#if I see one I just keep it moving if I’m not a part of it

[weirdero]

I want to talk about Helena’s performance as Helly and her deep rooted misunderstanding of who Helly is as a person. And just in general how I think she perceives her especially after yesterday’s episode.

Helena is incredibly attentive, almost to the point of being terrifying. In the short moments she interacts with anyone, everything in her head is already scripted, calculated, and premeditated. She’s also a great method actress, reacting based on the energy around her. It’s like a stand up comic, constantly adjusting their performance to make sure their actions land. If something doesn’t click, she shifts.

Throughout the past couple of episodes, Helena spends most of her time just trying to go with the flow move with the water, trying to fit in without standing out, constantly monitoring the group and their reactions at every turn. And so far, she was good at it. She can play the part, until her own emotions towards helly start to blind her.

In these two pics she does a quick scan of Irving’s and Marks faces trying to analyze their reactions

Helena knows the group loves Helly. She knows Mark loves Helly. And honestly, I’d bet every dollar in my bank account that it genuinely makes her want to kill herself. She has zero respect for Helly, and she doesn’t need to. To Helena, Helly, and by extension, the group, are low value. Insignificant. At her highest, Helly is just a worker, a cheap extension of herself created with the sole purpose of just being a good employee to be displayed to the public as a little shining lumon puppet. But shit, the bitch can’t even do that. She’s done quite the opposite. So yeah, not a person to be respected or valued.

This particular disdain (and fuck it, I’m just gonna say hate) that Helena carries for Helly spills into the bonfire scene with Milchick.

While Milchick is reading the story, enunciating every word like a second grade elementary school teacher, showing pictures like they’re in a reading circle, I kept wondering to myself if Helena ever experienced something similar to this as a child. How many times has she heard this same story? Or hell, any other old Kier mythology? Lumon, Kier, the Eagan legacy, it’s all she’s ever known. This world is nothing new to her.

Even though I believe Helena is a loyal servant, she probably didn’t love all the weird shit she had to put up with in her childhood. The weight of the Egan legacy probably suffocates her. But she accepted it either way because that was the life she was given. Unlike fucking helly. Fucking helly who’s forced her into this situation to begin with. In my opinion, all of these particular feelings make their way into Helena’s reaction to the story as Helly, which could only be described as a middle schooler who suddenly thinks they’re too old for camp.

I saw this post someone made about this scene, and like shit, yeah, that’s probably right. Helena had one chance to shit on the weird religion that’s been shoved down her throat since birth and she took that chance.

Helena, in this moment, settles for crude, mocking jokes. She probably does this partially out of her own selfish need for Mark’s validation, as well as playing her role trying to fit into the group but I also think it’s a great reflection of her own personal feelings toward Helly. Helly, who would’ve never acted that way. Helly, who is many things, but never cruel. Helena doesn’t seem to understand that. For the moment, Helena takes a step back, flanderizes Helly, reducing her to this cheeky, crude, disruptive little jokester. That’s how Helena views her. With no respect. No nuance. Helly has layers Helena does not care to see. Helly doesn’t just break rules; she actively causes chaos, subverting everything around her. She’s purposefully, and happily, malcontent. A bitch, dare I say, an ungrateful bitch, most likely from Helena’s point of view.

Irving, who keeps testing her, makes her slip a little more. I talked about this a little bit in my last post about severance, but Helena doesn’t take well to being disrespected. She shifts from wanting the group’s (and mostly Mark’s) validation to just wanting to put Irving in his fucking place. These people aren’t equal to her in her mind. They aren’t cut from the same cloth probably not even made from the same fabric. There are levels to this shit, and they are not on her level.

She says what she says. It’s cruel. Mostly, it’s stupid on her part.

And just like Irving said later, and what I said earlier Helly was many things, but…

What Helena did at the bonfire was a fuck up. An especially surprising one coming from a woman as controlling and calculated as her. I’m fully convinced all those little mistakes came from a deep frustration within her. Much of that anger, in my opinion, is stewing from the realization that Helly, someone created by her, literally the source of all of Helena’s recent problems, someone who will stop at nothing to take her down, that person, the woman who’s literally locked up inside her, is more free than she will ever be.

Yes, Helena has no respect for Helly. Yes, she most likely hates that bitch. But when she herself is acting as Helly, it gives her the opportunity to almost let go. She gets the chance to essentially kill the bitch that’s been fucking up her life whilst simultaneously getting a chance to talk to this man who cares so deeply for a version of herself she hates, Even if it’s not the most ideal of situations (it’s not), it’s still something. I think, at the bonfire, she reflects on the ridiculous situation she’s found herself. All this shit caused by some other version of herself that she created, that situation plus all the other shit going down at Lumon is probably alot. And it just all bubbles up inside her. And when she’s given even the smallest opportunity to let anything out, she’s going to take it.

Idk it’s therapeutic in a way I guess.

She’s unfiltered, blunt, and almost carefree in a way that’s shocking almost unsettling. It’s clearly how she sees Helly to some degree, but also her own need to scratch an itch she’s never dared to before. And even though it’s an act of “Helly”, it still leaves a clear aftertaste of Helena.

Keep thinking about these two little moments whilst she’s making her jokes she not only keeps checking on mark’s reaction but also seems to laugh at her self in a way that just seems so genuine almost self deprecating. She acknowledges the ridiculousness of her situation and this dumb ass story she’s probably heard a million times

In my last post about Severance, I mentioned that Helena is the master of speaking her truth without outright saying it. She hides behind walls, but as Helly, she’s free to speak without restraint.

(Also her having sex with mark is a clear way of her expressing this new found freedom with in her role as helly but ima talk about that later)

[gracie-eilish]

i loved your babygirl imagine, and i’m just thinking about how billie would be an awesome and encouraging partner while giving birth, could you write something like that please? 🫶🏻✨

an: of fucking course i can!

HAHA y’all thought i was done with the baby fics. NEVERRRR!!! the baby fever is RAGING and i’m starting to get concerned 😀

jk jk. i’ll be done in like ten minutes i promise.

warnings: mild descriptions of birth, mention of needles/epidural, mention of breastfeeding, not a warning but it’s a baby girl bc i wanna be a girl mom so bad hehe anywhosies enjoy the fic

also there’s gonna be a part two to this fic like super soon cause it was gonna be so freaking long if i made it one part OK THATS ALL BYEEEEE💋💋💋 edit: part two is now posted!

our girl💞 (pt. 1)

A sharp, rolling ache pulled you from sleep, making you suck in a breath as your fingers instinctively gripped the sheets. The room was dark and quiet, the soft hum of the ocean outside barely audible through the cracked window. You lay still for a moment, trying to process what had woken you. Then, another wave of pain built deep in your stomach, stronger this time, radiating downward. Your heart pounded as realization hit.

You reached out, pressing a hand against Billie’s warm skin. “B-Billie?” Your voice came out shaky, barely a whisper.

She stirred immediately, her sleepy mumble turning into full alertness the second she saw your face. “Baby?” She pushed up onto one elbow, blinking at you in the dim light. “What’s wrong?”

“I think…” Another contraction hit, and you clenched your jaw, gripping her wrist. “I think it’s happening.”

For half a second, she was still, as if letting the words sink in. Then, all at once, she was moving. “Okay. Okay, uh—how far apart?” She reached for her phone, fumbling with the timer as she sat up. “How bad is it? Like, one to ten?”

You exhaled shakily, gripping your belly as the pain ebbed. “Like… a six? Maybe a seven?”

She nodded quickly. “Alright. Let’s time ‘em.”

She stayed pressed close, watching the seconds tick by as she cradled your hand in both of hers. When the next contraction came, she hit the timer, murmuring soft encouragements as you breathed through it.

“God, you’re so strong,” she whispered, kissing your knuckles. “You got this, baby.”

When the contraction passed, you let out a long breath. Billie glanced at the screen. “Eight minutes apart. We’ve got some time. Wanna stay in bed or move around?”

You swallowed, wincing as you shifted. “Move.”

Without hesitation, she helped you sit up, guiding you onto your feet with steady hands. “Let’s do some laps around the room. Just tell me if you need a break, okay?”

You nodded, gripping her hand tightly as the two of you began to pace. Billie stayed close, watching you carefully, her free hand rubbing slow circles into your lower back. Every time you needed to pause, she was right there, letting you lean into her.

“Breathe, baby,” she murmured as another contraction hit, her arms firm around you. “I’ve got you. Just like that. In… out… good girl.”

You groaned softly, forehead pressed against her shoulder. “It hurts.”

“I know, baby. I know.” She kissed your hair, voice thick with love. “But you’re doing so amazing. I swear, I’ve never seen anyone stronger.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “You’re just saying that ‘cause I’m pushing out your kid.”

She grinned, squeezing your waist. “That, and ‘cause it’s true.”

When the contractions got stronger, she guided you to your birthing ball, lowering you down gently. “Bounce a little, see if it helps,” she suggested, kneeling in front of you. You rocked your hips, exhaling as the pressure lessened slightly. Billie watched you with soft, loving eyes.

“That better?”

You nodded pushing some hair out of your face. “A little.”

“Good. Hey, let me do your hair. Keep it outta your face.” She slipped behind you, her fingers working gently through your strands as you continued moving around on the ball. “You’re gonna look hot as hell delivering this baby,” she teased, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

You snorted. “Oh yeah. So hot. Nothing sexier than labor.”

She laughed, tying off the braid. “You say that, but I’m still fully obsessed with you.”

For a little while, the two of you stayed like that—her whispering soft encouragements as you breathed through each wave of pain, her hands never leaving your body. But as the contractions got closer together, you finally groaned, “Billie, I think it’s time.”

She didn’t even hesitate, already grabbing the hospital bag and her keys. “Alright, baby. Let’s go meet our little girl.”

“Billie?” You whimpered as you both were halfway out the door.

“Yeah baby?” She turned to face you, nothing but love, and maybe a bit of nerves, in her eyes.

“Billie, I’m scared. How am I gonna do this? What if I can’t do this?” You were starting to ramble, your eyes shifting as the anxiety started to flood your brain.

“Hey, hey, no no baby. None of that,” She guided you other to the little porch swing attached to your porch next to your front door, guiding you to sit before sitting next to you.

“You, are going to be the best mom in the world. I sweat to god, you have taken care of everyone in your life every single day, you are kind and gentle and loving and soft and supportive, you have spent your whole life being a mother without a child,” You were officially tearing up at Billie’s little speech, making her chuckle softly and wipe away the stray tears ft at had fallen.

“If there is anyone who can do this perfectly, it’s you. You’ve got this and I’ll be there the whole time okay? This baby is the luckiest baby in the world because she had you as her mama. I’m so excited to be a mom with you my love,” she finished, holding your hand and stroking your cheek.

“Let’s go have a baby Billie,” You said strongly, smiling so wide, making Billie’s heart skip a beat in a way it hadn’t since your wedding day. She (softly) pounced to kiss you passionately, ready to enter the next chapter of your love story.

The moment you arrived at the hospital, Billie stayed glued to your side. She helped you change into the hospital gown, tucked the blankets around you, adjusted your pillows—anything and everything to make sure you were comfortable. When the next contraction hit, she was right there, rubbing your back, whispering, “You’re doing so good. Almost there, baby.”

Between contractions, she fed you ice chips, brushing her fingers over your cheek. “You okay? Need anything?”

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “Just you.”

Her expression softened, and she leaned down, kissing your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, my love.”

Then, the nurse mentioned the epidural. Your stomach dropped. You had always hated needles.

Billie knew that. She saw the flicker of fear in your eyes immediately. Without a word, she climbed onto the bed in front of you, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist.

“Just hold on to me,” she whispered. “Don’t even think about it. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

You buried your face in her neck, gripping her arms as tightly as you could. Billie could feel your tight grip on her shirt, your nerves evident.

“Baby can I tell you a secret?” She mumbled into your hair. She continued after she felt you nod.

“In a few hours, you’re gonna have a soft little snuggly baby, sleeping right on your chest. And her little hand is gonna grab at your skin looking for you and wanting you.” You whimpered softly at the thought, your heart melting. Billie knew that was your weakness.

“And I’ll be right there to help you breastfeed her, I know how important that is to you. And I have another secret too,” She continued to ramble, her own nerves softening when she heard a slight giggle come from you.

“When you feed her, she’s gonna look up at you with the biggest little Bambi eyes you’ve ever seen and she’s gonna love you so much and just cuddle right up to you because you’re her best mama.”

The sting of the needle barely registered over the sound of her voice.

“You’re so strong baby,” She said peppering kisses to your hairline, and rubbing your shoulders before helping you lay back down in bed.

When the doctor finally said, “It’s time to push,” Billie squeezed your hand, eyes shining with pride.

“You ready, baby?”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Yeah.”

She helped hold one of your legs, her grip steady and sure. “Alright, mama bear,” she whispered. “Let’s meet our girl.”

With every push, she was there, pressing kisses to your damp forehead, wiping away sweat, whispering, “You’re doing perfect, my love. You’re almost there.”

The pain was overwhelming, exhausting, but Billie’s voice grounded you. “One more, baby. Just one more.”

You gave everything you had, and then—

A cry filled the room.

Your whole body trembled as the doctor lifted your daughter into the air, the tiny, wiggling baby letting out a strong, fierce wail. Tears blurred your vision. Billie let out a choked sob, her forehead dropping against yours.

“She’s here,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Oh my god, baby. She’s here.”

The doctor placed your daughter on your chest, and the moment her tiny, warm body pressed against yours, everything else faded away. She was perfect—tiny fingers, round cheeks, a little scrunched-up nose. You let out a breathless laugh, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks.

“She’s so beautiful,” you whispered.

Billie was crying, her hands covering her mouth, her whole body shaking with emotion. Then, she reached out, her fingers tracing over your daughter’s tiny hand. The baby curled her fingers around Billie’s, holding tight.

Billie let out a soft, broken laugh. “She’s got a strong grip,” she whispered, wiping her tears. “Just like her mama.”

You turned your head, catching Billie’s lips in a soft, tearful kiss. “We did it.”

She smiled so big it hurt, her hand cupping your face. “Yeah, baby. We did.”

And as your daughter lay against your chest, as Billie held you both, crying and laughing and pressing endless kisses to your skin, you knew—your world was finally complete.

