order of the words, and Daemon nodded, moving on.

He didn't know why he had helped her then, but he liked the way she looked at him from then on.

With curiosity and gratitude.

In secret from his mother, grandfather and brother, he would sneak off to the library to learn with his uncle and his daughter about what he had been studying with the Maester earlier. He didn't admit that he had a kind of advantage over her, but he would sometimes pretend that he didn't know something in order to give her the opportunity to prove herself to her father.

Daemon seemed to him the embodiment of everything he himself wanted to be. Unlike his father, who did not find the strength or time to teach him about the history of their lineage, his uncle shared it extensively with him and his daughter, seeming indifferent and matter-of-fact at the same time.

Daemon was a demanding teacher, but this made him turn on his natural desire to compete: his cousin, however, did not have as much knowledge as he did because she could not have it, so he did not treat her in the same way as Jace and Luke.

They did not speak with each other outside the library; sometimes she smiled at him, but he only reciprocated this expression when the others could not see it – the corner of his mouth then lifted slightly upwards in an attempt to present some pathetic caricature of cordiality.

He wanted to be liked and admired, but didn't know how to achieve it.

One day, to his surprise, his cousin visited him in his chamber when the sun had long since set – he was already lying in his bed while reading a book.

He didn't like anyone invading his private space, but he couldn't say that the sight of her made him uncomfortable either.

He remained silent, deciding to listen to what she had come to him with.

“Tomorrow I am leaving to Essos. My father wants me to meet my sisters and stepmother.” She muttered, lowering her gaze as she spoke the last sentence.

She didn't want to see her replacement.

He grunted quietly, fiddling with the page of the book he held in his hands, feeling some kind of regret and disappointment.

“I see.” He replied, not knowing what more he could add.

She, however, was still standing in the same place, as if expecting to hear something more from him.

“I want to thank you for... for helping me then. Before lessons with my father, I repeat everything he taught me, but when I sit next to him, I suddenly forget the words. My head is empty.” She choked out finally, making him involuntarily look at her, surprised.

He felt a pleasant wave of pride and self-satisfaction ripple deep into his chest.

He lifted his chin higher, wanting to look more mature and dignified.

“You're welcome.” He hummed, hoping to hear even more praise from her lips.

“Sleep well, cousin.” She said and turned away, leaving him once again with a cold feeling of disappointment.

He realised that he hadn't asked her when they were coming back.

As she and his uncle disappeared, he felt with redoubled intensity how invisible he was to the inhabitants of the Red Keep: or at least that was how he perceived it. Even if he had wanted to, he no longer had anyone to show his intellect and knowledge to, no smile waiting for him when he sat down to supper in the company of his loud nephews and his half-sister, whom he deeply despised.

He was the embodiment of all his father's dreams, he was the reason he opened the womb of his first wife while she was still alive: he was the son he was always waiting for.

But his father could hardly eat on his own, let alone pay attention to him or the other children Queen Alicent had given him.

“Pass me the porridge platter, sweet Aemma.” He said to her once, pointing his blue finger at the dish he was thinking of, causing everyone around him to freeze.

He felt some kind of constriction in his throat when he saw his mother swallow this humiliation with difficulty, reaching for the platter and handing it to her lord-husband without a word.

He lowered his gaze to his plate, trying not to think about it, realising that he would like to see her comforting smile again.

He was beginning to grow impatient.

It had, after all, been several weeks.

As always when something was bothering him, he went to the only person he truly trusted.

“When will uncle Daemon return?” He asked, feigning indifference, fiddling with one of the flacons of expensive oils that had belonged to his mother.

Alicent looked at him, sighing quietly, clearly tired and embittered, probably by what his father had done.

He didn't know how he was supposed to help her, so he remained silent.

“The longer he's gone, the better.” She replied, surprising him.

“Why?” He asked, and she sighed again.

“He's a dangerous, unpredictable man. I pity his daughter. He drags her around all the continents like an object.” She said with a kind of impatience that made him unsure if she really meant what she said.

Adult people often spoke in riddles, which frustrated him constantly.

He preferred it when someone was direct.

The conversation with his mother brought him neither answers nor relief; the only person who showed interest in him was far away, and he was once again learning High Valyrian alone.

That night he prayed to the gods to help him tame a dragon and for his cousin to return quickly to King's Landing, so that she would continue to be kind to him.

The gods listened to his requests, or at least some part of them.

After a few days, Daemon, his daughter from his first marriage, Baela, Rhaena and his wife, lady Laena, reached the Red Keep.

He came to see them because he hoped to see her.

Indeed, when he stepped into the chamber, where his mother, Rhaenyra and Helaena were also present, he spotted her at once, standing behind her father's back. She was looking at Daemon, as if hoping that he would turn his attention to her, but he did not – his uncle was looking at his brother, who was holding Baela hand in his.

His only child who had a dragon.

Although no word was spoken, he understood what had happened.

She had only regained her father for a moment and lost him again.

A pleasant shiver ran through him as she looked around the room, but her gaze stopped on him when she noticed him: he offered her a sad smile of comfort, and she reciprocated the gesture.

Although everyone at supper that evening was loud and chatty, she sat quietly, staring at her plate, immersed in her thoughts. He could see that she had not eaten much; her lips were tightly clenched, her gaze fled again and again to the silhouette of her father, who was talking aloud about the magnificent mansion they lived in Essos and their desire to stay there.

He felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach at the thought.

“Do you like insects?” He suddenly heard his sister's voice leaning over their cousin.

Her question seemed absurd and out of any context, but Daemon's daughter was clearly trying to focus and answer the question.

“I like butterflies. And bumblebees.” She said after some thought.

Helaena twisted in her seat, delighted, and invited her to come to her chamber later that evening so that she could see through her large collection of dried moths.

He sighed, trying to hide the unpleasant sting of jealousy that an object that raised his self-esteem had just been stolen from him.

He wanted her back for himself, so that she would say nice things to him.

He wanted her to admire him.

He wanted her to love him and cry for him with longing when they were separated.

He would never reciprocate this, of course, because these were tender, feminine concerns, but it would certainly satisfy his vanity.

He noticed, watching them from the sidelines, that a strong, cordial bond developed between her and his sister after that day: otherwise it would surely have caused his irritation, but at some point he began to see it as an opportunity.

The more she became attached to them and to the Red Keep, the more she would desire to stay with them.

To his surprise, Helaena too had begun to care that her new companion remained in King's Landing; she shrewdly tried to address the issue as they set off together to the Great Sept with their mother.

“I have no trusted lady of the court, Mother. I don't like the fact that they put things in different places than I want. They disturb my order and speak too loudly. She is kind. She always asks my opinion first before she touches me or my things. We embroider together and watch insects. I would like her to stay with me.”

Though his mother easily denied him and Aegon, to her only daughter she could not.

To his satisfaction, she turned to her lord-husband, and he convinced his younger brother that his daughter needed stability and a girl her own age as a companion.

Though reluctantly, Daemon agreed.

He couldn't say that everything had gone according to his plan: now his cousin was his sister's lady-in-waiting, spending a lot of time with her. This meant that she couldn't give him as much attention as he would have liked.

However, one day everything changed.

“Helaena said the Maester is teaching you High Valyrian. I was wondering if you could teach me too, as my father is not here anymore.” She mumbled, clearly fearing that her offer would not be attractive for him.

He sighed, pretending that her words made no impression on him.

“What can you give me in return?” He asked defiantly, though he knew he would have agreed even if she had not been able to give him anything.

“...and what would you like?” She answered question for question, staring up at him with her big eyes, playing with her fingers in a nervous reflex.

“You will obey all my orders without complaining.” He replied at last, feeling that satisfaction, not blood, was now flowing through his veins.

His cousin furrowed her brow at his words, clearly worried and concerned.

“What if you make me do something bad? Or something that will bring me disgrace?” She mumbled.

“I won't make you do such a thing. I am a man of honour.” He said proudly.

He blinked, shocked to see that she nodded at his words.

That's it?

“When can we begin?” She asked, and he pressed his lips together, struggling not to smile.