[spacelazarwolf]

ashkenazi is a minhag not a race. ‘ashkenazi jew’ just means ‘my ancestors ended up in the ashkenaz’ or ‘i follow ashkenazi traditions.’ it says less than nothing about what you look like. i could give you the same reply i give everyone who tries to make this argument, that there are plenty of non white ashkenazi jews, that there are plenty of white non ashkenazi jews, that it’s antisemitic as fuck to assert that ashkenazi jews have inherent racial privilege simply for being ashkenazi, but i think that’s the wrong move because i’m not going to meet you in you misconception. i’m going to try to bring you into the actual conversation.

i said this in another reblog but i’ll reiterate. individual whiteness and institutional whiteness are two very different things, and i think the reason these conversations are so exhausting is because 99.99% of the time, “are jews white” is not a discussion of individual whiteness. it’s a discussion of institutional whiteness, which is even more important to have now that many western countries are headed back toward a more explicit institutionalized white supremacy.

individual whiteness is highly contextual. if you have never had any experiences that made you question how people perceived your race, then you’re probably pretty solidly white. if sometimes you get pegged as white but sometimes you don’t, or if you have to put active effort into looking white, that is an entirely different experience than someone who’s never thought about it a day in their life. which is yet another entirely different experience from someone who is always perceived as not white and chooses not to or cannot pass as white. this is, i guess pun intended, not a black and white issue. just because you, a progressive, look at someone and think they look white doesn’t mean a racist isn’t going to look at them and notice their aquiline nose or textured hair or eye shape. there is no line between white and not white, and imo trying to create one is just giving ground to white supremacists, which i for one refuse to do.

but the problem is, people keep trying to apply these observations about individual whiteness to institutional whiteness, not understanding that institutional whiteness is not based on individual skin color. at its core, it’s based in culture. white supremacists don’t think they’re superior specifically because they have white skin. the ideology of white supremacy was created to explain why, in the eyes of white supremacists, their culture was so much better than everyone else’s. you can see this in nazi germany and fascist italy, the fixation on german culture or italian culture being superior. this was their primary motivator. physical appearance was just the thing that was most obviously different between them and other civilizations outside europe, so it was a convenient explanation.

another thing that cannot be understated in this conversation is that white supremacy was created specifically with jews in mind. yes, white supremacists in europe had contempt for different cultures in other countries and there were a lot of horrific ways that manifested. but this conversation is about jews. jews were the foreigners living among them. they had been othering us for centuries. there was always some explanation for why the jews couldn’t have rights or why the jews were the problem, whether it was cultural or religious, it always boiled down to “they aren’t like us.” and when the ideology of white supremacy was forming, a huge part of it was another attempt in a string of attempts to explain why the jews, the “other”, were inferior. it is not up for debate whether or not jews have access to institutional whiteness. we do not, because it’s an institution that was created specifically and explicitly to exclude us by name.

so hopefully with that context it’s easy to understand why “but police aren’t going to distinguish between a [non black] jew and a white person” in a conversation about institutional whiteness is simply a nonargument. it doesn’t engage with the root of the conversation, and at the end of the day all it does is derail it. and that is not helpful for anyone.

schrodinger's jew: jews are and are not white until an antisemite makes up their mind about which type of antisemite they want to be.

[fanbasetwo]

Ꮺ . , THROUGH UPS & DOWNS , L.CY !

PAIRING: bf ! anton × gf ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: you always managed to pull yourself up out of breakdowns or sadder parts of life but you never once imagined someone creating a fuss to take care of you through your downs. [REQUESTED] . . . . . . GENRE: #comfort core, fic. WORD COUNT: 1k [LIBRARY]

You and Anton have been together for years, long enough to trust him with everything—well, almost everything. Moving in together felt right at the time, but lately, you’ve been questioning whether that was a mistake. Some days are good, some are bad, but the worst ones? The ones like today? Those are the hardest because you don’t even have the energy to pretend you’re okay.

Maybe it’s the fact that no matter how many job applications you send, no one seems to want you. Maybe it’s that sinking feeling that you’re not just struggling—you’re a burden. No, scratch that. You are a burden. Full stop.

Still, you push yourself to keep going. Just one foot in front of the other. You grip the door handle, take a shaky breath, and step inside.

Anton is there, standing in the middle of the living room like he’s been waiting for you. His face lights up when he sees you, but that stupidly proud smile of his only makes everything worse. How the hell can he still look at you like that when you’re contributing nothing?

“Hey…” His voice is soft, but his brows pinch together in concern. “You look—uh, kind of out of it. You okay?”

And that’s it. That’s the last fucking straw.

Your bag slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud as you practically throw yourself at him. Your arms wrap around his torso, your face burying into his chest as the sobs hit you full force. Ugly, shaking, can’t-breathe kind of crying.

Anton doesn’t even flinch. No awkward hesitation, no stiff pat on the back like he’s comforting a coworker or some shit. His arms immediately close around you, holding you tight like he’s physically trying to keep you from falling apart.

“Hey, hey… Shh, I got you,” he soothes, rubbing slow circles into your back. “It’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

You want to believe him. You really do. But all you can focus on is how your breathing is coming in short, shaky bursts, how your fingers are gripping his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

What fcks you up the most, though? The fact that he doesn’t care. Not in a bad way, but in a way that makes your chest ache. You’re standing here, falling apart—messy, broken, so not okay—and yet, he’s holding you like you’re still worth something. Like he’d do this a thousand times over if it meant you didn’t have to go through it alone.

And maybe… just maybe… that’s enough for now.

��C’mere, let’s sit and talk, yeah? Nothing’s wrong, especially when I’m here.”

Anton doesn’t wait for you to agree—he just scoops you up like you weigh nothing, and you cling to him like a damn koala, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. He settles onto the couch, pulling you onto his lap, but before you can bury yourself back into his chest, he gently tilts your face up, wiping away your tears with his thumb. Not that it does much, since they just keep coming.

You sniffle, taking a shaky breath. “I can’t find a job… And I don’t want to stay financially dependent on you. I don’t want to be a burden. Everybody’s so mean. Jiah won’t even talk to me anymore because she thinks it’s embarrassing to be seen with me.” Your voice cracks, but you force the words out anyway. “Are you… Are you embarrassed of me too?”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his hands steady on your waist, his eyes soft but serious. And then, instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you. Slow, deep, like he’s trying to get you to shut up in the most effective way possible. His lips move against yours in a way that makes your heart stumble in your chest, and when he finally pulls back, you’re breathless and blinking at him like an idiot.

Anton smirks a little, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “First of all,” he starts, his voice firm but warm, “just because you aren’t getting a job right now doesn’t mean you’re dumb. It just means there aren’t enough of them. That’s not your fault. Second, you are not a burden to me. But since I know how much this is bothering you, why don’t you look for something temporary? Editing, content writing—there are tons of online jobs that could work until you figure out what you really want to do.”

He pauses, letting that sink in before he continues. “And Jiah? That’s her problem, not yours. She should be embarrassed of herself for acting like that. I’m just proud that my baby spoke up about it.”

It’s a lot. A mix of advice, comfort, and pure tonie logic, but somehow, it actually helps. You feel… lighter. Like maybe the weight on your chest isn’t crushing you as much.

And just when you think you couldn’t feel more relieved, he adds, “Besides, I’m gonna marry you anyway, whether you’re ‘successful’ or not, no matter what other people think.”

You blink at him. “Wait, what?”

Anton just grins, pressing a kiss to the top of your head like he didn’t just casually say something that could actually give you a mini heart attack. “You heard me.”

Your heart is a mess—pounding, fluttering, tripping over itself—but his hands are steady as he cups your face, wiping away the lingering tears with his thumbs. His touch is so gentle, it makes your chest ache in a different way.

“Does it feel better now?” he murmurs. “Now you know… sharing is way better than keeping it all bottled up?”

You sigh, letting your head rest against his chest, listening to the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat. “Yeah,” you admit, voice quiet but honest. “I think… I think I’ll share every time I feel sad from now on.”

Anton hums, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “You better,” he mutters. “Because I’ll always be here for my pretty girl.”

He tightens his arms around you, rocking you gently like it’s the easiest thing in the world to hold you together when you feel like falling apart. And for the first time in a while, you actually believe it.

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SENA’S NOTE : this is the second and third idea mixed together and might not have been a perfect execution of the request.. but I believe it's still better than posting nothing.. so thank you for requesting. ;0;

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[maverices]

post-TG AU, in which Mav gets re-assigned to another squadron after his own is dissolved, and is greeted by a familiar face. set a couple of years after the movie. (wordcount: ~1k)

---

„Commander Kazansky, I believe you know Lieutenant Commander Mitchell? He’s been assigned to fill the spot in your squadron.“

Wait, what?

„Yes, thank you, Captain.“ If Iceman is surprised to see him, he doesn’t let it show on his face. Maverick isn’t too sure what his own is doing, in part because he has no idea what he’s feeling.

„Maverick.“

He controls his face, takes the offered hand and squeezes it, briefly.

„Iceman.“

The captain glances between them, looking for god-knows-what, and then nods. „I’ll leave you to it.“

They both stand to attention until he’s left the room.

„So,“ Mav drawls, turning to face Ice, „who am I replacing?“

„Me.“

„What?“

„Our CO was injured and had to take an extended medical leave. The position has been filled, but we’re still a pilot short.“

„And by the position being filled you mean…“

„I am the commanding officer of the VFA-25.“

„So you’re like, a Commander-commander now.“ Ice’s blank expression is definitely straining now, and Maverick really needs to move on from this.

„Is this going to be a problem? I can ask for you to be re-assigned, if that’s what you want.“

„And leave me with yet another mark on my record? No, thank you.“

„There are ways to do this that wouldn’t reflect badly on either of us.“

„I’ll manage. Sir.“

Ice doesn’t bare his teeth at him the way he used to, but Mav is still intimately familiar with the way frustration looks on his face.

„Look, Mav. I didn’t request for you to be here, but I am glad that you are. I would love to fly with you again, and that’s why I need to know that we’re on the same page here.“

„And what page would that be?“

„You are my friend, Mav, and my wingman. I trust you, with my life.“ He draws a deep breath, clenching his fist around the backrest of his chair, a concession to his emotions Mav has never seen him make. (Only heard, guessed at, in an empty locker room back at Miramar.) „But as of today, you are also my direct subordinate. I need you to separate Ice, your friend, from Commander Kazansky, your CO.“

„You give this speech to everyone in your squadron?“

„No?“

„So you trust them to keep things professional, but not me? Jesus Christ, Ice, I’ve been in the Navy as long as you. I clawed my way up from the Reserve to become one of the best aviators the Navy has, and I can guarantee you, while my sheer talent and my irrestible charm has opened me a lot of doors, they would have closed just as quickly if I didn’t learn the importance of keeping my mouth shut, occasionally. I know how this works.“

Under any other circumstances, Mav would tease the hell out of Ice for his stunned expression. In contrast to his usual aloof arrogance, he’s doing the Iceman-equivalent of staring at Mav with his jaw on the floor.

Ice rubs a hand over his face, and sinks into his chair.

„I know,“ he mumbles. „I know that. I didn’t mean to come at you like this, it’s just-- it’s not you, it’s me.“

Ice grimaces the second he says it, and Mav starts laughing despite the tension in the air.

„Real original, Kazansky. Got any more where that came from, or are you going to tell me what’s really going on here?“

Ice hesitates, so Mav adds with a conspiratioral smirk, „Y’know, just as a friend telling a friend his troubles.“

„Did you know I’m the second-youngest officer in the squadron? Third-youngest, now that you’re here. I’ve only served as XO for three months. Commander Rowles was training me up to replace him, eventually, but that was not going to be for another few years.“

„You think you’re not qualified for the job?“

„What? No, of course I’m qualified.“

Mav can’t help the snort that escapes him, and immediately shrinks under Ice’s glare.

„You disgreeing, Mitchell?“

„No, no, not at all, it’s just-- I forgot how fucking arrogant you can be.“

„It’s not arrogance if--

„If you’ve got the skill to back it up, yes, I’m aware, it’s basically my life motto. So if you’re qualified, and you presumably want the job, what’s got your panties in a twist? Not to inflate your ego even more than it already is, but you’re a natural leader. Most of our class fell in line behind you after day one, and let me tell you, that’s not how it usually works.“

At least that’s what Viper told him when after the first week of training the class had been clearly split into three groups who were constantly antagonizing each other. Apparently, theirs was the only group in years that hadn’t needed any more than the initial speech about teamwork to cooperate in any combination. Well, almost any combination.

„Except for you.“

„Except for me, but I respected you, even if your by-the-book flying annoyed the hell out of me. Honestly never thought it possible to be as good as you are without stretching the rules a little.“

„And yet, orthodox flying wouldn’t have gotten me or anyone else out of a confrontation with five MiGs alive.“

Mav blinks, once. „Careful, Kazansky, that almost sounded like a concession to my superior skills.“

„Imagination has always been your greatest strength.“

Tone, lock, hit. Mav cracks up, bending over from the force of his laughter, before collapsing into the visitor’s chair. Ice’s face is doing something strange, caught half-way between amusement and something far, far softer that Maverick carefully catalogues, but doesn’t point out.

„You’re still dodging my question. You’re qualified, you’re a good leader, if a little young. So what?“

Ice sighs. „I need them to respect me. Not just as a fellow aviator, but as their CO.“

Mav frowns. „Do they not? I’m sure your CO wouldn’t have picked you as a XO if they didn’t.“

„They do.“

„So, what? Come on, Ice, just spit it out.“

„How can I demand respect and subordination from aviators older and more experienced than me, if I can’t earn it from my peers and juniors?“

„Oh.“

„Yes.“

„To be entirely clear, am I your peer or your junior in this scenario?“

„Maverick.“

„Because depending on the answer I might take you up on that re-assignment offer.“

„Mav.“

„I’m kidding. What do you need from me?“

„I need you to pay me the same respect you would any other commanding officer.“

„Done. Although I’d like to point out that I’m not exactly known for my polite and respectful conduct.“

Ice pinches the bridge of his nose. Mav is getting more expressions out of him in this conversation than he’d seen in the weeks they spent getting on each other’s nerves at Miramar.

„I’m aware. That’s why we’re having this conversation in the first place. Just-- I don’t know, reign it in a little? At least for the first few weeks, especially around the rookie. I don’t want him to get any wrong impressions about me.“

„What, that you’re not just ‚ice-cold, no mistakes‘?“

„Ideally, yes.“

„Why?“ Mav wishes he could take the question back the second it’s out of his mouth. He’ll need to work on his impulse control, if he doesn’t want Ice to kick him off the squad within 48 hours.

Ice looks just as taken aback, so Mav starts back-pedalling.

„Nevermind. Forget I asked.“ There could be any number of reasons for Ice being the way he is, and none of them are Mav’s business.

He rises out of his chair and salutes. „Commander.“

Thankfully, Ice gets the message, and stands up.