“Come to my chamber tonight. I'll draw you a map so you can get to it through a side entrance. And don't you dare tell anyone about this, or I will kill you with my own hands.”

She was clearly unaffected by his threat, because she smiled broadly, her face beaming with joy.

Indeed, his quarters could be accessed not only through a door, but also from the side of his bed: there was a small tower with stairs leading up to one of the rarely used corridors of the Red Keep.

He was worried, waiting for her, sitting over a mountain of books, whether the journey through the dark alleys of the fortress would prove too difficult for her: for some reason he was relieved when he heard quiet footsteps in the distance, and then saw her in the passage, looking up at him with big eyes.

She smiled broadly at the sight of him, apparently happy that she had managed to find the right way and not get lost; he grunted as she sat down beside him, pulling off the thin grey cloak thrown over her shoulders.

“Where did you and your father finish?” He asked, forcing himself to be indifferent – he swallowed hard, noticing with horror as he reached for one of the volumes that his hand was trembling with excitement.

He had never yet invited anyone to his chamber, much less without the knowledge of his mother and father.

It was their secret.

“On chapter twelve.” She said lightly, moving her chair closer to him so she could better see what they were about to discuss.

He felt relieved at the thought that he and Maester were already on chapter forty.

“Very well.” He hummed, pleased that he would be able to show off his knowledge and proficiency in this area.

His cousin, when her father wasn't around, proved to be a focused and curious student. She would ask him lots of questions and go back to things he had mentioned earlier, giving him proof that she was really listening to him.

He liked the role of teacher very much: he felt that it added to his esteem, while reassuring him that his time spent over the old tomes, contrary to what Aegon had said, was not time wasted.

He didn't know who he was really doing it for: whether for himself or for her. Certainly, in his own mind, he was convincing himself that the fact that he had agreed to teach her in Daemon's absence was an act of his favour, something for which she should be eternally grateful.

In fact, she was grateful to him.

He found it harder and harder to pretend he didn't see her during sparring or supper; some part of him, to his dismay, had come to the conclusion that he was enjoying her presence.

She cared for his older sister and was her faithful companion, but she also found time for him and his perpetually praise-hungry ego.

He was embarrassed by the way she smiled at him when their glances met in the courtyard or at the table: he had the impression that her eyes shone with joy for some reason, the expression on her face gentle and warm.

Kind.

He chastised himself for these thoughts and the strange yet pleasant feeling that filled his chest every time he lowered his head, stopping the corners of his mouth from rising with difficulty.

Then it was revealed that lady Laena was expecting another child, and something in her suddenly faded.

She felt less and less visible in the eyes of her father, who was far away, on another continent, while she was here, all by herself.

Looking at her and his own mother, Queen Alicent, sitting near her, he compared the shades of their hair, their eyes, the shape of their noses, hands and faces.

After thinking about it for a while, he decided that differences between them were not that great, and that if he had forgotten that she was the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce, his cousin could be the daughter of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower.

His sister.

In truth, he was only a month older than her, but that did not change the fact that this would make him her older brother: this, in turn, would mean that since it was Helaena's destiny to marry Aegon, it would be his younger sister's destiny to marry him.

He lowered his gaze at this thought, feeling a burning red blush of embarrassment spread across his pale cheeks at the thought.

His heart thumped harder in his chest when he realised that nothing in that thought had rejected him.

But what if she didn't want it?

If she felt disgusted at the very thought of marrying him?

Rejection was something he couldn't afford.

It was safer to remain silent.

He felt his own blood under his tongue when his teeth involuntarily bit his lower lip at the word that her father wanted to take her to Essos.

“You have been away from home for too long. You should spend more time with your sisters.” He heard Daemon's voice outside her chamber door a few hours after her father had arrived in King's Landing.

Eavesdropping was not in good taste, but for some reason he couldn't help himself.

“What should I say to Helaena? I don't want to leave her.” Mumbled his daughter, clearly trying to come up with something quickly that would allow her to stay in the Red Keep.

“That you will now spend time with your true family.”

Your true family.

He didn't know why, but his jaw clenched in rage when he heard those words, a sharp pain piercing his heart, which beat harder in his chest.

And then Daemon took her away.

The first months without her presence had been the hardest for him, as he'd forgotten she was gone: he'd flipped through the books, wanting to prepare for their lessons, reminding himself angrily after a while that they weren't going to happen after all. Her chair had disappeared from the supper table, and her silhouette was not standing in the courtyard, aiming at a target with a bow.

It was as if she had never been there.

And then word reached King's Landing that lady Laena had died in childbirth.

It was a time of sadness in the Red Keep: previously Rhaenyra had mourned the death of her lover and father of her bastards, Harwin Strong; now, however, someone who was related to them all by blood, a close part of their family, had died.

He was ashamed that during the journey they had taken the whole family on to attend lady Laena's funeral, he had struggled to hold back a smile, feeling excited at the thought that the largest dragon in the world had just been left without a rider.

Although he tried to fool himself, he was enjoying not only the opportunity to claim a dragon, but also to see someone else.

The sea journey he had been forced to make, unlike his siblings, had dragged on mercilessly. When they finally reached the shore, he vomited: however, he quickly pulled himself together, recognising that neither she nor his nephews could see him in such a state.

His family were welcomed into the fortress with honours; he felt his heart pounding hard as he looked around the courtyard, hoping to see her. As he raised his head, he drew in a deep breath, catching sight of her silhouette in one of the open windows.

When their gazes met, she smiled.

Despite the fact that he should be concentrating on grieving, all he did during the funeral was listen for any sounds of the dragon that might be coming from afar and glanced at her, shocked that she seemed slightly taller to him – he also had the impression that her figure had become more girlish, whatever that meant.

When she caught him staring at her, he lifted his head up, embarrassed, pretending to look at the sky.

During the feast, which took place in one of the courtyards situated high above the sea, all he could think about was how to get her to speak to him. He did not want to be the one vying for her attention, running after a woman: this was foolish and, most importantly, unworthy of a man.

A man was supposed to be strong and proud, cold if necessary, but never weak.

Nevertheless, he longed to spend time with her, though she did not know it: she watched from the sidelines her half-sisters, embraced tightly by their grandparents, drenched in tears. Daemon and Rheanyra had disappeared somewhere, and she was left alone, not knowing what to do with herself.

After a while, their gazes met again – this time, though with difficulty, he did not look away. They continued like this for a while, until she made a slight movement with her head, as if pointing to the stone steps that led behind the wall, and then walked down them.

She wanted him to follow her.

He swallowed hard and glanced at his bored brother, who held a refilled wine cup in his hand.

“I'm going to take a walk. I have no desire to stay with these people.” He said to him dispassionately.

Aegon shrugged his shoulders.

“Do what you want.” His brother replied, looking intensely at one of the servants in the distance.

He sighed silently and moved ahead, feeling his heart in his throat.

What if someone sees them?

Was this a good idea?

Maybe he should turn back?

Hundreds of thoughts beat against each other in his head, but his legs led him to the stone stairs anyway, and then down to where no one could see them.

His cousin stood by the wall, looking beyond it to the sea; her long hair was partly tied back with a blue ribbon, the rest of it was blown by the wind. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up at him and smiled in a way he knew very well.

She was glad to see him.

“I'm glad to see you, cousin.” She said softly when he stopped in front of her, as if she was reading his mind.

He nodded, embarrassed, feeling for some reason that despite the cool sea breeze around them, he was hot.

“My condolences.” He muttered, reminding himself that his mother had ordered him to say it to everyone he met.

His cousin lowered her gaze and nodded, accepting his words.

“Thank you.”

They both fell silent, looking out at the sea, simply standing side by side. He was afraid that he should say something and was thinking hard about what neutral topic he could raise, when he suddenly heard her voice beside him.

“She was a good woman. She never tried to replace my mother, but she did everything she could to make me feel that she cared about me. I regret that I never thanked her for it.” She muttered, her voice breaking more and more with each sentence.

He looked at her uncertainly out of the corner of his eye, fearing that she would cry.

He wasn't good at consoling, so he remained silent.

“But I couldn't love her. Nor my sisters. I couldn't form a bond with them. My stepmother died, and I don't feel anything.” She said in a breaking voice, tear after tear ran down her cheeks red from the cold.