„My XO is expecting you in the mess hall. He will show you around, introduce you to the squad, and answer any additional questions. Report in for the briefing on your first hop at 0700 tomorrow.“

„Yes, sir.“

„I look forward to flying with you, Commander. Dismissed.“

[thelostmagicians]

Shield of a Heart | Harry Styles: Part I

The Assignment

Series Masterlist

Summary: You’re Harry Styles’s personal bodyguard [3.4k]

Fluff, comfort, angst, panic attack, security risks

♡

The scent of fresh coffee and polished wood lingered in Jeff’s office, blending with the faint aroma of cologne. The morning sun filtered through the half-open blinds, casting slanted golden lines across the desk where Harry sat, fingers idly drumming against the surface. He had heard this conversation before. The ticking of the clock seemed louder than usual, a reminder that time was never on their side.

"H, I know you hate the idea of constant security," Jeff said, his tone serious. "But we can’t ignore what’s been happening. The crowd outside the hotel last week? The guy who jumped the barricade at your show? It’s getting worse."

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls, his gaze unfocused. "I don’t want to be that celebrity, Jeff. The one who walks around with an entourage, who has security pushing people away like they’re some kind of plague. I like interacting with fans. I don’t want to build walls around myself."

Jeff sighed, rubbing his temples, his face lined with frustration. "Then we find a way to make it low-key. I hired someone from an agency that specializes in undercover security. No obvious muscle, no uniforms, just someone watching your back without making it obvious."

Harry arched a brow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Sounds expensive."

"Worth every penny. You’ll barely notice her."

Before Harry could argue further, a knock at the door interrupted them. Jeff stood and opened it, revealing you—dressed in a sleek yet practical outfit: dark jeans, a fitted black jacket, and boots sturdy enough for function yet stylish enough to blend in. Your posture was confident, poised, and alert, projecting a quiet authority that immediately commanded attention.

Harry’s lips parted slightly, the surprise evident in his eyes. He had been expecting someone completely different.

Jeff cleared his throat, his expression apologetic. "Harry, meet your new bodyguard."

There was a beat of silence as Harry and Jeff exchanged a quick glance of surprise.

You smirked slightly, though you kept your posture professional. "Let me guess—you two were expecting someone different?"

Jeff opened his mouth to deny it, but Harry’s expression gave them both away.

"A bit," Harry admitted, his voice laced with humor. "Not in a bad way, just... surprised."

"It’s okay," you replied with a shrug, your tone light. "Happens all the time. People see me and assume I’m a PR manager or an assistant. Maybe even a stunt double on a good day. But I assure you, I’m more than qualified to keep you safe."

Jeff leaned forward, a mix of pride and reassurance in his voice. "She comes highly recommended, top of her class. Trained in multiple combat techniques, counter-surveillance, defensive driving—you name it."

Harry hesitated before shaking your hand. "Right. Of course. I appreciate you doing this."

"It’s my job," you said simply, gripping his hand firmly, your touch brief but firm. "And I take it seriously. I’ll be shadowing you from now on. I won’t interfere with your day-to-day life unless I deem it necessary for your safety."

Jeff let out a breath of relief. "Alright. You start tomorrow."

As you left the office, you could feel Harry's eyes following you, still assessing, still deciding how he felt about the arrangement. You had a feeling this wasn't going to be an easy job, but you were used to challenges.

—

The next morning, you arrived early, determined to start taking action. You wanted to make the house feel like a safe space for Harry, not one that reminded him he was constantly under threat. As you entered, Harry’s house was still quiet, but you could hear the faint hum of a coffee machine in the kitchen. Harry’s team had already started arriving, but they barely noticed you as you moved with purpose. You couldn’t afford distractions.

The first thing you did was walk the perimeter of the house. The gates were solid, but outdated. You noted the number of hidden spots that weren’t covered by security cameras. There was an entrance to the side of the house that led to a narrow alley, and another hidden behind a tall garden wall. You couldn’t trust that nothing could slip by unnoticed.

You took mental notes—doorways, windows, gates, and even the trees that created shadows by the fence. No blind spots could go unaccounted for. After another quick call, you arranged for a full security system update.

By noon, new security cameras were being installed. You had chosen ones with facial recognition, ensuring that only those Harry authorized would be able to get past the front gate. Each camera was strategically placed in spots Harry didn’t even think to look. One was on top of the high garden wall, offering a bird's-eye view of anyone who came too close. Another was hidden behind a small decorative tree in the yard, monitoring the back door.

The most important change, however, came at the gate. You had noticed the gate code was easy to remember, but anyone who had once had access to it could still get in if they tried. The security team replaced the old keypad with a biometric scanner—fingerprint and face recognition—making it nearly impossible for anyone other than Harry or trusted personnel to gain entry. It was a decision made in the best interest of both privacy and safety.

Later in the day, as Harry returned home from a brief meeting, you watched him pull into the driveway. He came to a stop, giving you a quizzical look as he noticed the new setup.

"Okay, this is new," Harry said as he got out of the car, motioning toward the new camera at the gate and the biometric scanner you had installed. He raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think I’d need to scan my face just to get into my own house."

You smiled coolly. "Better safe than sorry. You never know who might have access to your old codes. This is the next level of protection."

Harry paused, eyeing the scanner, and you could almost see the wheels turning in his head. You weren’t just a bodyguard anymore. You were someone who understood how to keep him safe. His face softened slightly, but there was still a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

“I don’t know how I feel about all of this," Harry said, clearly uncomfortable with the changes. "It feels a little... extreme.”

You could sense his resistance, but you had expected this. "The changes are necessary, Harry," you said gently. "And it’s all for your safety. Trust me, it’ll feel like second nature soon enough."

You stepped away, watching him for a moment, before giving him some space. You knew Harry wasn’t the type to embrace change quickly, especially when it came to his personal life. But the new measures weren’t negotiable, and you couldn’t afford to back down.

—

That evening, after a brief rundown of your expectations, Harry seemed to nod along, seemingly compliant. However, as soon as he left Jeff’s office, you noticed his quick pace and sharp turns. You felt a shift in the air—the subtle challenge of Harry trying to lose you. He walked quickly, turning corners sharply, hoping you'd fall behind.

But you didn’t. You kept pace, your eyes scanning the area with precision, anticipating his every move. He stopped by a coffee shop, ordering something he didn’t even want, just to see if you’d relax your guard. You didn’t. By the time he reached his car, you were already standing beside it, waiting for him.

Harry sighed, shaking his head with a small, reluctant smirk. "Alright, I get it. You’re good."

"You should’ve figured that out when they hired me," you replied evenly, opening the door for him. He slid in, still watching you with mild curiosity, his eyes darting over your face as if trying to piece together the enigma that was you.

You didn’t talk much during the ride, but every so often, you could feel his gaze flicking toward you, studying you in his own quiet way. He wasn’t convinced yet, but he was starting to accept that you weren’t going anywhere.

—

After you dropped Harry off, you headed back to the office to wrap up the day’s tasks. Just as you were about to leave, Jeff caught up to you in the hallway. His expression was serious, a far cry from the casual confidence he usually carried.

"Look, I know this is only your first day, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up," Jeff said, lowering his voice. "Harry’s stubborn, and he’s not going to make this easy. He’ll try to shake you, test your limits. He doesn’t believe he needs this level of protection, and he’ll resist at every turn."

You nodded, already anticipating the challenge. "I can handle it. I’ve dealt with difficult clients before."

Jeff glanced at you, his eyes softening just slightly. "It’s not just that," he continued. "Harry doesn’t just push back because he’s stubborn. He won’t admit when he needs help, especially when it comes to anything related to his safety. He’ll act like he’s fine, even when he’s not. Just… be patient with him. This is going to take time."

You absorbed his words carefully, already starting to form a strategy in your mind. This job wasn’t just about physical protection; it was about navigating Harry’s emotional landscape, too. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Jeff sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just don’t back down. He might push you, but that’s just how he is. You’re doing good, though. I can see it."

You offered him a small, confident smile. "Thanks. I won’t let you down."

—

The following morning, after a restless night of monitoring security systems and reviewing the updated perimeter, you decided it was time to establish some ground rules. As you entered Harry’s house early, you noticed he was still in his pajamas, a mug of coffee in hand as he browsed through his phone. His hair was messy, and his usual polished aura was absent. He didn’t look up as you approached, but you knew this conversation was inevitable.

"No unannounced outings," you said firmly, your voice cutting through the morning air. "If you’re leaving the house, I need to know ahead of time. If you’re meeting someone, I vet them first. No exceptions."

Harry scoffed, slumping back in his chair as if the weight of the world had suddenly been placed on his shoulders. "You want to approve my dates now, too?"

You met his gaze without flinching. "If your date is a security risk, yes."

Mitch, one of Harry’s closest friends and bandmate, smirked from across the table. "She’s got you there, mate."

The room was filled with Harry’s band and team, all gathered together. Mitch and Sarah were there, along with Jeff, who had accompanied you to the house early that morning. Sarah stayed mostly quiet, watching the interaction with interest, while Mitch, as always, was ready with a teasing comment. Jeff, however, stood firmly on your side. He knew the importance of what you were doing and had already helped arrange the meeting. His presence was a reminder that this wasn’t just about you and Harry—it was about Harry’s safety, and Jeff understood that.

"I called everyone in this morning to go over some new ground rules," you continued, setting a folder of documents down in front of Harry. "This isn’t just about you, Harry. This is about your team too. It’s important that everyone is on the same page, especially when it comes to security."

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond immediately, still holding onto his coffee mug. Mitch, noticing the tension, leaned back in his chair, making a show of stretching. "Alright, boss," Mitch said with a playful grin. "What’s the first rule? Can we still sneak out for late-night gigs without her tracking us down?"

You shot Mitch a look, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Mitch, you’re not a teenager anymore. If there’s something important you want to do, you let me know first. No more spontaneous plans. You know I need to vet it. Same goes for all of you. It’s for your safety and Harry’s."

Jeff, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up, his voice calm but assertive. "Mitch, she's right. We can’t afford to take any chances anymore. If we’re going to do this right, everyone’s got to be on board with the rules. For Harry’s safety and all of ours."

Harry muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue. He toyed with a bracelet on his wrist, his fingers absentmindedly twirling it, clearly irritated by the restriction. You could tell the added pressure was building. It wasn’t just the rules—it was the idea of being watched, the feeling of someone else controlling parts of his life.

But you had to be firm. He needed structure, even if he didn’t want it. And it was your job to make sure he understood that these boundaries were for his own good. You had to pick your battles carefully, but you couldn’t back down now.

"Look, I get it," you added, noticing the strain on his face. "You don’t want to feel like you’re being treated like a child. But I’m not here to ruin your life, Harry. I’m here to make sure you stay safe. That means I need to know where you are, who you’re with, and if anything goes off track. You may not like it, but it’s non-negotiable."

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. Sarah, always the mediator, glanced between Harry and you. She didn’t speak up, but you could tell she was trying to gauge the situation. Jeff, on the other hand, nodded in approval.

"This is exactly why we need to stay organized," Jeff added. "We’ve all seen the risks. It's better to be proactive than reactive. It might seem over the top now, but trust me—it’ll pay off."

Harry’s eyes flashed with mild frustration, but he didn’t speak up. The rules were getting stricter, and though you could tell he wasn’t thrilled, you weren’t about to bend. His life wasn’t just his own anymore—it was part of a much larger, more complex world now, and everything had to be accounted for. This wasn’t just about protecting him from the outside world. It was about making sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

You turned back to Harry, who was still fidgeting with his bracelet, seemingly lost in thought. "I’ll be reviewing all of your appointments and travel schedules. No more impromptu decisions. If there’s anything outside of the ordinary, you’re to clear it with me first. This includes interviews, public events, and meetings with anyone who isn’t part of your team."

Mitch, always ready to throw in his playful commentary, grinned. "So, does that mean you’ll be approving my plans too, or are you going to let me live a little?"

You gave him a deadpan stare. "If your plans involve a security risk, Mitch, then yes. I’ll be reviewing them."

Mitch raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I see how this is going."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh but didn’t argue further. His team wasn’t exactly hostile, but there was a clear air of tension. They were used to having more autonomy, and now they were all adjusting to the fact that you were calling the shots when it came to security.

As the meeting wrapped up, you found another chance to add more rules. "I’m going to be implementing a detailed daily check-in. If you’re going anywhere, I want to know your exact plans for the day. That means no unplanned stops, no sudden changes of heart. Everything is to be accounted for."

Harry slumped further into his chair, running his hand through his hair. "Fine," he muttered, clearly exhausted from the conversation. "But this better not become a habit."

You leaned in slightly, your voice calm but firm. "It will, for your safety. And we both know this isn’t just a ‘habit.’ It’s necessary."

Harry nodded stiffly, his posture still tense, but you could see a flicker of acceptance in his eyes. There was a silent understanding growing between you two—a recognition that this arrangement wasn’t ideal, but it was the only way forward.

You gave him a small, knowing smile. "I know you’re not used to this, but in the long run, it’ll make things easier for both of us."

Harry nodded stiffly, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. There was something unspoken between you now, a mutual understanding. He might have fought the rules at first, but you had a feeling he was beginning to see the logic behind them.

Mitch shot Harry a teasing smile. "Looks like she’s got you on lockdown now, mate."

Harry rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. He was adjusting, even if it wasn’t easy. And as for you, you knew this was only the beginning. Building trust took time, but you were willing to work for it. The rules you were setting were necessary. And despite his initial resistance, Harry was starting to realize that he needed them.

—

The next few days passed without incident, but you stayed vigilant, constantly assessing Harry’s routines and the security setup. You knew that with a celebrity like him, the danger wasn’t always obvious, and there would be moments when he’d try to slip through the cracks. He was stubborn, determined, but you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time he tested you.

That night, after another late evening of monitoring Harry’s schedule, you retired to the security room once more. You pulled up a map of Harry’s estate, overlaying it with your notes. Every camera feed was up on the screen, every exit was accounted for, and you had finally established a solid perimeter.

As you closed the laptop, your gaze lingered on the footage of Harry smiling in front of the cameras, pushing through the crowd for his fans. The image on the screen didn’t capture the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes always darted around when he was surrounded.

You’d noticed it before, but now you understood it better. Harry wasn’t just worried about his fans. He was worried about the cracks that formed around him—the way people expected him to be perfect, the endless demands for a version of himself that could never be entirely real. The pressure was immense. Behind that charming smile, behind the carefully curated persona, was a man who wasn’t sure where the public’s love for him ended and where his own fear began. People wanted to be close to him, to see the man behind the legend, but the truth was, they didn’t always know what to do with the raw, unguarded version of Harry. The one who, when the cameras were off, sometimes felt like he was drowning in his own image.

You understood it now—the anxiety that haunted him, the cracks that formed around his confidence. It wasn’t just about the crowds or the pressure to always be "on." It was the constant battle of being vulnerable in a world that only ever seemed to want the version of him that smiled on stage, not the person who carried the weight of his own flaws, fears, and humanity.

Your job wasn’t just about protecting him from the outside world. It was about protecting him from his own vulnerability, making sure that he wasn’t consumed by the relentless expectations placed on him.

As you sat there in the dim glow of the monitors, you couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before Harry truly accepted the help he needed. He had always kept his guard up, never fully letting anyone in. You had learned that much about him already. But you had to admit, there was a subtle shift in the way he relied on your presence. Even if he didn’t admit it, he was beginning to let you in, piece by piece.

You leaned back in your chair, taking a breath. You had your work cut out for you, but it was the job you had taken, and you were determined to make sure Harry never had to face the world alone.

The stakes were higher than just his safety now—he was at a crossroads, and so were you. But if there was one thing you knew for sure, it was that this journey would change both of you in ways you couldn’t yet predict.

[wendichester]

Darling! How are you? How is your week?

🍄 here

You said I could send more asks… so I’m going to reaaaally use that! Hope that’s ok :)

Hear me out… Dean an HER are undercover in a bar/roadhouse whatever to gather intel… SHE has to sing on stage because of reasons (you’re the genius writer you’ll figure it out 😘) and she sings “rhinestone ring” from Abby Cone cause she’s cheesy and her and Dean are idiots in love who have to talk about their feelings eventually?

Can be fluffy can be steamy… you decide

Luv ya 🍄

⋆˚˖° rhinestone ring,

summary. serenading dean in the middle of a case because the tension between you two is becoming unbearable

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 957

notes. first time hearing this song but it clicks so well with dean imo ehe thanks for the request lovely 🩷🍄

This is not what Dean signed up for.

He leans against the bar, whiskey in hand, watching as you step onto the stage, bathed in warm, golden light. The roadhouse is packed tonight—truckers, bikers, hunters, all of them turning to watch as you adjust the mic stand.

He should be watching the room. Keeping an eye out for their mark.

Instead, he’s watching you.

Your eyes flick to his before the music starts, and even from across the bar, Dean can see the teasing glint in them. You’re loving this.

He grits his teeth, rolling his shoulders. This is all part of the plan—cozy up to the locals, get the information they need, maybe shake a few hands and flash a few flirtatious smiles. The singing part? Not in the original game plan.

But you took one look at the stage, grinned like you had a secret, and next thing he knew, some gruff-looking guy was handing you a guitar and calling your name into the mic.

Now, Dean watches, breath held, as you bring the mic closer and let your voice pour into the room.

"Some girls want a big old diamond on a hand they hold too tight, Some girls wanna be in a fairytale, that’s just not my style..."

Your voice is smooth, soft but full of warmth, curling around every word like honey. Dean swallows hard, his fingers tightening around his glass.

He should have known you’d pick something like this.

You smirk as you get to the next part, eyes locking on him.

"I just want a rhinestone ring, Buy it with a neon glow, From a pawn shop down on Broadway, We’ll keep it on the low..."

Dean can feel the heat creeping up his neck. The crowd is eating it up, nodding along, tapping their fingers against their beers. They don’t know that this is for him, that you’re looking right at him like the words mean something.

He hates that his chest aches at the thought.

Because this is just a job. Just a cover. Just another night spent pretending.

Right?

You keep singing, strumming along to the melody, your voice turning sweeter, softer.

"I don’t need forever, just tonight with you..."

Dean exhales sharply. You have got to be kidding him.

He pushes off the bar, needing to put some space between himself and whatever the hell this is stirring up inside him. He moves to the edge of the crowd, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

You finish the song with a little flourish, sending a wink in his direction before handing off the guitar and hopping off the stage.

The bar erupts into applause.

Dean doesn’t move.

You weave through the crowd, stepping right up to him, eyes shining with amusement. "Well?"

Dean raises an eyebrow. "That was real cute."

"Admit it, Winchester." You nudge him with your hip. "You liked it."

Dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "You’re a damn menace, you know that?"

You grin. "And yet, you love me."

The words slip out so easily, so casually, that you don’t even seem to realize what you just said.

But Dean does.

His heart stutters, his smirk faltering for half a second before he covers it up with another sip of whiskey.

You tilt your head, watching him. "What?"

Dean sets his glass down on the table behind him, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Nothing."

But you don’t let it go.

Your fingers brush against his wrist, just for a second. A fleeting touch. A spark.

"Dean," you say, softer now.

He clenches his jaw, eyes flicking over the room—looking for an excuse, a distraction, anything.

But there’s nothing. Just you. Just this.

"You ever think about it?" you ask, voice quiet, hesitant.

Dean exhales sharply. "Think about what?"

Your lips quirk up. "A pawn shop ring. A neon glow."

His chest tightens. He should lie. He should. But when he looks at you, standing there with that damn knowing look in your eyes, he can’t.

"Yeah," he admits, voice rough. "Maybe."

You stare at him like you’re waiting for something else, something more.

And hell—maybe you deserve more.

But all Dean can do is shake his head with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "We should get back to work."

You study him for a beat longer before nodding. "Yeah. We should."

Neither of you move.

Dean swears under his breath before grabbing your hand and tugging you into the shadows of the hallway leading to the back of the bar.

You barely have time to gasp before his mouth is on yours, hungry and desperate, kissing you like he’s been dying for it.

And maybe he has.

You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, like you knew this was coming. Like you knew all along.

Dean presses you against the wall, hands gripping your hips, feeling the way you fit against him like you were always meant to be here.

"Thought you didn’t do fairytales," he murmurs against your lips.

You smile, breathless. "I don’t."

His lips trail along your jaw, down to your neck. "Then what the hell was that song about?"

You laugh softly, tilting your head back to give him more access. "Not every love story needs a fairytale ending."

Dean pulls back just enough to look at you. "And ours?"

You search his face, your fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw. "Ours is whatever we want it to be." You shrug slightly. "As long as you're next to me, I don't really care,"

His breath catches.

And maybe a pawn shop ring and a neon glow don’t sound so bad after all.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32

[kteezy997]

Beyond Business-part twelve//t.c.

Warnings: smut, cursing, smut, cum on body, smut, fluff, dirty talk

This one is long, but it is a smutfest

“You don’t really own any skirts, do you?” Timmy asked you randomly that Monday morning. Luckily, it was only the two of you at his place.

“What?” you frowned slightly at him, having to look up from the laptop.

“Skirts. You never wear them.” he said plainly.

“No? Is that a new requirement or something?” you joked.

He pressed his lips together, shrugging, “Maybe just a suggestion. Take my card to whatever stores you like and buy yourself some skirts.”

“And why should I do that?”

He smirked, walking around the kitchen island to where you were sitting, leaning in close, he said, “Because your boyfriend needs easy access.” He placed his hand on your denim-clad thigh, slowly letting it roam inward.

You gasped as he hovered over your pussy.

“See? Wouldn’t it be better if your jeans weren’t in the way right now?” he pressed his fingers against you through the material, circling slowly.

You swallowed, clearing your throat, “Timothée.”

He leaned in closer to your face, “I want you right now.”

“But we’re working.” you fake protested.

“It can wait.” he said, pulling your chair out, grabbing you by the arm and throwing you over his shoulder.

……

“Aw, yesss!” you cried, gripping the sheets hard as Timmy had you bent over the bed. His hips smacked your ass rapidly as his cock plunged in and out of you.

“Oh, baby…my baby girl. Fuck, you feel so good.” his voice quivered with pleasure. He dug his fingers into your hips, holding you up as you were trembling and unable to keep up on your knees.

You threw your hair back with a huff and caught glimpse of the alarm clock on the nightstand, “Fuck! Timmy, Josh Safdie is calling you in five minutes!”

“That’s all the time we need.” he assured you, ramming his cock in you even faster.

You yelped in surprise, your toes curling as he brought you over the edge of an orgasm.

……….

Timmy had his phone to his ear, talking to his director as he wiped his cum off your belly with a damp cloth.

You couldn’t help but giggle at situation.

He gave you a mock angry look and you covered your mouth, still laughing. “No, Josh, it’s not a bad time. That’s just my assistant being a goofball. But yeah, that all sounds great.”

As he wrapped up the phone call, you took the used cloth to the hamper in the bathroom, using the facility before returning to Timmy’s bedroom. You couldn’t help but notice how comfortable you had become in his place. Yes, it was the setting in which you worked often, but it started to feel like home. He felt like home.

You walked back into his room, grabbing his big t-shirt that he had been wearing earlier, but it had been thrown to the floor. You put the shirt on and sat on the bed as he was saying goodbye to Josh.

“Hey, that’s my shirt.” he teased.

“Sorry, do you want me to take it off?” you smiled cheekily.

Timmy shrugged, eyebrows raised, “I mean, you look great in clothes, but I think I like you out of them just a little bit more.”

“Hm, of course you do you.” you said with a playful eye roll.

“So, are ready to go to Tokyo with me?” he asked you nonchalantly and climbed onto you.

“Tokyo? So filming is still on for Marty Supreme?”

“Yeah, everything is being settled now." he rested his arms over your belly, setting his chin there. "And I want you to come with me.”

“As your assistant or…?”

“My girlfriend and my assistant.” he affirmed. “I need you there with me. You help me with so much and I’ll have a shit ton of new lines to go over."

“If I’m getting paid, then okay.” you grinned.

“Oh, that’s the only reason you’ll go, huh?” he gently bumped his nose on yours.

“What other reasons are there?” you asked coyly.

"Hmm, let’s see, there's the Japanese culture to explore, yummy food, then there’s the A Complete Unknown premiere, and um,” his eyes got a darker as his lips turned up into a smirk, “we can fuck over there." he smirked, moving up your body to kiss your lips.

You moaned softly as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, “Mm, fucking,” you spoke between warm kisses, “is that a promise?” You pecked his lips.

“I would fuck you every hour if I could.” his voice was low, he was still hungry for more even though you just got done making love.

You blushed, “Do you love me that much?”

He nodded, “Yes.”

“Good.” your heart began to race, you knew it was the right time, “Because I love you, Timothée Chalamet.”

His eyes brightened back up, and he smiled wide, “You do?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean-"

He cut you off with a kiss. He took your face in his hands, “Mm, I’m definitely fucking you again, right now.”

You laughed as he assumed the missionary position, holding your thighs. “We’re not going to get any work done today.” you remarked.

……

The next day, Timmy again brought up the topic of you buying some skirts for work, so you decided it’d be best to oblige him. While out running errands for him, you went to some clothing stores, picked out and tried on skirts and purchased a few with his credit card.

It felt strange, carrying items for yourself. You were used to shopping for Timmy, but then again, maybe this was for him. It was his request, after all.

Once you started wearing the skirts, he seemed quite pleased. You had a black pencil skirt that hugged all the right places, and he would take full advantage, running his hand along your hip as you walked by, cupping your ass when he stopped behind you.

One day, you’d worn a mini skirt, plaid patterned and pleated. He took you in the kitchen within minutes of you starting the workday. He pushed you up against the counter, but he didn’t remove your skirt, he just pushed your panties to the side and slid his cock right in from behind.

Timmy railed you, brought your leg up, placing it onto the counter so he could push in deeper. “Fuck.” he cursed under his breath. He then held you closer, sinking his teeth into your neck.

Your pussy started to convulse around his cock, you whimpered, holding onto his arm and bracing yourself with your other hand on the countertop.

He fucked you mercilessly, lifting you off your feet.

You moaned like a pornstar. He rammed his cock into your g spot over and over, and you clenched your eyes shut, seeing stars. You let go, and your body shook with release. You heard Timmy curse again as fluids sprang out from between the two of you.

……..

“So, your flight leaves at-" you were talking to Timmy when his photographer friend, Aidan, came waltzing in.

“Damn, y/n, since when do you wear skirts? You look fine as hell!” he exclaimed, joining you and Timmy in the living room.

“Hey!” Timmy smacked him hard on the shoulder, “Show some fucking respect.”

“Yo, I’m sorry!” Aidan apologized, rubbing the spot where Timmy hit him, “I didn’t mean any disrespect, just not used to seeing her legs. My bad.”

“It’s all good.” you said with an awkward chuckle.

Aidan sat down on the couch and you shot Timmy a look, and he only shrugged at you in response.

“Well, I’ll just leave you guys alone to hang out. I’m gonna go home.” You looked at Timmy with a nod, “See you when you get back?”

He smiled kindly, “Yep. Miss you already.” he said with your signature boss-assistant banter tone.

……..

Sleeping in your own bed for the first time in days was strange. It proved to be difficult for you to fall asleep without Timmy’s warmth. You never expected to be so consumed by a man, but you weren’t upset by it.

You were in a deep sleep when you were awoken by your phone ringing. You groaned in annoyance, thinking to yourself, “Timothée, I could kill you right now.”

Sure enough, it was him. “Yes, Timothée Hal,” you answered as you put the phone to your ear, “what could you possibly want at this hour?” you looked at the screen, “One a.m. Excellent timing.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” he said innocently, “I really didn’t want to wake you up, but I want you.” He didn’t sound needy in a sexual way, but in a way that exuded his need for your presence. “Can I come in, please?”

“What do you mean? Are you here?” you sat up in the bed.

“Yeah I’m literally at your door. Won’t you let me in?”

“Timothée.” you grumbled.

………

“Hey, baby girl.” he said when you opened the door.

“Hello, it’s one in the morning. We are going to sleep.” you said tiredly yet firmly. You held your hand out to him.

He smiled softly as he took your hand and you lead the way to your bedroom. “I wish you were coming to the Paris premiere with me.”

“But you have to see Kylie while you’re there.” you pointed out.

Timmy groaned, “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

Once you were in bed together and settled, he spooned you, and his mouth was on your neck.

“Timmy, I have to sleep. I told you that’s what we were doing.” you said, holding firm.

“I know, but…I want you to ride me.”

“Mm, in the morning.”

“No, now.” he insisted.

“Timothée.” you warned.

“Yeah, and you can say my name. Take my cock and scream my name.” he combed your hair back, kissing your shoulder.

You were getting annoyed…and turned on. Sleep was getting further from your mind. You rolled over to your other side to face Timmy. “What cock?” you moved your hand down, palming him through his boxers. “This cock?” you bit your lip.

“That one, yes.” he smirked.

……..