“If you don't feel anything, why are you crying?” He asked, looking ahead, straight at the setting sun hiding behind the horizon of the sea.

“Because I'm ashamed.” She confessed, making him feel a squeeze in his chest for some reason.

“You don't have to. She was not your mother, and they are not your sisters. You don't owe them anything.” He replied matter-of-factly, feeling that this was exactly what he believed.

Contrary to what Daemon had told her, they were not her true family.

They only pretended to be one.

“Who then is my family, if not my own father, his wife and daughters?” She mumbled with difficulty, as if his words frightened her even more.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, wondering if he should say it.

“Unlike my nephews, you are a true blood of the dragon. You can decide for yourself who you will love and who you will despise.” He replied with emphasis on the last words, involuntarily glancing in her direction.

She looked at him in disbelief, her dark eyes larger than ever, as if what he was saying shocked her.

“We don't control who we love.” She said, looking him straight in the face.

“We don't control. We choose.” He finally stated and drew in the air loudly, folding his hands behind his back. “You also have to choose. If you wish, I will take you with me back to where you belong. To King's Landing.”

Her lower lip twiched at his words, as if he had stabbed a dagger straight into her heart.

“I don't believe you.”

He wanted to answer her, but he flinched when he realised that he had heard the screech of a dragon in the distance – he raised his head and followed with his eyes the small, dark silhouette flying between the clouds.

Then he made his decision.

“I will take you to the Red Keep on the back of my dragon.”

She did not understand what he meant, however, he preferred not to initiate her into his plan: she had promised to obey him, so when he commanded her to go to sleep and worry about nothing, she did so reluctantly.

He, on the other hand, set out under cover of darkness to meet his destiny.

The trip through hills full of sand and stones was difficult and exhausting, but what he saw was sufficient compensation for his efforts. Vhagar was frighteningly beautiful: she was big, magnificent, and she evidently saw in him what none but his mother and cousin could, for although she opened her maw to burn him, when he spoke to her in High Valyrian, she hesitated.

Climbing onto her back, his palms were sweaty from nerves and terror, his body trembling as he tried with great effort to reach her saddle. When he finally succeeded and lifted into the skies with her, he realised that the gods had given him a sign, revealing to him his fate.

He had made Vhagar his dragon, and in the future he would make his cousin his wife.

In that moment, as he screamed with happiness, flying between the clouds, it made perfect sense to him. He didn't see this idea as something to do with physicality, but rather the conviction that since they both held affection and respect for each other, someday they would surely be able to beget offspring together, to create a lineage they would both be proud of.

In that one moment, he felt like he was holding his destiny in his hands, only for the gods to flip a coin again.

As soon as he landed back on the ground his nephews were already waiting for him and gave him another gift, this time one he was never to forget.

If he had to explain to someone what the pain of his eye being pulled out of his eye socket was, he wouldn't be able to describe it: it seemed to him that not only he was screaming, but his whole body as well, that his fingernails would pierce the frame of the bed he was lying on, that he was about to die and would never wake up.

He feared death.

“Mother, don't let me die.” He mumbled out, choking on his tears, his hands clenched into fists on the sheets.

His mother squeezed his arm harder, giving him courage.

“You will not die, my brave son. One day we will have our vengeance.”

Though Luke had taken his honour and his face, he had gained something more: a dragon.

A dragon that no one could challenge.

He knew that what happened after he returned from Vhagar's liege had nothing to do with Daemon's daughter: he had ordered her to stay in her chamber until he came for her, and so she did.

When he walked into her quarters, she rose from her seat, her face flooded with tears.

Daemon had already told her what had happened.

“I –” She began, but he would not let her finish.

“Fly with me or stay. I won't give you a second chance to choose.” He said coldly.

He was a man of honour and he kept his word.

He was sure she would refuse.

He was sure she was a coward.

But she nodded her head.

Neither of them knew how furious Daemon had been when he and his daughter had taken to the skies without his knowledge: when, in his eyes, he had abducted her as it was in the tradition of Old Valyria for centuries, to one day make her his wife.

Lady Royce

Her father punished her escape with his silence: the very thing he knew would hurt her most. He didn't answer her letters or explanations, and for months, then years, he didn't visit the Red Keep even at the invitation of his brother-king.

She knew that he considered what she had done a betrayal, and she suffered greatly because of it.

Nevertheless, she could not lie to herself and pretend that returning to King's Landing did not bring her relief. Between her half-sisters, she felt invisible, her father's person crushed her, and now she was free again.

At least in theory.

Queen Alicent was enraged when she saw her in the company of her son as soon as they returned to the Red Keep: she considered it their act of disobedience and a reason for Daemon to take revenge on her and her children. Her husband, however, was not so harsh about their misdeeds.

“They are just children, my love. My niece can stay here as long as she wishes. My brother and his daughters are in mourning. Let her not surround herself with sorrow and death.”

Although, in fact, King Viserys was partly right, her father was not really focused on mourning, but on marrying another woman as soon as possible.

Rhaenyra.

Only then did she feel as if someone had drawn a clear red line between one part of her family and another: the one that supported Queen Alicent and the one that supported Princess Rheanyra.

She herself wasn't sure she supported anyone: all she cared about was keeping Helaena safe. She was unable to bond with Baela and Rhaena, but she treated the king's daughter like her true sister.

She was calm, quiet and kind, full of warmth that gave her a sense of safety.

“I'm worried about Aemond.” She said one day, bent over her beautiful embroidery depicting a spider. “I feel that he is retreating more and more into the darkness of his mind.”

She lowered her gaze at her words, understanding perfectly what she meant: she answered nothing, however, as her cousin forbade her to speak of anything they discussed or did behind the closed door of his chamber.

He had kissed her for the first time when they were thirteen; he was respectful and gentle when his hands cupped her soft, pink cheeks during one of their lessons in his quarters, his caress slow and warm.

He was clearly nervous and excited, his breath heavy as their skin pressed together in a wet, sticky act she had only heard about from girls older than her.

She was convinced that this gesture was not a proof of his affection for her, but jealousy that Aegon had more experience with women than he did.

Nevertheless, since then, there had been a change in him that she had not expected: he had apparently regarded that incident as a turning point of some sort.

He began to speak not of his lineage but of their lineage, not of his heritage but of their heritage.

“From now on, I will be to you like an older brother,” he communicated to her proudly, looking down at her, having long been much taller than her, “I will protect you and surround you with the care a man should bestow on a woman.”

She accepted his words with joyful disbelief, feeling her heart flutter like a bird in her chest.

On more than one occasion, she had witnessed Aegon encouraging him to join him in a brothel – according to his older brother, only intercourse with the body of a mature, experienced woman could make him a real man.

It seemed to her that her cousin was inwardly torn listening to these words – some part of him clearly wanted to prove to Aegon that he could be as good a lover as he was, but on the other hand he dismissed him, saying that he was interested in the arts of war and sword, not old courtesans.

Occasionally he would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, as if the fact that she was listening to this exchange of words made him uncomfortable; then, for a moment, the thought would cross her mind that perhaps she was the reason he was refusing him.

She realised then that there was some kind of plan in his head, a vision of which she was also a part.

She craved it and was terrified of it at the same time.

She was not a mature woman, let alone an experienced one.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw with sadness that, compared to the other ladies of the court, she still looked like a child; the delicate outline of her breasts under her gown could not compare with the full, plump shapes of the other women's chests, as much as with their wide hips and coquettish smiles.

She didn't know what to do to make the change inside her happen faster, until one day she found out that transforming into a woman wasn't as pleasant and beautiful as it might seem.

“You are bleeding, my love,” Queen Alicent told her, trying to reassure her after she woke up, all sticky from the blood leaking from between her thighs, “your flower has blossomed. It means you are fertile and can become a mother. It's natural, although unpleasant.”

“When will it end?” She muttered, twisting in her seat, already dressed in clean smallclothes, filled inside with materials that were apparently meant to stop the bleeding.

“In a few days. But it will happen again in a month. It will continue to happen for years, as long as you and your future husband do not conceive a child.” The queen explained to her.