You were both now completely naked, under your sheets. You bounced on his cock as he lay underneath you. You moaned lightly each time his cock sheathed up into you.

Timmy ran his hands up your tummy, squeezing your breasts, “Yes, just like that.” he praised, “Aidan thinks you’re hot, but you’re mine.”

“No,” you panted, “he was just being nice to me.” You put your hands on his chest, moving your hips.

“No, no, he wants you like this. He wants your body, your pussy, your sweet mouth, your tits bouncing in his face. He wants you the way I get to have you. But I’m the only one who gets this tight cunt. Isn’t that right?”

The way he spoke about your body as his cock was rutting into you got you so worked up and hot. You were enjoying the way his cock was destroying you.

“Hey.” he tapped your cheek, “I asked you a question. This cunt belongs to me, right?”

“Yes, yes, pookie. Only you.” you were drunk on his cock, and you were so out of it.

“Pookie? Maybe don’t use that during sex, babes.”

You whined as friction was building inside of you, “Sorry. But yes, you own this pussy. Fuck, your cock is so big.” You moaned, scratching his chest as you came.

You let out a big exhale, then collapsed on his chest.

Timmy kissed your head, and you were asleep within minutes with him still inside of you.

February 9, 2025

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive @timhalchala @heatherpi

[pixiexdusts-world]

Seven chances

Min ho Moon x ex!reader

Summary: Min Ho plans seven dates to win back his ex—and it just might work.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I never thought I’d see Min Ho Moon again. Not after the way things ended between us.

The moment I spot him across the café, I freeze. He looks exactly the same—maybe even better. Same tousled hair, same confident smirk, same annoyingly perfect skin. But something in his eyes is different. I quickly turn my attention back to my laptop, pretending I didn’t see him.

I should’ve known that wouldn’t stop him.

“Hey,” his voice is smooth, casual, but I can hear the nerves underneath. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

I exhale slowly before looking up. “Min Ho.” I keep my tone neutral.

He doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he slides into the chair across from me without asking. Typical.

“How have you been?” he asks, as if we’re old friends catching up.

“Fine,” I say. “Busy.”

Min Ho leans back, studying me. I hate how easy it is for him to make eye contact, like we didn’t go months without speaking. Like he didn’t break my heart.

“I miss you,” he says. Just like that. No preamble, no hesitation.

I let out a short laugh. “That’s not how this works, Min Ho.”

He frowns. “How what works?”

“You don’t just walk back into my life and say you miss me,” I say, folding my arms. “You don’t get to act like nothing happened.”

His jaw tightens. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

I glance away, out the café window, watching people walk by. It’s a crisp afternoon in Seoul, and the city feels like it’s moving faster than I am.

Min Ho sighs, rubbing his hands together like he’s bracing himself. “I messed up.”

“No kidding.”

He nods. “I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

I close my laptop, giving him my full attention. “Then why did you do it?”

Min Ho hesitates. “Because I was scared.”

“Scared?” I repeat, incredulous. “That’s your excuse?”

“I didn’t think I was good enough for you,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought if I let myself get too close, I’d end up ruining everything. So instead of losing you later, I pushed you away first.”

I stare at him. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m an idiot.”

I shake my head. “You really are.”

There’s a beat of silence between us. I should get up and leave. I should tell him it’s too late, that I don’t care anymore.

But I do care.

And Min Ho, for all his flaws, is sitting here, admitting he was wrong. That’s not something he does often.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says, his voice softer now. “But I want to try again. I want to prove to you that I’ve changed.”

I look at him carefully. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Min Ho smirks, the familiar confidence creeping back into his expression. “Give me a week. Let me take you on seven dates. No expectations, no pressure. Just… let me show you why we were good together.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seven?”

He nods. “Seven.”

I should say no. I should walk away and never look back.

But instead, I sigh. “Fine. One week.”

The grin that spreads across his face is enough to make my heart ache. Because deep down, I know the truth.

I never really stopped loving him.

Day One: The Ice Rink

Min Ho picks me up right on time, a smug look on his face. “You’re going to love this,” he says, leading me inside the rink.

I narrow my eyes. “You remember that I can’t skate, right?”

“That’s the best part,” he teases. “You’ll have to hold onto me the whole time.”

I glare at him, but when we step onto the ice and I immediately slip, I have no choice but to grab his arm. He chuckles. “Told you.”

Despite my frustration, I can’t help but smile. Maybe this isn’t the worst idea after all.

Day Two: The Bookstore

“I remember you used to spend hours in here,” Min Ho says as we step inside my favorite bookstore.

I give him a suspicious look. “You hate bookstores.”

“I hate reading,” he corrects. “Not bookstores.” He picks up a random book and flips through it, pretending to look interested.

I smirk. “You’re just trying to impress me.”

“Is it working?” he asks, grinning.

I roll my eyes, but I don’t miss the warmth creeping into my chest.

Day Three: The Street Market

Min Ho buys me tteokbokki from my favorite vendor, and we wander through the market, the scent of food filling the air. He tries to feed me a piece, but I swat his hand away.

“You’re so difficult,” he groans.

“You love it,” I tease before I can stop myself.

He grins. “I do.”

Day Four: The Beach

We sit on the sand, watching the waves roll in. Min Ho looks at me, his expression unreadable. “I don’t deserve you,” he says suddenly.

I sigh. “Min Ho—”

“I just need you to know that,” he interrupts. “Even if this doesn’t work out, I need you to know how much I regret losing you.”

I swallow hard. “You’re trying, Min Ho. That’s what matters.”

He nods, but I can tell he’s still scared.

So am I.

Day Five: The Arcade

Min Ho drags me to the arcade, his eyes full of mischief.

“Winner picks the next date,” he challenges.

We go head-to-head in basketball, air hockey, and racing games. He wins some, I win more (at least, that’s my version).

At the claw machine, he spends way too many tries before finally winning a small stuffed dog. He hands it to me, a little sheepish.

“For you.”

I hold it close, pretending it doesn’t mean anything. But it does.

Day Six: Karaoke Night

Min Ho books a private karaoke room, and I immediately regret saying yes.

“You just want to show off,” I accuse.

He winks. “Obviously.”

He belts out Love Scenario like he’s on stage, dancing like an idiot. I laugh too hard to resist when he shoves the mic at me.

“One song,” I warn.

By the end, we’re both breathless from laughing. He looks at me, eyes soft.

“I missed this,” he says.

I don’t respond. But deep down, I did too.

Day Seven: The Rooftop

Our final date is on a rooftop, fairy lights strung around us. The city glows beneath us, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.

Min Ho turns to me, looking nervous for the first time. “Did I do enough?”

I exhale. “Min Ho…”

He shakes his head. “Wait. Before you say anything—I just need you to know. I love you. I never stopped.”

My heart clenches. “I know.”

He steps closer. “Do you still love me?”

I hesitate. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because I do.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Min Ho lets out a shaky breath. “Then let me be better for you.”

I bite my lip. “You already are.”

His lips crash into mine, and just like that, I know—

We’re going to be okay.

[truelotus]

Hello, I really liked it💜💜

I don't mind if you ask, My beloved Aizen

It was a deal that Aizen had to defeat Yhwach. And they bring her to him. He makes her pregnant and carries his child.

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧

Character: Sosuke Aizen

Warning : Vaginal Sex, female reader, pregnancy, unprotected sex, missionary, dominant aizen, submissive reader, dirty talking + more

The head captain, Shunsui Kyoraku. Had come down to the muken prison. To make a deal with one of the most notorious criminal.

The soul society was at an unimaginable loss right now, they were going to need help. He had no shame coming to this man for help, he was more ashamed of the deal he was about to make with this man.

“I’m not asking for you to fight for the soul society, but.. if you did. I’m willing to bring her to you.”

This caught Aizen’s attention, he wasn’t shocked to learn that you were still alive, but the fact that he could see you once again.. it brought him to pure joy.

Sosuke Aizen had little regrets, but his biggest regret would have to be getting himself sealed away to muken prison. Sealed far away from you.. he thought about the actions he did but never once felt guilty about anything. What he really did feel guilty about was leaving you out there alone.

Maybe it was a selfish thought of his but, he wished that you too, could be sealed away with him.

“I see.”

Aizen stepped forward, “Though I cannot say I am fond of your use of her in this manner. The opportunity to see her once more, leaves me with little room to refuse.”

Shunsui chuckled at his words, “I’ll go fetch her for you then.”

You were in the middle of healing somebody with your kaidō skills, you are very skilled with kaidō so instead of fighting you were healing everyone you saw was injured.

Just then, you could hear footsteps approaching behind you. You quickly turned your head, afraid that it would be an enemy.

“C-Captain Kyoraku!” You were surprised to see him here, not fighting at the front lines.

“Ah, hello my dear. It seems that you are really putting yourself to work.” He said as he watched you heal the wounds of the person.

“Yes! I’m doing the best I can to keep everyone alive.” Even though all your friends and comrades were all fighting, leading themselves to death or getting hurt by the quincies, you still had a smile on your face.

Because no matter what happened to them, you would be able to heal them and bring them back to their feet. That is how much of a talent you have with kaido, you were trained by Unohana after all, it is no surprise how well of a healer you are.

“I thank you Y/N, unfortunately I’m going have to stop you. There’s someone I want you to meet.” For some reason, you felt that it wasn’t going to be good.

You swallowed the lump in your throat while stopping your kido. “If it is who I think it is, then I am not coming with you.” You picked up the now healed person, carrying their body somewhere where they’d be safe until they woke up.

“I’m afraid that you have no choice Y/N, I made a deal with him.”

You could feel your heart drop to your toes, a deal? what kind of deal?

“What kind of deal did you make with that man..” You balled your fists up, nails digging into the skin of your palm. Afraid of what he might say next.

“That if I bring you to him, he’ll do his part on helping the soul society, and bring down Yhwach.”

The head captain was just going to throw you at him? While knowing your traumatic experience with him?

You once loved that man, but now with the help of Byakuya Kuchiki, head of the Kuchiki clan. You were slowly moving on. And even Byakuya was beginning to move on from his past lover..

You’d restart your whole process if you saw Sosuke again, you’d hurt Byakuya too..

“I refuse.”

“You leave me with no choice!” Suddenly Shunsui disappeared in front of you, but then he appeared behind you. He picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

“Let! kick go! punch of! kick me!” You kicked and punched him while he carried you over his shoulder, eventually you stopped when accepting your faith, you were now mentally preparing yourself to see him again.

Sooner or later, Shunsui carefully and gently placed you on the ground.

You could feel him.

He wasn’t touching you.

But you could feel his eyes staring you down..

You didn’t dare to look up at him, you looked down at your feet, fiddling with your fingers. You can’t look at him again, you’d be under his spell once again if you did.

“You hold your head quite low, my dear. Why not raise it so I can gaze upon that beautiful face I so dearly miss?” His tone was smooth and calm, his voice was as charming as ever.

Your body moved on its own, you tried so hard to stop yourself but you just couldn’t resist.

Slowly, you raised your head up, meeting his gaze. Your hands were now to your chest, your hands were balled up together.

“Sosuke..” You muttered out, you knew everything was over for you when you made eye contact with him. You were once again wrapped around his finger.

“Now that I’ve seen you.. I can be at ease now. Do not fret my dear, I’ll save your precious seireitei.”

You and Sosuke had just gotten your new home in the world of the living, you will be staying with him here so keep him tamed. It was really all thanks to Kisuke Urahara.

He developed a device that could restrain half of his power, but for it to fully work, Sosuke needed to live in the world of the living. So, central 46 agreed that he could finish his sentence there but someone needed to keep watch on him, Shunsui Kyoraku spoke out and suggested that it should be you.

So here you are, in a nice cozy home. With Sosuke Aizen.

It’s been so long since the last time the two of you were alone together, and knowing Sosuke.. he was going to take advantage of the opportunity. The two of you were in the bedroom, unpacking.

“Isn’t this place lovely Sosuk-” He had come up behind you, interrupting your sentence. You could feel something hard rubbing against your behind.

“It’s been a while since I’ve last slept with you, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” You could feel him leaving kisses around your neck, you could feel his hand slipping under your shirt, reaching to your breast.

“You’re too much sometimes Sosuke..” You were just about to push him off until he pushed you onto the bed.

Oh wow he was really going for it hard

You saw as he undressed himself, throwing his clothes on the ground. When he saw you still fully dressed, he took matters into his own hands and began to rip off your clothes. This man was starving for you.

It all happened so fast, you didn’t stop him from undressing you because you were too busy at starring at his hard cock, you could see it twitch when he removed your panties.

He climbed onto the bed, he was hovering over your body. You looked beautiful under him, he loved and missed seeing your beautiful face all flushed up under him.

Right now, he wanted nothing more than painting your walls white with his cum, he doesn’t know what got to him but he had the sudden urge to fill your pussy to the max with his cum, to make sure that you will carry his child. He wanted to see you pregnant with his child.

“I want to see that pretty little cunt filled with my cum, I’d love for you to carry my child.” Without any warnings, sosuke slid his hard shaft right into your glistening cunt.

Your walls sucked him in, his eyes were focused on yours the whole time when he began to push his cock in and out of your cunt.

But he couldn’t help by looking at your bouncing breasts, they went up and down with each thrust he did. He dug his nails deep into the skin of your hips, it was almost too much for him.

Oh how he missed you..

He was pounding your walls soo good, you could see him biting his lip to resist himself from moaning.

But he couldn’t hold himself back, you could hear him grunting as he pounded himself faster into you.

He was hitting your good spot with each thrust, he lowered his face to meet with yours, forehands touching. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing him so he could be further into your cunt.

He smashed his lips against yours, it was a sloppy kiss but it felt incredible still. You missed him and he missed you. You parted your lips to let out your moans, so he could hear of how much of a good job he was doing.

His tongue slithered into your mouth, tasting you. The both of you moaned into each other’s mouths.

Your back arched at how good his cock was feeling you up, your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

It wouldn’t take long for him to finish inside of you, he then imagined your pussy being so filled with his cum that it spilt out of your pussy.

And that little scenario set him off, he came inside of you, you could feel his warm sees filling you up just nicely.

He stayed like that for a few seconds, but he didn’t remove his cock from you..Instead he continued thrusting into you, your walls were filled with his cum yet he continued to fuck your pussy.

The cum swirled around your walls with each thrust he made, he was going to make sure that you ended up pregnant. So he continued to fuck your cum filled pussy.

He was going to fuck your pussy until he simply couldn’t cum anymore for the night, you were going to milk him dry.

It was certainly going to become a long night..

You were putting breakfast on Sosuke’s plate and onto yours, you made sure you added extra on yours.