“For years?” She squirmed, feeling that something in that thought had broken her.

She did not know why she had cried that day, lying in her bed. She resented her father that neither he nor his second wife had warned her what the woman's fate was.

She did not know that she would feel painful spasms in her lower abdomen, she did not know that the warm, disgusting liquid would flow out of her again and again, making her uncomfortable.

She felt that there was no glory in it, no reason to be proud – on the contrary, for some reason she felt an overwhelming, deep shame.

She shuddered and covered herself more tightly with a fur when she heard the door to her chamber open – her cousin stepped inside without a word, striding towards her with his hands folded behind his back.

It was the first time he had come to her, rather than she to him.

“My congratulations.” He said, stopping beside her bed, looking at her with some kind of curiosity and satisfaction.

“I don't follow.” She mumbled, surprised by his choice of words.

“Fertility is a reason for every woman to be proud.” He stated, cocking his head to the side.

She lowered her gaze, realising that he knew what was happening to her.

“I didn't know it would be so painful.” She finally confessed, wondering if he would scold her for self-pity.

He, however, was silent for a long moment before speaking again.

“That's because you're not carrying a child inside you. When you become my wife, I will see to it that you no longer suffer.” He replied at last, struggling to remain calm – she had known him long enough, however, to know that he feared her reaction.

She looked at him with big eyes, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

What?

“What do you mean?” She muttered without thinking, even though she understood perfectly well what he was implying.

She just couldn't believe he'd said it out loud.

She saw that he swallowed hard, struggling to keep a stony face.

“Do you wish to marry someone else?” He asked, a hint of frustration in his voice that sent a cold shiver down her spine.

She shook her head quickly, horrified at his suggestion and the direction their conversation was going.

“N-no.” She mumbled.

“Good.” He said and turned away without another word, leaving her alone with his suggestion of what he truly desired.

Despite his words, he didn't try to kiss her for a second time; apparently his pride wouldn't allow him to ask again for something that, in his mind, was no more than a naïve female fantasy.

That he was incapable of expressing and showing his feelings openly, she had known for a long time; anything that might make him be seen as weak or naive was an unnecessary risk for him.

His older brother watched him closely, mocking and commenting aloud on any behaviour he found amusing and worthy of his attention.

To her cousin, the thought that he was constantly being watched, and thus could not afford to make a mistake, was completely petrifying.

This was the reason he avoided using words; it frightened him how many undertones and misunderstandings they involved, how easily he could destroy his reputation in the eyes of others with one ill-considered sentence.

She was then left with no choice but to use her intuition, carefully observing his subtlest gestures and glances to understand what he was trying to convey to her wordlessly. It was a difficult process, because he too often did not know what his needs really were and what they stemmed from.

“I don't want to strain you. We can discuss this chapter another time.” She said uncertainly, seeing that ever since she had crossed the threshold of his chamber his figure had tensed and his face expressed cold displeasure.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye in a way from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

“If you want to leave, then do so.” He replied, making her blink in astonishment.

“I just want you to rest properly.” She muttered, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture.

She felt around him like she was with her father, never knowing what would satisfy him.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked at last, forcing the words out with some strange difficulty, as if this thought had been weighing on his heart for a long time.

She swallowed hard, completely surprised by his question.

“No. I just… I just find it hard to comprehend what could possibly please you.” She choked out with difficulty, feeling ashamed at hearing how pathetic that sounded.

She thought he would laugh mockingly at her words, but his face was completely grave.

“Your kiss will please me.” He said with some kind of regret, as if he was suffering from having to ask her for it.

It hit her that he simply wanted reciprocation when, at the same time, she was afraid that if she offered it herself, he would consider it undignified behaviour on her part.

She sighed, trying to calm herself down and moved closer to him – she saw that he drew in air loudly through his nose, as if he was trying to mentally prepare himself for what was about to happen.

He shuddered as she took his face in her hands, exactly as he did then – her thumbs stroked his cheeks and he closed his eyelid for a moment, as if he felt relieved. She took advantage of the fact that he wasn't looking and leaned in, letting their lips join in a moist, soft kiss – he surprised her when he parted his mouth and gently deepened the caress, making his warm breath fill her throat.

She closed her eyes, for some reason not wanting to pull away from him – she let his fingers run through her long, loose hair, let his hands roam tentatively over the back of her head and neck, while their lips brushed and teased each other with the quiet, sticky clicks of their saliva.

Eventually they ran out of breath, so they broke the kiss, however, their foreheads remained pressed together.

“Leave, if you want to.” He whispered, clearly indicating that he had no intention of taking advantage of her in any way.

“I don't want to leave,” she mumbled, embarrassed by her own words, “I want to fall asleep by your side.”

“My mother would kill me.” He mumbled out, as if he was fighting the strenuous urge to succumb to her.

“Then I will leave. I don't want to be the reason for you two to disagree.” She said, stroking his cheek with her palm, trying to comfort him.

“No,” he breathed out, his fingers digging harder into the fabric of her robe at her back, “stay.”

So she stayed.

There was something naïve about the way they lay far apart on his bed, the way his hand grasped hers and squeezed it, as if he wanted to find out if it was really happening.

“Don't tell anyone.” He asked, a sort of childish desire in his eye, from which her heart filled with warmth.

“I won't.”

That night it seemed to her that he didn't fall asleep even for a moment – she felt his hand run over her fingers, over her shoulder, and when he was sure she was immersed in a dream, he smoothed her cheek with his thumb.

What surprised her was that every time he did this a warm, pleasant shiver ran through her body – she wished he would never stop, because this was the first time in her life she had felt so comforted by someone.

This event had changed him; clearly the realisation that she reciprocated his affection had emboldened him in some way.

When they finished their lessons, they often lay on his bed facing each other and talked, touching each other's hands, faces and hair at the same time. Her heart pounded like crazy as his fingers combed through her curls, as his hand closed around the back of her neck, massaging it gently.

“I like the way you smell,” he said once out of nowhere, surprising her completely, “and the fact that your skin is so pleasantly soft.”

She realised he was trying to offer her a compliment – the thought of the two of them taking a walk through the royal gardens or showing interest in each other in public filled him with embarrassment, however, he had clearly found that in the privacy of his chamber he was willing to give her something he was not offering anyone else.

His words.

She smiled broadly at his confession, feeling a pleasant warmth in her lower abdomen spilling over her insides like a wave.

“And I like your big hands,” she replied shyly, stroking the skin of his wrist with her fingers, “and your beautiful white hair.”

She saw that he swallowed loudly, and his lips tightened in an involuntary attempt to stop himself from showing any reaction to her words; nevertheless, his eye betrayed him – it grew large and full of something she understood perfectly.

He needed to hear that something of value could be seen in him too, including physically.

That he wasn't a cripple in her eyes.

The way he slowly leaned towards her, his lips that barely brushed hers in a gesture full of invitation, their hands that clasped in their hair seemed as natural to her as breathing – the caress of their lips was hotter and more intimate than they had ever been before, deep, filled with something she was yet to discover.

Kisses were a form of reward for them, but also some kind of consolation on difficult days; in this way, although they could not speak openly to each other about this subject, they gave each other a sense of mutual care.

Over time, although it carried a high risk of being caught, they took this caress beyond the thresholds of his room; it was enough for him to catch her in one of the less frequented corridors of the Red Keep for their brief – even rough on his side – exchange of words to end with his tongue invading between her plump lips.

He liked it when their tongues met and licked, because he was obviously aroused by how perverse and passionate it was; his healthy eye was closed when his body pressed hers against one of the cold stone walls, while their hot mouths melted together again and again.

It was a warm, wet experience, filled with their loud, raspy breaths, their hands tentatively trailing the silhouettes of their bodies, giving them only the promise of what they both desired.

In that moment, in some strange, chaotic way they were devouring each other.

Her cousin evidently believed that he did not need to explain or confess anything to her; no words of affection, if he had any for her, ever left his lips. On the contrary; as he grew taller and his physique grew stronger, so did his ego, and with it the impression that he could not afford to show what he thought was a mere feminine sentiments.

Perhaps this would have been the reason for her distress, had it not been for the fact that he paid more attention to her than to anyone else anyway; above all, to the despair of the other ladies of the court, she was the only person besides Criston Cole and members of his family with whom he spoke in public of his own free will.

He usually approached her when he had something to say to her and announced it to her as simply and quickly as possible – he would then stand erect in front of her with his hands folded behind his back and look off somewhere into the distance, glancing at her only occasionally, usually driven by mere curiosity.

“A wild dragon has been seen in the Vale regions lately.” He said to her one day, as she happened to be heading to his sister's chamber to help her change before supper. “He is said to be larger than Meleys.”

She blinked, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad – she looked around quickly, wanting to make sure no one had heard what he had said.

“Help me.” She whispered. “Please.”

Her cousin cocked his head and hummed, looking at her with his mouth formed in the shape of an o, as if he wanted to whistle in satisfaction.

He liked it when she begged.

“Hm. How can I be sure you won't use this dragon against me and my family one day?” He asked offhandedly, looking down at her, a kind of challenge in his voice.

She blinked, feeling cold discomfort in her chest at his words.

“I am your family.” She mumbled.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them – she could see in his gaze that he was thinking about something, at the same time unable to deny her words.

“We leave tomorrow, at dawn.” He finally communicated to her in boredom, leaving her bewildered.

“And the Queen and your grandfather? Do they know what you intend to do?” She asked, and he rolled his eye, clearly frustrated by her remark.

“Sheep don't understand the ways of dragons. It's beyond their comprehension.” He recognised with some kind of pride, from which she pressed her lips together to keep from expressing her disbelief.

Clearly something in the expression on his face must have betrayed her, for he looked at her suddenly with a piercing, watchful gaze, his jaw twitching in a reflex she knew well.

“Come to my chamber tonight.”

Just as she had done in their childhood days, to leave her rooms now she had to wait for the watch to change; only then would she slip out and take advantage of the moment to make her way down a dark, rarely used corridor through a side entrance to the prince's quarters.

She had no idea if anyone but her knew about it; presumably if they did, the guards thought the additional door remained locked. However, her cousin had left them open for her, and it was through these that she entered, stepping into his chamber, enveloped in the warm light of the fire.

She spotted his silhouette at once – he was sitting at the top of a long table, on which lay stacks of maps and letters, a thick, old volume in his hands.

When he heard her footsteps, he lifted a glance of his healthy eye to her, and then returned to his reading again, carelessly turning the page over.

She was not bothered by this; he was often in the habit of pretending not to see her at first. From her perspective, it was his attempt to cope with the fact that, although accustomed to solitude, he was hosting someone else in his private quarters.

She untied her cloak, placed it on one of the richly decorated oak chairs and, wearing nothing but her nightgown, took a slow, quiet step towards his bed. She knew she could do it, and that she was certain to stay with him anyway, so she simply lay back on the soft sheet and closed her eyes, listening to the pleasant sound of the sizzling fire.

For a moment, all she could hear was that and the rustle of pages being turned – the smell of him and the parchments pleasantly filled her nose, calming her.

The quiet creak of wood woke her from her half-sleep and she shuddered, opening her sleepy eyes – she spotted his silhouette heading lazily towards her. His hand rose to the belt of his tunic, undoing it with the quiet click of a buckle.

“Tomorrow. You must promise to obey me. Otherwise I will not fly with you.” He said calmly, looking at her with an expression on his face that pretended to show indifference.

“I will.” She said.

“Mm.” He hummed under his breath, finally pulling the leather material off his shoulders.

She made room for him and moved sideways on the bed as he sat on the edge of it and leaned over, pulling his boots off his feet. She watched wordlessly as he did the same a moment later with his eye patch, finally throwing it carelessly onto the stone floor. He sighed and hid his face in his hand, massaging the area around his scarred eye socket in some subconscious reflex.

Stress was causing discomfort to return to the left side of his face.

“You are in pain.” She whispered softly, raising herself up on her elbow.

He didn't reply, just swallowed hard and froze in stillness.

“Let me.” She insisted, and he finally looked at her and nodded.

She raised herself up on her knees and moved towards him, sitting down so that she could see his face. He looked at her silently with some kind of melancholy as her hands gently grasped his face and her thumbs began to massage his temples.

He immediately closed his eye and flinched as her thumbs moved over his brow arches and cheekbones – he twitched when she did it the first time, but relaxed more and more with each subsequent stroke, and his face took on an expression of relief.

“I wouldn't object if you did this to me all night.” He said quietly, his eyelid still closed. She smiled involuntarily at his words, running her fingers over his forehead, nose and cheeks, going back to the beginning – to his temples and brows.

“I can.” She said warmly, but he shook his head.

“We need to rest. Come. I want to sleep.”

She nodded and held out her hand to him, shifting back towards the middle of the bed – he moved obediently to follow her and literally fell into her arms, pressing his nose against the space between her breasts.

She wasn't sure if he was able to breathe in that position, but she could see that his chest was rising and falling, so she didn't comment on it, combing her fingers through his white hair.

She knew that he was hiding from the world now: he wanted to disappear for a while and simply not be, like a small, defenceless child.

The control that he, in his mind, had over his life had a high cost that he did not speak of – it superseded any of his other needs unrelated to survival and victory, whatever that victory would mean.

While it may have seemed complicated, in fact the truth was much simpler: he was tired. It wasn't so much a physical fatigue, however, but rather a spiritual one – the self-imposed compulsion to remain silent when he was still a child was something that kept him safe, but also imprisoned him in his own head.

She mused on this as she watched him in silence, playing with strands of his long hair, feeling his body grow loose in her embrace, the tips of his fingers wandering lazily over her bare arm, his eye remaining closed.

He craved her closeness, but in more ways than one; preferably ones he could see as safe in his mind.

Lying in her embrace was such; he could just lie there and let her stroke him, listening to the slow beat of her heart. He could smell her scent and feel the warmth of her body, hear her breathing, have her to himself and know that she would fall asleep with him.

It calmed him.

In the middle of the night, she was awakened by the touch of a familiar hand – when she opened her eyes, she was in the midst of darkness. Her cousin was still snuggled up against her body, and he was obviously convinced that she was deeply asleep – it was only because of this that he allowed his fingers to travel up to her breast and squeeze it gently, as if checking to see if it was as soft as he imagined.

She couldn't stop the hot shudder that ran through her body or the pulsing she felt deep between her thighs. Other than that, she didn't move; she felt him freeze for a while, but after a moment, when he recognised that she had reacted in her sleep, he went back to stroking her plump bosom with his fingers.

A soft, shaky breath escaped her lips, her hands tightened on his back, holding him close; she felt him flinch and he froze again, taking his hand quickly off her chest.

She heard him swallow hard as she grasped his wrist and, in a gentle, slow motion, placed his hand where it had been – her fingers intertwined with his, allowing him to sink into the softness of her flesh again.

She thought it was a very intimate experience, one from which her whole body grew hot and her cheeks lit up red. She closed her eyes, hearing both of them breathe a little louder, their bodies pressed tighter together, seeking closeness.

Her wordless consent apparently made him feel bold, because he leaned forward, closing his lips around her nipple, clearly visible under the thin material of her nightgown. Something between a moan of surprise and a sigh escaped her throat when she felt him begin to suck as if he were a baby – her fingers clenched on his hair, holding him close.

“– lēkia (big brother) –” She whispered and flinched as she felt something long and hard pulsate in his breeches, pushing against her thigh.

She didn't quite understand the purpose of what he was just doing, but it was pleasant; she thought perhaps it was one of the secrets Aegon had told him about the pleasures of the female body.

She kissed the top of his head as his hand slid down her waist, slipping uncertainly under her linen shirt to finally touch her bare knee.

She felt that something throbbed hard deep inside her, that something sticky ran down her buttock to the sheet beneath their bodies.

They both began to pant as his broad hand went higher up her thigh and then to her hip, squeezing it finally between his fingers.

She shuddered as his wrist slid lower, between her legs, and his hand immediately froze – exactly like her body – when he touched her moist, pulsing womanhood.

“May I?” He asked in a whisper, still snuggled into her chest, not daring to look at her.