You were now eating for two, you needed to give your child as much nutrients as possible so they could become a healthy and strong baby.

Just then you could hear Sosuke sneaking up behind you, hugging your figure gently. His hands rested on your now round belly.

He didn’t think you could look even more beautiful, but when he noticed your stomach growing from carrying his child, he appreciated your beauty even more. Your beauty really was like a gift from the gods.

“How is he holding up?” He said as he rested his chin on top of your head.

“He seems to be doing just fine, I realized that he kicks more whenever he hears your voice.” Sosuke hummed as he then felt a kick from your stomach.

“You know you really shouldn’t be overdoing things, you need to rest more. Leave everything to me will you?” He said as he removed himself from you, dragging you away from the food so you could sit down and he could serve you breakfast.

“I know I know.. But I can’t help it!”

He chucked and moved your hair from your forehead, leaving a little kiss on it.

Maybe this is what he longed for, to have a family. The idea of being a father never interested him but when he had that sudden urge that one night, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having a family with you.

“Please, Let this husband of yours take care of you and the baby.”

Hm.

Yeah this is definitely where he wants to be at, he wanted nothing more than this now.

He can’t wait for the day he sees his child in your arms.

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER ONE

You had spent your entire life performing.

The daughter of Rafael Perez didn’t get the luxury of being anything else. Every movement, every carefully measured smile, every moment of silence in a room like this—it all meant something. Tonight was no different.

The ballroom glittered under chandeliers, the golden light reflecting off silk gowns and polished shoes. Laughter drifted through the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses, but beneath the practiced pleasantries lay a current of power. Deals were being made, alliances solidified, and Eva, as always, was a pawn on the board.

You lifted a champagne flute to your lips, though she barely took a sip. The bubbles fizzed against your skin, but you weren't drinking. You never drank at these events. Staying sharp was a necessity, not a choice.

--

You sat on your bed, eyes fixed on the blank canvas before you. The brushes, untouched and coated in dust, sat idle on the windowsill. You used to be able to lose yourself in the colors, the strokes, the world you created. But now? Now, it all felt hollow, a reminder of the life you were supposed to want, but couldn’t seem to care about.

Every day felt like you were moving through a fog, playing a part in a show you didn’t audition for. The more the days passed, the more you felt lost. A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts, and before you could even respond, the door creaked open. Rafael Perez, your father, stepped inside with that cold, calculated look he always wore.

His presence was like an impenetrable wall, looming over your every move. “I see the canvas is still here.” he said, his voice devoid of emotion, but there was a clear disappointment in his words.

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond immediately. He’d been saying the same thing for months, as though avoiding painting would somehow fix everything in your life. You stood, brushing your hands together, as though trying to dust off your frustration.

“I told you, I’m not interested in your... ‘vision’ for me, Dad,” you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral, but there was a sharpness to it you couldn’t quite hide. Your father didn’t react to the anger in your voice, like he didn’t even hear it.

He just stepped further into the room, his gaze never leaving yours, and approached the canvas with that same critical look. “You’re wasting your time, Evangeline. You’re wasting your potential. You have a responsibility to the family, to the company, to everything we’ve built.”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “What about what I want? Does that even matter?” His eyes flickered to you briefly, the hint of irritation flashing in them, but he quickly masked it. “What you want doesn’t matter. What matters is what needs to be done.” He paused for a beat before adding, “I’ve arranged for you to attend an event tonight. Mingyu will be there to make sure you’re... presentable.”

The mention of Mingyu made your stomach twist. You'd almost forgotten about him—almost. That damn bodyguard was always around, like a shadow, looming over your every move. He wasn’t just your father’s watchful eye; he was the constant reminder that you weren't in control of your own life.

Your eyes narrowed. “Mingyu,” you muttered, trying not to let the frustration creep into your voice. “What a surprise.” Rafael turned toward the door, as if the conversation was over, but not before adding, “You should be grateful he’s here. He’s only doing his job. I trust you’ll behave.” Your teeth ground together.

“I’m always behaving, Dad,” you spat, sarcasm dripping from the words. Your father didn’t flinch. “I’ll see you later.” He gave you one last look, this time more piercing, before he left, the door closing behind him with a soft thud. You stood still for a moment, staring at the door, your chest tightening with frustration.

You could hear his footsteps fading down the hallway, but the suffocating feeling remained, heavy in the air. You hated how his presence seemed to fill every corner of your life, like you were never allowed to breathe without someone watching.

And Mingyu? He was just the physical embodiment of everything your father represented. The rules. The control. The expectations. You let out a shaky breath and glanced over at the window, the bright sunlight streaming in, but it felt like the room was closing in on her.

Every day felt the same—tethered to your father’s demands, suffocated by the people he surrounded you with, and watched over by Mingyu.

--

You tossed your phone onto the couch, frustration building in your chest. Another message from your dad about the upcoming event—the usual “you need to look perfect” reminder. You sighed deeply, your fingers dragging through your hair as you sat down beside Caro, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor flipping through a fashion magazine.

The two of you had spent the entire afternoon together, but your mind was miles away. “I hate these events,” you muttered, glancing down at your phone. “Everything’s always so perfect and expected. I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Caro stayed silent, a soft smile playing on her lips as she nodded. She was used to your rants, always ready to listen even though Caro’s own thoughts were a little more complicated when it came to these events. She didn’t have to attend them. She was always on the outside looking in.

You, completely oblivious to the weight of Caro’s thoughts, looked up, her eyes bright with determination. “I need your help. I have to look perfect tonight.” Caro blinked, not sure what to expect. “What do you mean?” Her voice was soft, but she couldn’t quite hide the curiosity.

You tossed her phone aside again and turned to Caro, her eyes lighting up. “I need a dress. Not just any dress—something that'll make a statement, you know? Something that says, ‘I’m here, and I’m not going to play by anyone’s rules’.” Caro’s heart skipped, the awkwardness creeping in as soon as she realized what this was about. She shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor.

She knew the drill—Your extravagant events, the expectations, the people. It wasn’t her world. She didn’t belong there. “I—I don’t know if I’m the right person to help with that,” Caro muttered, her voice faltering slightly.

She fiddled with the corner of the magazine, a nervous tick she always had when she was uncomfortable. You, however, didn’t seem to notice. She was already on a roll, thinking about all the details. “But you know fashion better than anyone, Caro. Please, just help me pick something out. I trust you. You always know how to make me look amazing.” Caro didn’t answer immediately.

She just nodded, forcing a small smile, even though the thought of stepping into that world made her feel out of place. She was just the friend—the one who didn't belong to the circle of high society, the one who had to watch it all from the sidelines.

Your excitement seemed to fill the room, making Caro’s discomfort that much more pronounced. You weren't just talking about a dress; you were talking about fitting in with your father’s world, about being the perfect image for all the people who would be watching. And Caro wasn’t even invited to those events.

When you suddenly brightened, your smile widening, Caro’s stomach twisted. “Oh! And you can come as my plus one. I mean, you’ve got nothing to do tonight, right?” Caro’s throat tightened. She stayed silent for a long moment, biting her lip as the awkwardness settled over her like a heavy blanket.

You were expecting her to say yes, but all Caro could think about was how out of place she’d feel surrounded by people who had everything she didn’t.  She forced herself to nod, her voice barely above a whisper. “I... yeah, I guess I can come. If you want me to.”

Your face lit up at her agreement. “Of course, I do! You’re my best friend. You’re going to help me pick out the perfect dress, and then we’ll go together. It’ll be so much fun.” Caro smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

She didn’t want to be the one to burst your bubble, but it was hard not to feel like a pawn in this whole thing. You had no idea how different their worlds were. No idea how uncomfortable it made Caro to be asked to be her “sidekick” in a world that would never accept her.

Instead of speaking up, Caro just nodded again, still feeling out of place. “Sounds fun,” she said quietly, her voice almost sounding distant. You, completely oblivious, bounced up from the couch, heading toward the door.

“Let’s go! We’ve got to find that dress, and then I’ll text Mingyu and tell him I’m all ready to go.” And as you dragged her out the door, Caro couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was going to be another reminder of just how different they truly were.

--

The venue was dazzling—golden chandeliers casting a warm glow over the sea of elegantly dressed guests. Laughter and the soft clinking of glasses filled the space, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne.

Everywhere Caro looked, people moved effortlessly, slipping in and out of conversations like they belonged to some secret world she could never quite step into.

You, on the other hand, fit right in. The moment they arrived, you were swept up in a flurry of greetings—soft cheek kisses, perfectly rehearsed compliments, and warm, effortless smiles exchanged between people who had known each other since childhood.

You shined in the dress Caro helped you pick, a sleek midnight blue gown that hugged your form just right. Confidence radiated off you as she laughed, gesturing animatedly while talking to a group of perfectly put-together people.

Caro, however, stood off to the side, her fingers wrapped tightly around the stem of her untouched champagne glass. She shifted on her heels, her dress—borrowed from your closet—feeling a little too tight, a little too foreign.

The conversation around her moved like a fast-flowing river, and she was just a rock stuck on the bank, watching it all pass her by. You had promised they’d stick together, but within minutes, she was off mingling, seamlessly blending into the crowd.

Caro swallowed, her gaze flickering over the room. There was no one here she knew, no one who would even think to talk to her. And maybe that was the point—she wasn’t supposed to be here. She was just the friend. The outsider.

Caro swallowed, her gaze flickering over the room. There was no one here she knew, no one who would even think to talk to her. And maybe that was the point—she wasn’t supposed to be here. She was just the friend. The outsider.

"You know you have to say no to her someday, right?" The deep, measured voice made her flinch. She turned to find Seungcheol Perez- your brother, standing beside her, a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand.

His dark brown eyes, always sharp and unreadable, carried a hint of amusement as he glanced toward Eva, who was across the room, laughing with a group of perfectly polished socialites. Caro sighed. "Oh, is this where you deliver another one of your grand lectures?" He smirked, tilting his glass slightly.

"Not a lecture. Just an observation." He took a slow sip. "She drags you into this world like you belong here. But we both know you don’t." Caro scoffed, arms crossing over her chest. "Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence." He chuckled lightly.

"I’m just saying, you let her pull you around like a shadow." There was teasing in his voice, but something else, too. Something heavier. "She’s my best friend," Caro muttered, glancing at you again. Seungcheol nodded. "I know."

His voice softened, just slightly. Then, after a pause, "But you don’t always have to say yes just because she asks." Caro hesitated, shifting on her feet. "Why do you even care?" He tilted his head slightly, considering her. "Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just enjoy watching you squirm." Caro huffed out a quiet laugh despite herself.

"You are the absolute worst."

"Mm." He smirked again. "And yet, here you are, still talking to me." She rolled her eyes, but the warmth between them was unmistakable. Seungcheol may have been blunt, but he wasn’t cruel. And despite everything, she knew he was right—you never saw how hard it was for her to be in this world. But Seungcheol did.

And for the first time that night, standing beside him, Caro didn’t feel so alone. “Come here to steal my best friend as well?” Your voice cut through the air, her words dripping with barely-contained irritation as she approached them. There was no warmth in her tone, only an edge of frustration. Her eyes narrowed as they settled on Seungcheol.

He didn’t react, his expression calm as always, though there was an underlying tension that was hard to ignore. He took a casual sip from his drink, his gaze steady on you as he replied, "I’m not stealing anyone, Evangeline. Just having a conversation." Your lips tightened into a thin line. You didn’t miss a beat.

"You should know better than to waste your time," you said coldly, your voice flat, like she was talking to a subordinate. “If you’re not here to work, I don’t know what you’re doing.” There was no affection in your words—just the distant, sharp edge of someone who had long ago put up walls. Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “I’m not here to waste anyone’s time,” he replied, his tone smooth, his posture professional.

Your gaze shifted to Caro for a split second, “you really think I need you to babysit her too?” Seungcheol glanced briefly at Caro, whose awkwardness was palpable, before responding in a level voice. "I’m not babysitting her, Evangeline. We’re just talking." You took a step closer, your heels clicking against the floor in a purposeful way. “It’s not your job to talk to her,” you said with a brittle smile, now aiming your words directly at him.

“So why don’t you go find something else to do?” Caro felt herself shrink a little, the tension in the air thickening with every word. She wasn’t sure what had caused the rift between them, but it was clear that whatever it was, it was deep—and it wasn’t about her. Seungcheol didn't flinch.

He met her sharp gaze with the same unflinching calm. "You really don’t need to control everything, Evangeline." Your eyes flashed for a moment, your jaw clenching as your fingers curled slightly around your drink. “And you don’t need to lecture me," you snapped back, your voice low but cutting.

“You’re not in charge here. Stay out of it.” There was a moment of silence before Seungcheol sighed, as if he was tired of this back-and-forth, but he didn't show it. "Fine," he said simply, his voice calm as always. "Enjoy your night." He says raising the glass in Caro's direction as he leaves. Caro watched as Seungcheol disappeared into the crowd, and for a moment, she felt an ache in her chest.

But before she could linger on it, your voice broke through. "I don’t know why he has to make such a scene everywhere he goes." Caro didn’t even look up at you. Instead, she took a slow sip from her drink, trying to steady the chaos in her mind.

"It’s not a scene," she replied quietly. Caro let out a soft breath, glancing over at you, who was clearly still fuming. She could feel the weight of the conversation, but at this point, she wasn’t going to let it ruin her night. Not when you had gone out of her way to make sure they were having fun tonight.

“We don’t like him, Caro. He’s is an asshole,” You said again, her voice steady, but there was a sharpness in it that made it clear you weren't backing down. Caro nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd for a moment, avoiding the topic. She wasn’t sure what else to say. “Yeah, of course. I was just—” “There is no ‘just,’ Caro. He is a fuck up, and I won’t let him ruin our night,” You cut in, more serious now, your expression set. Caro turned back to you, her voice a little quieter as she sighed. “Yeah, yeah obviously.”

There wasn’t much else she could add. She knew you were just looking out for her, but sometimes it felt like everyone had an opinion on Seungcheol. He was complicated, yes—hard to deal with, yes—but he was her friend, and that made things harder. She didn’t want to argue with you about it. Not now. Not tonight.

Caro let the music wash over her, the bass thudding beneath her feet as she tried to shake off the lingering tension. You, on the other hand, had already moved on, flagging down a server to order another round. “You need to stop letting him get under your skin,” Caro said, forcing a smile as she leaned against the bar beside her best friend. You scoffed, picking up your drink.