“What… what do you want to do?” She answered question for question, unsure of how much she herself was ready for.

She heard him swallow hard, as if he was terrified of having to answer her out loud.

“I want to give you pleasure.”

She felt her heart pounding like mad under his cheek, her fingers gently stroking his head.

She wondered if she should say it.

“I'm afraid.”

He took his hand from between het thighs at her words.

“What are you afraid of? I would never hurt you.” He assured her with a kind of surprise and regret, as if he didn't believe he had to say it.

“It's such a… private place. I…”

“I didn't mean to rush you. Forgive me. Do not be afraid.” He whispered, his voice strangely soothing, as if he understood what she meant.

“I'm sorry.” She mumbled in shame, feeling that she had ruined something that could have changed everything between them.

Her cousin raised himself on his elbow to look at her, but her big, red eyes made him freeze.

“Daor, hāedar (no, little sister). Gaomagon limagon daor (do not cry).” He said in a quiet, melodious tone, his large hand gently cupping her hot cheek.

“It was happening so fast. Your hand…”

She didn't finish as he leaned over her and placed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. They stayed like that for a while without separating their bodies, her fingers grasping his, holding him close.

When he finally pulled away from her, his gaze was calm.

“I should have prepared you better. Explain what I want to do.” He said with a kind of weariness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

It was the first time he had spoken openly.

“Can you explain it to me now? So that I understand?” She asked, and he swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze for a moment.

He began to play with the material of her nightgown between his fingers, apparently struggling to find the right words to describe his desires.

“The source of a woman's pleasure, from what I understood from my brother's babble, is deep between her thighs. It is hidden there and must be found and caressed for a woman to achieve fulfilment.” He choked out finally, looking at her womb and hips, now hidden again under her shirt.

She twisted in her place, intrigued.

“The ladies of the court say that a man's tongue down there can perform wonders. But I don't know what they meant by that.” She said lightly.

She saw that he looked at her in shock, his nostrils twitched in a deep breath.

“You've heard about it too. From whom?” She asked amused.

He grunted and shrugged his shoulders, turning his head in the opposite direction.

“Aegon likes to brag about what he does to his whores and servants.” He muttered, feigning indifference, but his breathing, deep and uneven, betrayed him.

“Would you like to try it? That tongue thing.” He suggested suddenly, glancing in her direction out of the corner of his eye.

She drew in a loud breath, twisting in her place again, feeling her womanhood swell suddenly and pulsate around nothing at the very thought.

His mouth, down there.

“Doesn't it disgust you?” She mumbled in shame.

“You took a bath before you came to me, didn't you?”

“…I did.” She admitted, looking at him with wide eyes.

“So I can try. To satisfy our curiosity.” He proposed, apparently wanting to find any justification for what he wanted to do.

She nodded, feeling her heart in her throat, her stomach no longer filled with fear but with pure, hot excitement.

“If you don't like it, say so. I don't want to force you.” She said in a voice breaking with tension, watching in disbelief as he moved down, kneeling between her legs.

He threw her a meaningful look, in which she saw some kind of mockery.

“As if it's easy to force me to do anything against my will. Who do you think I am?” He asked with a wince, a slow, lazy movement of his hand lifting the material of her nightgown above her hips.

She had never been so exposed to anyone before in her life; she had to turn her gaze away to avoid looking at it and closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. Her hands tightened on the pillow on each side of her head when she felt him gently take her thighs in his rough hands and spread them slightly apart.

For a moment nothing happened; she thought he was just looking at her, or rather at what was between her legs. She sighed and flinched, surprised when his thumb ran down the length of her opening, apparently wanting to collect what had managed to leak out of her.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked uncertainly, clearly not understanding if her reaction was due to discomfort or not.

She shook her head quickly, looking up at him only to close her eyes again a moment later, overwhelmed by the helpless position she had just found herself in.

She was at his mercy.

He won't hurt me, she assured herself in spirit.

He promised me that, and he is a man of his word.

This thought calmed her.

Her heart thumped harder in her chest when she heard the bed creak loudly under the weight of his body, and then his hot breath enveloped her throbbing womanhood – a quiet moan of surprise broke from her throat when she felt his slick tongue run over her flesh, causing an aggressive shiver to pass down her spine.

She didn't have time to calm down after that first, shocking sensation, and his tongue again clung to her smooth, dripping cunt, licking it like a cat drinking milk – her hands involuntarily reached into his hair and clenched on it, her hips made a motion forward as if trying to sink into his face.

“– oh – yes –” She breathed out, but it seemed to her that this voice was not her own, its tones squeaky and girlish, full of surprise.

She thought her body was on fire, arching as it rocked to the rhythm of his caresses – she heard him sigh, obviously feeling her wetness begin to run down her buttocks. His lips closed gently around the sweet spot she felt most strongly and began to suck, making her cry out loudly, throwing her head back.

“– Aemond –” She whined out pleadingly, though she didn't know what she was really asking for – all she could hear and feel were the wet sounds of slurping and licking, lazy and unhurried, full of a thoroughness that drove her mad.

As she glanced down at him, for some reason wanting to see him now, she noticed that his eyelid was closed and he was completely absorbed in his task – his head was moving back and forth, disappearing again and again deep between her thighs.

It felt like a bolt of lightning pierced her lower abdomen when she felt his tongue burst inside her body and begin to thrust between her fleshy, hot walls.

“– g-gods – gods, oh, fuck, fuck, yes, yes, brother, here, right here, yes –” She begged, completely losing touch with reality, feeling nothing but overwhelming pleasure as again and again the tip of his tongue teased a spot deep inside her, from which the tension in her loins became unbearable.

She felt that some sort of peak was approaching, that if it lasted even a moment longer, her poor womanhood would simply explode.

“– ah! –” She almost screamed out in pleasure as a convulsion shook her body – she threw her head back, feeling a wonderful, overpowering, tickling wave of heat spread across her insides, flowing through her mouth, her breasts, her belly, down to her throbbing, leaking cunt.

She panted for a moment longer, wishing the feeling would never go away, until she froze powerless, breathing heavily with her eyes closed. She only looked up at him when she heard the quiet rustling of fabric, followed by quick, rhythmic, sticky splats – before she could make any sound his mouth was on hers, tasting foreign, salty and sweet at the same time.

She moaned into his throat, surprised when she felt something warm and long rub against her womanhood again and again – at first she was frightened that he craved fulfillment inside her, but contrary to her assumption, he did not try to take her. He caressed himself with his hand, squeezing his manhood at the very root, teasing its smooth tip by running it over her moist, oversensitive slit.

She murmured contentedly, sinking her hands into his long hair, letting it fall lightly against her body. Knowing that he was balancing on one hand and just giving himself pleasure with the other, she decided to help him achieve satisfaction, exactly as he had helped her.

He looked at her with his mouth wide open, breaking the kiss for a moment when he saw her slide her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing the fullness of her breasts to him. He closed his eyes and gave her a quiet little moan as she lifted his shirt up, exposing his chest, and with a gesture of her arms, encouraged him to let their bare skin touch.

“– hāedar – mmm –” He breathed out into her mouth, sliding his tongue deep into her throat, his free hand grasping her breast so that with every movement of his hips her nipple rubbed against his chest.

Her body was all flushed from what she had experienced with him earlier, and his uncontrollable, almost animalistic movements were giving her some strange kind of pleasure. She knew he didn't want to take advantage of her – on the contrary, he no longer knew what to do with the tension he himself felt in his loins and was looking for a way to take her while not depriving her of what should not yet be his.

She didn't know what he thought of it, but she let her hands roam over his bare neck and down his back under his shirt, to his exposed buttocks from which he had slipped his breeches off. His body twitched each time her fingers explored a new region of his skin that no one but himself had ever seen or felt before – the slaps of his hand became faster and harsher, his breath heavy in her throat, the bed on which they lay began to creak loudly under their weight.

And then suddenly he made a sound of strange relief, as if he had sighed deeply and was about to cry – she squealed quietly, surprised to feel something warm and sticky spill over her abdomen and thighs, realising after a moment that it was his seed.

His body fell inertly on top of her, as if what he had done had cost him all the strength he had left, and he drew in deep breath, apparently trying to calm himself. She felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, pressed tightly against hers – his manhood, still twitching and pulsing, now lying between his body and hers, was nestled against her stomach.

She stroked his hair and his back, cuddling her cheek into his temple, trying to calm down with him and comprehend what had really happened: their bodies were hot and wet with sweat, she felt a drop of it run down her spine.

She had never been more exposed, but she had also never felt more safe.

She wasn't sure if she should say anything – she really wanted to, however, she feared that the barrage of words that would flow from her mouth would simply overwhelm him after what had happened.

She suspected that, like her, her cousin was in a state of some sort of shock.

She blinked and shuddered when she suddenly heard his voice near her ear.

“Forgive me.”

She swallowed hard, feeling discomfort at the words, for some reason filled with guilt and resignation.

“What should I forgive you for?” She asked in a whisper, looking uncertainly in his direction.

Their eyes met.

“I was supposed to protect you. I didn't keep my word.” He said finally, startling her completely.

“You can't protect me from lust. You can only make it a pleasurable experience for me, in your strong, safe arms.” She replied with a kind of conviction that evidently impressed him, for he remained silent for a long time, looking at her with wide-open eye.

“You don't resent me?” He muttered, and she shook her head, smiling for some reason.

“No. I am happy that we are discovering these fascinating mysteries together. I could not imagine a more beloved and trusted companion for this journey.” She whispered, and he snorted, but she noticed in the darkness of the chamber that the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Let's sleep.”

Aemond

When he woke up, the sun had not yet risen on the horizon – he always got up before dawn. The order of his day was predetermined and he didn't like anything to change his plans. First he would eat his morning meal, preferably one that would give him energy before sparring. Then he would move on to training his body, spending long hours in the courtyard with a sword in hand.

When this was behind him, he would take a nice hot bath in the privacy of his chamber, spending the rest of the day delving into old, thick tomes that smelled of dust. He was not fond of suppers with his family, for they bored him and were a time of mere, even simpering courtesy which he did not understand, he endured them, however, because he could then look at her in peace.

As in their childhood, she was sitting in exactly the same place now – opposite him, at the side of his sister Helaena, at the very end of the table.

To their right sat only Daeron.

Helaena was fond of her, because their cousin understood and respected her barriers. It was something he himself deeply valued in her – the fact that she could watch someone carefully and knew the boundaries she could not cross.

It made him, as well as his sister, enjoy being in her company – they knew they would not be surprised in an unpleasant way or put in a situation that would be uncomfortable for them.

In the case of her and Helaena, a sincere, warm friendship had grown between them over the years; he didn't mind this turn of events because he knew that his cousin didn't gossip about his sister with the other ladies of the court and that she kept her secrets, like his, deep in her heart.

He, of course, was not such a fool as to share his worries or thoughts with her, however, he would be lying if he said that he did not enjoy speaking with her, though he usually tried to give that impression.

“Will you stand to fight in a tournament in honour of our king's Name Day?” She asked him, putting her bow and arrows back in place while he sharpened his dagger, which he always carried with him.

Ever since she managed to tame Sheepstealer she has been more brazen than usual.

“Do you want to annoy me?” He answered dryly with a question to a question, not even looking at her despite his overwhelming desire to do so – her familiar scent reached his nose, making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches.

His tongue swirling around her hard nipple, his two long fingers thrusting deep into her throbbing, hot cunt, all leaking with desire.

He felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine and he swallowed hard, trying to keep a stony face.

He heard her laugh behind him.

“No, but my wreath will have to fall to someone else. Pity. Perhaps I'll give my blessing to your uncle.” She said lightly, and he struggled to hold back the grimace of displeasure that pressed against his lips.

Gwayne was fond of her, and his affection was reciprocated – when he came to the Red Keep to visit his father and sister, he often chatted with her during supper and teased her in ways that drove him mad.

Usually, however, one sharp look from him over the table in her direction was enough for his cousin to turn to Helaena and pay no further attention to his uncle.

“Do what you want.” He burbled coldly, and she sighed heavily.

“Just don't be surprised.” She said disapprovingly, but before he had time to answer her anything she turned and disappeared into the depths of the castle, leaving him with her words and the discomfort he felt in his heart.

Did she really have to give anyone that fucking wreath?

On the other hand, what would it look like if she refused to give it to anyone?

What would his mother have said?

Whether he wanted to or not, he had to watch the next day as his uncle, proud in his armor, sat on his gray steed, holding aloft his lance, on which his cousin had placed a wreath of field flowers.

He looked ahead as she sat back between him and his sister, pretending not to feel how she pressed her arm against his. His gaze involuntarily fled to the side, to her hand, when he felt her little finger brush over his.

He swallowed hard and crossed his legs, shocked that this public expression of intimacy aroused him.

Did the people sitting behind them see it?

Rumors about the nature of their relationship had been spreading around King's Landing for years anyway.

His fingers involuntarily began to pluck the cuticles around his fingernails in some subconscious, nervous gesture full of excitement, the source of which he did not understand.

That night he took her for the first time.

At the beginning, it was simply a coupling similar to others they had experienced so far, but more fiery and loud, full of his frustrations and her assurances that she was faithful to him.

But then, instead of just rubbing his long manhood against the space between her thighs as usual, he decided to experience the warmth that was hidden deep inside her.

“– now I will receive my wreath – the only one that matters –” He exhaled into her ear, involuntarily pushing the tip of his length, swollen with pain and desire, against her moist, pulsing opening.

She let out a moan full of surprise and effort, her nails digging into the bare skin of his back.

“– Aemond – we can't – we can't –” She mewled and gasped as she felt that with a steady, slow thrusts he began to force his way into her hot, fleshy interior.

“– fuck –” He mouthed, feeling his heart pounding like mad, thinking that he shouldn't be doing this, but he had to, because he couldn't bear it any longer.

“– just let me –” He asked in a breaking voice, and she complied with his request.

She stared at him with her mouth wide open, trying to catch her breath as he began to move inside her, sinking deeper and deeper into her body with each deep push.

He pressed his forehead against hers, panting along with her, and stroked her sweaty cheek, looking at her with desperation, wordlessly asking her for forgiveness.

He expected it to be pleasurable, but didn't know it would be that much – her insides were warm and moist, enveloping his manhood on all sides, while squeezing him so tightly that he had trouble taking a deeper breath.

He had the impression that he was in some kind of trance, and the sounds that left their throats were not their own – their moans were high-pitched, similar to crying, her fingers clenched on his buttocks, her hips seeking rhythm with his thrusts, rocking back and forth.

“– I need this – do you understand? – I need you –” He mumbled in pain, imposing a faster, sharper pace on her, finally filling her completely.

His hips pounded against her buttocks with loud, wet splats, her moist, hot walls throbbing around his manhood, clenching against it in a way from which he felt like howling with pleasure.

“– here – please, here, brother –” She sobbed, arching her back so that the entirety of his manhood brushed against the upper wall inside her hot, spasming cunt.

“– here? – here it feels good? –” He panted with excitement, grabbing her hips in his hands, deliberately teasing the area she had showed him now – she threw her head back, her girlish cries of pleasure had to be enough of an answer for him.

“– yes – g-gods – ah –” She whimpered out, clearly experiencing it as extremely as he was, wriggling under him in pure ecstasy.

He just stared at her as his thumb ran over her swollen, plump lower lip, as her breasts bounced lightly with each of his deep, sharp stabs, until he finally felt what he so craved approaching.

An almost animalistic sound of relief came from his throat as he reached his peak inside her – he heard her sweet sound of pleasure and felt the shudder that shook her whole body, her leaking womanhood squeezing his cock greedily, sucking his seed deep inside her.

He collapsed on top of her and snuggled into her warm, sweaty skin, letting their arms embrace their figures tightly. They were both panting and quivering, feeling each other more than ever, wanting to stay that way.

As one.

He had promised himself, however, that he would never beget a bastard, and having his cousin drink moon tea was not an option for him.

He was not going to kill his own blood, his own heritage, his own child.

Then he decided that the time had come.

“Marry me.”