“I don’t. He’s just always in the way.” You tossed back a sip, your nails drumming against the glass. “It’s pathetic, honestly. He acts like he’s some kind of protector.” Caro hesitated, glancing down at her own drink. “Maybe he’s just—” “Don’t,” You cut in, her voice firm. “You don’t owe him the benefit of the doubt, Caro. Not him.”

Caro swallowed back her words. There was something unshakable in your voice, something that made arguing feel pointless. Maybe you were right. Maybe Seungcheol wasn’t worth defending. But if that were true, why did Caro feel the way she did? Before she could think too much about it, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Ladies.” Caro turned, blinking as she took in the man who had appeared beside them. Sleek suit, charming smirk, an air of confidence that was just a little too polished. Elias Park. Your posture relaxed instantly, a slow smile curling at your lips. “Elias,” you greeted, tilting your head in interest.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.” “I could say the same,” he replied smoothly, his dark eyes flicking over to Caro for a second before returning to you. “But then again, you do have a habit of making any place worth being at.” You let out a quiet laugh, clearly enjoying the attention. Caro, however, just gave a small, polite smile before turning back to her drink.

Elias leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” You raised a brow, intrigued. “Oh?” “Yeah.” His eyes gleamed under the dim lighting. “There’s something I think you’d be very interested in.” Caro barely heard the rest of the conversation.

Her mind was elsewhere, her thoughts drifting back to Seungcheol. Something about the way he left—unbothered on the surface, but carrying something heavier underneath—stuck with her. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over.

[colorfulwastelandvoid]

In defense of MelJay

I just need to say this…SHUT UP! Yall are all tap dancing on my last nerve.I’m am at my wits end with this fandom. Every time I think we take one step forward some dufus pushes us two steps back.

Okay. I’m arguing with a JayVik shipper on TikTok who says MelJay is boring and toxic. I am about to explode this shit can’t still be the main conversation about this ship.

So first off MelJay is “boring”. This isn’t unique to JayVik nor is it the first time someone has said this about MelJay, but I always find it weird when people say certain ships are boring. The ships in question are usually just chill and communicative so there is no needless drama. This probably relates more to online fandoms’ obsession with romanticizing toxicity but I digress. It’s weird that the tension and political intrigue,something of which yall claim to love about the show overall, is in someway boring. The fact they are not constantly arguing or disregarding each other was nice cause I hate that those interactions are normalized in fandom in regard to romantic ships. If one of them had something to say then they would just say it and they would discuss it and move on like a normal couple. There is a lot to digest with them though as separate characters and as a couple. While Mel and Jayce are similar they obviously are not exactly alike. Mel it’s a lot more closed off and tempered and Jayce is more emotionally open and is hot headed. Both want to do good and have enough ambition to do so. It is their methods that differentiate them. Mel is more comfortable working behind the scenes whereas Jayce runs head first. These little differences offers up moments of character growth for both these characters. Mel started to become more aggressive (she was never docile) in her emotions and tactics where Jayce became more level headed.

The second one is that they are toxic. I’m going to keep this part short cause I already addressed this multiple times on this tumblr, so I’ll just bring up my highlights. Mel was not manipulating Jayce throughout their whole relationship. The only times where we see her manipulations is with Hoskel , but f him who cares about that man, and Jayce during progress day when they weren’t even together and Viktor wanted Jayce to do the same thing Mel was asking him to do. He didn’t even listen to her either. Mel and Jayce were genuinely attracted to one another so no she didn’t eventually fall for him she liked him from the first kiss. After a certain point we must recognize that Jayce was coming to Mel for advice and she gave it. Whether he listened to her or not. The investment line, an investment to Mel is not the same as investment to Jayce. An investment to Mel is like an action word. She invested in Hextech cause she genuinely believed in Jayce and Viktors ability to do good and she wanted to help similar to how a parent invest in their child, not because they think they’ll get something in return but because they love and believe in their kid. Jayce knows that, hence why he apologized for insinuating otherwise.

A lot of the so called toxicity the fandom claims they see is cause no one is meaningfully engaging with Mel or Jayce as characters but are just trying to get them to work in whatever ship they see fit.

Listen at the end of the day ship who you want but how you ship is gonna get your critiqued. For the love of anything that’s holy engage with the characters as their own separate entities. Your ships will thank you for it.

Ps I doubt this will be the last time some one will piss me off about Mel, Jayce or their relationship but I’m trying to keep this page more happy, for a lack of better words,so I’m trying not to rant to much. I got one more though. It’ll be way shorter though.

[msschemmenti]

lips 💋

jennifer jareau x reader

a/n: i had two different ideas for this we’ll see which one makes it out of my notes app. a lil ficlet because im literally so obsessed with her rn

what was her deal today? there was a stack of case files spilling out of her inbox on the corner of her desk. her phone had about 20 voicemails from detectives all over the country. there was so much work to do and yet she’d spent the day staring across her desk at her co-worker. jj was truly at a loss today. after lunch with no case in sight— she’d pretty much deemed the day a loss in regards to productivity. and as frustrated as she’d be tomorrow, she really couldn’t bring herself to care too much today.

y/n had to be doing it on purpose. it was as if every time jj’s eyes were on her, she’d lick her lips, or she’d be biting the cap of her pen, or reapplying her chapstick. jj all but crawled across the desk separating them when y/n removed her glasses and started sucking on one of the legs in thought as she worked through a file. by 3pm she was beginning to lose her mind.

she’d gotten lost in y/n shiny lips again when a ball up piece of paper collided with her forehead. shocked at the interruption, jj looked around the bullpen for the culprit. everyone’s heads were buried in files but a familiar snickered came from the set of desks next to her own. emily’s shiny black hair bounced with laughter causing jj to roll her eyes. emily only grinned and lifted her empty coffee mug toward the kitchen.

jj followed her with her own mug and sidled up beside her in the tiny kitchenette. “am i that obvious?” jj asked quietly, eyes still trained on the younger agent, hard at work.

“unbelievably so. i knew you guys liked to flirt but i hadn’t realized you’d taken the banter to the next step.”

“next step? what do you mean?” jj asked in confusion.

“jayje, you’re looking at her like you tasted the most intimate parts of her. like you can’t wait for it to be 5pm so you can take her home and reacquaint yourself with all your favorite parts of her. like you wanna take her right-“ emily explained dramatically, sloshing the coffee in her mug around as she talked.

“okay! that’s a bit more detailed than i think is necessary. and unlike what you so openly suggested we’ve not taken any steps. i just don’t know what it is today. i’m damn near mesmerized. i’ve got to get a grip before she notices. which won’t take long considering you’re launching paper balls at my head.” jj grimaced.

“well it’s almost quitting time, i’m sure you can make something happen.” emily grinned.

jj shook her head swiftly and turned to head back to her desk, “in my dreams. i think ill just stick to admiring from a far for now.”

emily shook her head and followed jj out, extending a napkin to her before sliding into her desk chair. “if that’s the case, this is for the droll puddle you’ve been building all day. wouldn’t want to flood you inbox, hm?” jj ignored emily with a shake of her head and went back to trying to look like she was working and not shamelessly fantasizing about devouring y/n’s lips.

somehow, y/n and jj ended up being the last two leaving the bullpen this evening. well jj had been too distracted to realize anyone else had left and y/n had been working through one last file. so when she closed the file and met jj’s eyes she almost smirked at the dazed look on the blonde’s face. “aw how chivalrous, did you wait for me?”

there wasn’t anything chivalrous about it. jj mentally chastised herself for the thought and forced herself to nod. “we both know how dangerous it is to have a pretty woman like you walking around by yourself at night. figured i’d walk you to your car.”

y/n grinned then shooting jj a playful wink as she gathered her things, “well let’s get a move on then. i don’t wanna keep you here any longer than necessary. today felt exceptionally long.”

jj hummed in agreement and both women started for the elevator. as they waited, jj rocked on the balls of her feet anxiously. willing herself to be normal and not obvious. they stepped in the elevator and rode it all the way down in silence. jj was almost home free. until her determined coolness was shattered as y/n laughed sweetly as the elevator doors slid open.

“so you gonna kiss me or what?” y/n smirked, hands on her hips.

jj sputtered a bit at the direct question, “uh, what?”

“oh come on jen, you’ve only been saying it with your eyes all day. normally you can conceal it a bit better but today it was like it was written on your forehead.” y/n grinned stepping into jj’s space.

“normally? what do you mean?” jj almost pouted.

“oh sweets, you might be good at poker and all but i know desire when i see it.” y/n places her hand on jj’s cheek with an affectionate pat. “so what’ll be? am i going home without a kiss or what? i’ve only been waiting for two years.”

jj huffed indignantly but wasted no more time and pulled the woman into a bruising kiss. one that had them both panting for air when they finally fell apart. they rested their foreheads together as they caught their breath and y/n was the first one to break the charged silence. “you lasted longer than i thought you would. i just knew when i was sucking on my glasses you’d break.”

jj gasped and squeezed at y/n’s waist, “i knew you were doing it on purpose! i thought i was going crazy.”

y/n shrugged with a smile, “you left me no choice. flirting with you for two years didn’t seem to do the job. i had to take matters into my own hands.”

jj groaned but leaned in again, lips only ghosting over y/n’s. “i can’t believe this…”

“you weren’t complaining a second ago, why start now?”

“oh trust me, i’m not. merely surprised it all.”

[novaursa]

Legacy (shadow of war)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: This is the last chapter.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: daybreak

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The air inside Casterly Rock was thick with silence—a silence so heavy, so suffocating, that it pressed upon every soul who still lived.

Jon Snow stepped through the gates, his boots echoing against the cold stone floor. He was flanked by Tormund and Davos, their faces grim, their eyes set ahead as they marched through the ruined stronghold. Behind them, the survivors of the battle followed—men of the North, soldiers of the Westerlands, all moving with the same heavy gait, their bodies battered and their spirits spent.

But no one spoke.

No one dared to speak.

It was as if the very walls of Casterly Rock mourned—the torches flickering in their iron sconces, casting long, jagged specters over the stone, the corridors stretching into endless darkness.

Jon had known grief. He had felt loss so many times before, yet something about this was different—something about the air, the weight of the silence, the way the survivors carried themselves as if they were already ghosts.

When they reached the great hall, Jon found them.

A dozen Lannister guards stood stationed, their armor dented, their faces hollow with exhaustion. Kevan Lannister was among them, his posture rigid, his eyes rimmed red.

And at the center of it all—Damon.

The boy sat on the steps of the dais, his small frame hunched over, his arms wrapped around his knees. His silver-gold hair fell over his face, but Jon could see his eyes—distant, vacant, staring at something that was no longer there.

Jon had seen that look before.

He had worn it himself.

Slowly, carefully, Jon approached.

The closer he got, the more he could see the scars—the fresh burns that still marred one side of Damon’s face, the skin raw and newly healed, the mark of dragonfire and tragedy.

Jon knelt down beside him, resting his forearm on his knee, keeping his voice low.

“I’m sorry.”

Damon didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even breathe for a moment.

And then—

“I want to see them.”

Jon’s chest tightened.

Damon’s voice was flat, empty, lacking the innocence of a child his age. There was no trembling, no weeping—only a distant numbness, a void that threatened to swallow him whole.

Kevan shifted uncomfortably, but he said nothing. The guards behind them lowered their gazes, some looking toward Jon as if hoping he might say no.

Jon didn’t.

Because he knew what it meant to be denied the truth.

He exhaled softly, glancing toward Davos and Tormund. They said nothing, only watching with solemn eyes.

Jon turned back to Damon, his voice steady.

“I’ll take you to them.”

For the first time since Jon entered the hall, Damon looked at him.

His eyes were not entirely his father’s—they were Targaryen eyes, mostly violet, just like his mother’s. But they were hollow, as if a part of him had already gone beyond the veil, lost in a grief so deep that it had yet to fully surface.

Jon stood first, offering his hand.

Damon stared at it for a long moment—then, wordlessly, he took it.

The hall remained silent as Jon led the boy out, the flickering torchlight casting long, sorrowful shadows over them.

Kevan followed. So did a handful of Lannister guards. Davos and Tormund remained at their backs, their presence a silent show of strength.

But Jon knew—there was no strength to be found here.

Only ashes.

Only loss.

Only the unforgiving truth that no child should ever have to face.

And yet—Damon walked beside him.

No tears.

No words.

Just silence.

And Jon—who had lost everything once—knew that this was only the beginning of the boy’s grief.

The true mourning had yet to come.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of charred flesh and smoke, the last remnants of dragonfire clinging to the ruins of what had been the final battlefield. The earth beneath their boots was scorched black, the snow melted away in streaks, revealing the ashen bones that remained. The dawn had come, thin and pale against the lingering darkness of the Long Night, but there was no warmth to be found.

Viserion stood like a stone sentinel, her armored form unmoving, the golden plating that once gleamed bright now tarnished with soot and battle scars. The great she-dragon had not moved since she had breathed her last fire upon her rider and her mate. She was watching—as if she could still see the souls of the fallen lingering in the smoke.

And beside her, Drogon and Rhaegal loomed, their massive black and green forms restless, wings twitching, as if they too felt something was wrong in the air.

Daenerys stood at the foot of the remains, her silver hair unbound, the wind tugging it across her face as she stared at the blackened bones of the woman she had never truly known. She had fought for a throne neither of them had ever sat upon, and now only one remained.

She had come too late.

The crunch of footsteps in the dirt made her turn.

Kevan Lannister led Damon forward, the boy’s small frame looking impossibly frail beneath his thick cloak, his scars visible in the morning light. He moved with purpose, his eyes never once shifting from where his parents’ bodies had been burned.

Jon walked at Damon’s side, his face hollow, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as though he were forcing himself to breathe. His gloved hands were shaking, though whether from exhaustion or grief, it was impossible to say.

Damon stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Then he knelt.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Viserion lowered her head, her golden eyes soft as she pressed her massive snout against the boy’s shoulder. He did not flinch, did not move—just sat in silence as she nuzzled him, the last piece of his mother still tethered to this world.

Jon turned away.

He couldn’t look at it any longer—the sight of the charred ground, the dragon mourning her rider, the child who had lost everything in one night.

His heart felt like it was splitting apart, torn between anger, sorrow, and failure. He had fought so hard, and yet—it was not enough.

A heavy sigh passed Daenerys’ lips as she turned her gaze to Damon, stepping forward carefully, her boots pressing into the blackened earth.

“You don’t have to stay here.” Her voice was quiet, almost gentle. “You can come with me. You don’t have to be alone.”

Kevan Lannister stiffened immediately.

“His place is here.” His voice was firm, his stance unyielding. “Damon is Lord of Casterly Rock now. He will rule. This is his home.”

Daenerys turned her gaze to Kevan, her expression hardened.