[visenyaism]

top ten clinically depressed asoiafers

I don’t think anyone ever wrote out the Westerosi DSM but I’ll take a crack at it.

Honorable Mention- Mance Raider and Qhorin Halfhand. We don’t get enough to make a full conclusion because it’s not important to Jon’s story so this is just a vibe but I feel it strongly.

10. Rhaena the Lesbian- like one of two actually great fire and blood characters. Convalescing in Harrenhal for like a decade after her wife left her and her third husband killed all her girlfriends plus she was one dead kid and one dead mother down. Kind of epic. Should have survived long enough to be weird and bitter to Jaehaerys’ insane children.

9. Daemon Targaryen- hey speaking of killing yourself in Harrenhal. Him never being happy with what he had or knowing what he wanted beyond getting his big brother to be proud of him so he just had to constantly chase dopamine in the form of insane levels of violence grooming teenagers and getting his cop frat brother employees to like him for money. Chemical imbalance with a body count in the thousands for his last midlife crisis wife leaving teenager grooming riverlands murder suicide bender alone.

8. Rhaegar Targaryen- Hey speaking of making your clinical depression everyone else’s problem at Harrenhal leading to the death of thousands. Why do people keep letting them do this is the question. Could estrogen have saved her is the second realer question

7. Lysa Arryn. Free her.

6. Daeron the Drunken- what if you were HAUNTED by PROPHETIC DREAMS that were only BAD and spelled the death and doom of your ENTIRE FAMILY and you COULDNT ESCAPE THEM except through SUBSTANCES and you were also the HEIR and your DAD was so DISAPPOINTED IN YOU and you had to take your RUDE and disrespectful plucky BABY KING ARTHUR brother to the CIRCUS and he was TEN and BALD and picked up by the hedge knight you DREAMED OF because he is going to INSTIGATE TO THE ETERNAL MISERY OF YOUR FAMILY a little bit on accident because you are DRUNK. NO HOPE. also honorable mention to post-fratricide Maekar who just locks himself in summerhall for years and post-treason court hostage Daemon II Blackfyre. I hope he and Daeron got brunch.

5. Ned Stark- classic flavor original variant Father Depression. Things went wrong for him young that he will never explain to anyone ever and they form a veil that serves as a barrier between him and the world and everyone he loves. Poor Ned.

4. Stannis Baratheon. Never let himself enjoy anything ever. Melancholy from birth. Rude and extremely blunt with everyone. Smiles twice both at Davos. Anorexic. Bald. Who among us has not been there.

3. Alannys Harlaw Greyjoy- finding out that Theon and Asha have an alive mom who is a gothic horror attic wife who never recovered from the loss of her family to the point that she’s still asking when all her dead and missing sons are going to come home to her and then Theon comes home and does not visit her. Actually agonizing for me the reader

2. Jon Connington- I’m about to get real sincere with these last two because Dance was a really good book that hit at a pivotal time for me. Everything he is in the world to do is motivated by this deep and profound grief and repression that simultaneously makes him a worse person (hungry to commit war crimes) and his best self (dives into the river to save Tyrion contracting greyscale in the process, being as loving and supportive of a father to Young Griff as anyone really could possibly be in this series.) The fact that he is such a late-game addition but feels like a missing piece as a character because of the emotional weight he carries is really cool. I love all his chapters. Tried to grasp a star overreached and fell is so powerful.

1. Tyrion Lannister- I adore his dance with dragons chapters where after his big moment of patriarchal catharsis he is suicidal and misanthropic and an alcoholic and hurting himself and others. It is really compelling because sometimes people get worse. And yet this is interspersed with moments where he is confronted with real genuine danger or real genuine joy and he consistently chooses to be kind to others for no material gain. Like comforting Penny during the storm or tackling a Stone Man into the Rhoyne to to save Young Griff’s life. Arguably these moments do not outweigh all of the harm he is actively inflicting, but they do show that he is incorrect about his self concept that he’s a monster and is actually just a deeply hurt person who has been traumatized so profoundly and is struggling as a result of it.

[host-club-hq]

wow i’ve never actually been tagged in one of these. i know it’s been quiteeee a while since ive posted so i thought maybe this might be fun? i might be writing a more serious less fun post but… yeah not right now lol

favorite color: purple, like a lavender, ironically kyoya’s lavender haha

currently reading: V for Vendetta for a class, and i just finished Black Klansman which was really interesting actually

last song: oooh uhmmmm… i think it was Change pt. by RM

last movie: aha… Tyler Perry’s Madea Goes To Jail…. listen my boyfriend and i thought it would be funny we’ve started liking the Madea movies

last series: The Office on REPEAT specifically the superfan episode version on Peacock there’s genuinely so much they removed and i can see why YIKES

sweet/savory/spicy: ooooo don’t get me on food rn i’m at the point in my calorie deficit where i have to be ok with going to bed hungry but god i’d kill for something savory right about now

craving/s: DO NOT do this to me, i’m craving being skinny!!!!!!! (seafood boil…)

tea/coffee: neither, actually. i want to get into tea but something about a floral taste i just cannot get behind

currently working on: haha… see, it’s actually a really funny story— listen, i WANT to be working on Indeed, i just have sooooo much going on right now i forget tumblr exists, and i took a scriptwriting class that actually debilitated my ability to write and i’m not gonna talk about it because i’m very upset but i’m getting back into the practice!

ooh no i do not have any tumblr friends but let’s see

tagging: @lazylittledragon @borathae @jungshookz ok i’m sorry for breaking the rule of 9 but i only follow ppl who i reaaaaally look up to their fic writing so they’re all too famous to be my friends guys

rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better

Tagged by @indrid-hot - thanks a bunch!

Favorite Color: A nice, warm, sunny orange - but also honestly most other colors of the rainbow and then some.

Currently Reading: The Tevinter Nights Dragon Age short story collection.

Last Song: L'appuntamento - Ornella Vanoni

Last Movie: Ah, gosh. HM. I haven't watched anything that's not a TV show in a while. I semi-voluntarily caught the last fifteen minutes of Scrooged over the winter holidays I guess?

Last Series: Last series I watched any part of is, as always, "Emergency!" because I will never not be stuck in 70's paramedic hell. If we're talking new-to-me shows, a friend's making me watch Grey's Anatomy (early seasons) once a week, probably because observing my growing despair about the characters' poor life choices is fun. I don't even normally watch medical shows, and yet here we are lol

Sweet, Savoury, Spicy: Savory if I had to pick

Craving: Some good spaghetti with olive oil and obscene amounts of lightly toasted garlic.

Tea/Coffee: Yes please, lol

Currently working on: OH BOY WHAT A QUESTION.

Spinning: Gotland on my spindles (4-ply, one single per spindle, for funsies - except I accidentally mixed up which bits of fiber go with which single on which spindle, so that'll be fun to sort out...), 7oz/200g of red Merino on the wheel (for a crochet hat, followed by 9.5 oz of red and black Merino for a woven scarf). But also 24.5oz/700g of grey Merino. And cotton on the supported spindle. And I've got some laceweight viscose on the mini turkish spindle that I should really work on...

Crocheting: Half a dozen things, including a lacy collar that needs buttons and blocking, a gigantic star-shaped wrap-around shawl, an incredibly boring granny square top for my little sister, and too many others to count.

Art: The Emergency! tarot as the eternal never-ending WIP; I also have some Dragon Age Veilguard related plans revolving around the Grand Necropolis and irl Catacomb Saints and I'd love to get some DA-style tarot cards done for all my player characters.

Writing: I still have a couple unfinished fanfics that need another chapter, as well as two deeply self-indulgent OC/Emergency! crossovers that friends are making me write, and I also have some Dragon Age stuff in the works - though if anyone will ever see that is another question entirely.

Music: Practicing various stuff for LARP; also slowly chipping away at Hozier's Work Song because my partner asked nicely.

With no pressure, I will tag: @geminyde, @caseyscraftycorner, @swords-n-spindles, @alpacazappa, @rosesonneptune, @rose-of-pollux, @zooarchaeologyatdinner, @kalikatze aaaaand I can't decide on a 9th person to tag so whoever wants to do this: You're It!