“He is my blood.” She took another step, her hands open, placating. “He is a Targaryen. And he should not be left to fend for himself among men in lion’s clothing. I would make him my heir—”

“His duty is here.” Kevan’s tone was sharper now. “We must think of the Westerlands, of the line of succession—”

“And we must think of his brother.”

The words cut through the cold like a blade.

Damon, who had remained silent for so long, finally spoke.

And his voice was like steel.

“Maelor is no longer my brother.”

The wind howled through the battlefield, but no one spoke.

Damon lifted his head, his eyes unblinking, his jaw clenched.

“Next time we meet… I will have to kill him.”

The words were spoken with such certainty, such finality, that even Kevan hesitated.

Daenerys knelt beside him, placing a careful hand on his shoulder.

“Come with me, sweet one. You don’t have to fight this alone. You can come home with me, to Dragonstone. We can take back what is ours.”

Damon did not look at her.

His small fingers clenched into fists.

“The dragon has three heads.”

Daenerys drew back slightly, staring at him, realization flickering across her face.

Then, slowly, Damon rose to his feet.

He did not take her hand.

He did not look back.

He turned, walking away from the remains of his parents, Kevan following closely behind, and as he passed Jon, he did not stop.

Jon did not either.

He could not bear to look at what remained of his mother.

And as Daenerys stood in the ashes of her sister, Rhaegal watched Jon, his great head shifting slightly as if he too was meant to follow—as if something unseen was calling to him.

But he did not move.

He stayed behind.

And as Damon left his mother and father behind forever, Viserion rose, her enormous golden wings stretching toward the dawn.

Even after death, they would watch over him.

The Years After the Long Night: An Account of the Realm

(As recorded by various sources: Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Beric Dondarrion, Tyrion Lannister, and Lord Kevan Lannister)

The Aftermath of the Long Night

Ser Davos Seaworth, in his recollections written years later, would say:

"The war was won, but at a terrible cost. The sun rose over a kingdom that had barely survived, its people broken, its rulers dead, and its lands in ruin. Those who did not prepare perished in the first year. The rest of us carried on, but we carried scars—on our bodies, in our minds, and in our very souls."

The Westerlands were left in Damon Lannister’s hands, though at the time of the war’s end, he was still but a boy. Lord Kevan Lannister ruled as regent in his nephew’s name, holding Casterly Rock as the last surviving adult of his family. Ser Jaime Lannister had returned from King’s Landing, having been present for its slow collapse, and stood by his nephew’s side.

Yet succession was not as simple as it should have been.

King Tommen Baratheon had succumbed to shivers mere days before the Long Night reached its peak. His queen, Margaery Tyrell, fled back to Highgarden, where she remained, childless and unwilling to return to court. Princess Myrcella Baratheon, wed into House Martell, ruled alongside her husband in Dorne, a kingdom that had suffered its own horrors during the war.

Thus, when the question of the Iron Throne arose, the realm found itself leaderless once more.

A Question of Succession

It was Daenerys Stormborn who made the first move.

Having survived the Long Night alongside her dragons, she pressed her claim to the Iron Throne. Yet the lords of Westeros, having suffered too long under foreign invasion, war, and death, refused her outright.

"The Iron Throne was stolen from my family," she declared in Dragonstone, as recorded by Tyrion Lannister in his letters. "It is my birthright."

But Lord Kevan Lannister countered her claim with one of his own.

"The throne was stolen, yes. But not from you."

The Lords of Westeros had no wish for another foreign war, and Daenerys, despite her survival, was still seen as an outsider, raised in Essos, returning with armies of Dothraki and Unsullied who had already begun to dwindle in number.

Meanwhile, Damon Lannister stood as the undeniable heir of both House Targaryen and House Lannister—a son of the last true dragon princess of the realm.

"He carries the blood of Kings, the blood of Conquerors. The dragon within him was hatched in fire and raised in war. If the throne is to be claimed by blood, it is his by right before hers." — Ser Jaime Lannister, when speaking before the assembled lords of the realm.

And so the realm was split once more.

The Kingsmoot of the Lords

A great council was called at Riverrun, for King’s Landing had been left in ruin, abandoned by all but the desperate. The lords of Westeros gathered to discuss who should rule them.

The North, led by Jon Snow, made no claim to the throne. Jon, though named Lord of Winterfell, refused any title, retreating to the Wall alongside what remained of the Free Folk.

House Arryn, under Lord Robert Arryn, sided with Damon’s claim.

House Tully, under Ser Edmure Tully, did the same.

House Baratheon had been wiped out entirely.

House Martell, with Myrcella ruling alongside her Dornish husband, took no side, wanting only to rebuild.

House Greyjoy, with what remained of their fleets, offered their swords to whoever would give them lands—but none wished to deal with them.

The Reach, under Margaery, refused Daenerys as well, having lost too much to the war.

And so, in the end, Damon Lannister was declared King of the Seven Kingdoms, but with a stipulation.

"He is but a boy. A regent must rule until he comes of age."

That regent was Kevan Lannister, but Tyrion Lannister returned to claim a place on the council, replacing Mace Tyrell as Hand of the King.

Daenerys Stormborn, the last adult of House Targaryen, was cast aside once more.

Her dragons were strong, but her claim was not.

The Rule of the Dragonlord

Damon Lannister grew into his role with Viserion at his side.

When he came of age, he took the throne in King’s Landing, but not before ensuring Casterly Rock remained as his second stronghold. He did not trust the capital, nor its history.

His rule was marked by steel and fire, for though the Long Night had ended, another war always threatened to begin.

Daenerys never forgave him for taking what she saw as hers.

But Westeros had chosen.

"The boy had his mother’s silver hair and his father’s sharp gaze. He did not speak like a Lannister nor a Targaryen, but something in between—a creature born of war, raised by steel, and crowned by fire. He was neither the ruler the realm wanted nor the one they expected. But he was what remained." — Ser Jaime Lannister, reflecting on Damon’s coronation.

Thus, the Seven Kingdoms crowned Damon of House Lannister, the Dragon of the West, the last true king of a realm that had nearly been swallowed by the night.

The War of the Last Dragon

(As recorded by Ser Beric Dondarrion, Ser Jaime Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyn in "The Dragon of the West")

The Last Attempt of Daenerys Stormborn

Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of Nothing, did not forget nor forgive.

For years, she had bided her time, gathering what few followers remained to her cause. The Unsullied, now scattered and weary of war, still marched at her command. The Dothraki, broken and reduced, still rode for her. But the lords of Westeros had turned their backs on her entirely.

When she sailed from Dragonstone, it was not as a conqueror, but as a desperate woman clinging to a birthright that had never been hers.

"She came with dragons, but not with strength. She came with fire, but no claim. And when she came, she came to burn, not to rule." — Ser Jaime Lannister, when recounting Daenerys’ final war.

The Civil War began with her attack on Storm’s End, a desperate attempt to secure a stronghold for her failing cause. But Damon Lannister—now a man grown, a dragon-rider, a warrior king—met her before she could rally support.

Viserion, now a beast of terrifying size, clad in gold-forged Lannister armor, took to the skies against Drogon, who had been his mother’s shield for too long.

It was not a battle.

It was a massacre.

"She was once the Mother of Dragons. But even dragons grow old, and even dragons can be killed. Drogon fought, but he fought alone." — Grand Maester Orwyn, "The Fall of the Last Targaryen"

With Daemon on Viserion and Jaime leading the charge below, Daenerys’ army crumbled in days.

The Dothraki were slaughtered on the plains, their great khalasar shattered. The Unsullied fought to the last man, refusing to surrender. Rhaegal, the last of her dragons, was struck down by scorpions, pierced by Lannister steel before he could reach King’s Landing.

And Daenerys Stormborn—the last Targaryen, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons—was captured outside the ruins of Summerhall, where once a Targaryen king had burned in his own madness.

She was brought before Damon, bound in chains, her silver hair stained red with the blood of her fallen dreams.

"She looked at him, and she saw her father. She looked at him, and she saw her brother. She looked at him, and she saw the throne she would never sit upon." — Ser Beric Dondarrion, recounting Daenerys’ trial.

Damon did not order her death.

She was sent to exile, where she would never rise again.

The Mysterious Death of Cersei Lannister

In the midst of the war, another death shook Westeros—but this one came not by sword or dragonfire.

Cersei Lannister, Queen Dowager, was found dead in her chambers in Casterly Rock.

The cause?

Poison.

"Some say she took her own life, knowing her cause was lost. Others say she was murdered, for she had made too many enemies. And still, there are whispers that it was Tyrion’s revenge at last, though he swore it was not his doing." — Grand Maester Orwyn, The Lannister Succession

With Jaime Lannister’s loyalty unwavering to Damon, Cersei had been isolated, abandoned, a queen with no crown, a mother with no living sons.

When her body was found cold, the realm did not mourn.

Her death was a whisper in the storm, a footnote in a history already drenched in blood.

The King Who Waits for Darkness

Damon’s rule was one of fire and steel.

He was no soft ruler.

He rebuilt Westeros, but always trained for war.

He spent years upon years preparing, forging alliances, raising armies. He honed his skill with the sword, he strengthened his bond with Viserion, and he watched the North with wary eyes.

For the Others had taken his brother.

"The Long Night was over, but it was not the final one. The creatures took what they came for. They left because they had won something we do not yet understand. And one day, they will return to finish what they started." — Ser Beric Dondarrion, his final words before his death.

Damon knew this.

He trained not for peace, but for the next war.

He trained to face his brother, Maelor, now lost to the darkness, now the prince of the dead.

And Westeros, for all its victories, was left waiting once more for the storm to come.

The North Remembers

(As recorded by Ser Davos Seaworth, Tormund Giantsbane, and Maester Eddrick in The Chronicles of the North)

The Ghost of Y/N

Though the Long Night had passed, the North was never the same again.

Winterfell, once the heart of the Stark legacy, was a place of silence and waiting.

Jon Snow had gone beyond the Wall, leading the remnants of the Free Folk into the untamed lands of eternal winter. He never returned.

Yet, those left behind still spoke of him.

"He left because he could not bear it. He left because his grief was greater than all of ours. He left because he had lost his mother, the only one who had ever truly called him son." — Ser Davos Seaworth, The Man Who Left

Even so, Y/N’s presence lingered in Winterfell—not as a ghost, but as a memory that refused to fade.

Bran Stark, now a man grown, now a seer of things beyond mortal sight, claimed that he could still feel her.

"She is not gone. Not completely. The flames that took her did not consume all that she was." — Bran Stark, the Three-Eyed Raven

But what unnerved them most was that Bran also claimed to sense Maelor.

"He is lost, but he is still dragon blood. He walks among them, but he remembers what he was." — Bran Stark, speaking of Maelor Lannister

The North grew quiet at that.

Some, like Arya, dismissed it.

"That thing is no longer her son. When we meet him again, it will not be as kin. It will be as enemies." — Arya Stark

But Sansa did not speak of it at all.

Instead, she did what the North had always done: she remembered.

The Lady of Fire and Stone

In the cold heart of the crypts, beneath the looming statues of the Kings of Winter, stood a new monument.

It was not of Ned Stark, nor of any Stark before him.

It was of her.

The woman who had raised Jon Snow, the dragon who had burned for Westeros, the queen who had never worn a crown but had ruled over hearts nonetheless.

Y/N.

"She deserved a place among the dead of Winterfell, for she was of us, even if she never bore the name Stark." — Sansa Stark, upon commissioning the statue

It was Arya’s blade that carved the details of the face.

It was Sansa’s hands that ensured the robes and dragon’s wings were sculpted perfectly.

It was Bran’s words that made them place a small direwolf at her feet, for she had been a mother to one just as she had been a mother to Jon.

And when the work was done, Jon Snow was not there to see it.

For he was beyond the Wall, mourning in the only way he knew how.

The Egg of Viserion

It was on a night of deep cold, long after Jon had lost count of the days, that the raven came.

It bore no message, but a gift.

From Damon Lannister, the Dragon of the West, to Jon Snow.

A dragon egg, black as the midnight sky, flecked with red and gold, its shell still warm, as if carrying the last breath of summer.

"A gift from one brother to another. If you ever wish to come home, let this be your guide." — Damon’s message, as told by Maester Eddrick

Jon did not know what to do.

He stared at the egg, feeling the weight of it in his hands.

"You have a choice, Snow," Tormund had said. "Raise it, bring it back to the world, or leave it here to be forgotten."

But it was not Jon’s hands that kept it warm.

It was Ghost’s.

The great direwolf, his fur now touched with silver, curled around the egg each night, his warmth keeping it safe, guarding it as he once guarded Jon himself.

"Even out here, life still fights to survive." — Jon Snow, speaking of the egg

But Jon never left the North.

Not for Damon.

Not for the egg.

Not even for the memory of the mother he had lost.

For some wounds never heal.

Some wounds fester in the cold.

And for Jon Snow, there was no home left to return to.

[lilithrosexoxo]

Ch. 3 Meal

Sunlight gleamed through the parted curtains painting the room in a warm glow. You pull off your cashmere weighted blanket with a yawn and a stretch moving your stiff muscles. After Jinwoo left you quickly passed out after taking another bath and changing your clothes since your previous ones were soaked in your slick. Your face heats up at the thought of last night and you feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. You still can’t believe that you came from just being licked on your scent gland but it shouldn’t surprise you. You were still a virgin and haven’t even so much as kissed another person. As prime omega your parents were insistent on keeping you pure for your future alpha. Not to mention with the connection between you two all of your senses were heightened around him. His smell, his touch, his voice, his eyes, everything about him was simply perfect to you. As you imagine his tongue on you, your thoughts become inappropriate as you imagine his tongue in other places and you immediately feel slick start to pool in your panties. You groan at the feeling and your scent permeates the air. How on earth were you going to function around the man if the thought of him has you creaming your panties.

“By the goddess I’m insatiable”, you think to yourself, “maybe I should take care of myself before going down for breakfast”, and with that you retreat to your bed to handle your problem.

xoxo

After 3 orgasms you finally feel satiated enough to get ready. You allow your handmaidens into your nest and dress you in a simple but elegant gold gown while they braided your hair into a fishtail braid. Finally ready, you decide to head downstairs and join your family for breakfast. You head into the dining room to see your family and Jinwoo already seated. To your displeasure Elowen has taken a seat across from Jinwoo and was attempting to flirt with him but she was being completely ignored. Your brother Aldwin sat by Jinwoo’s right side and his left side was empty as it was reserved for you. He was engrossed in a deep conversation which brought joy to you. Out of all your siblings you and Aldwin had the closest bond and knowing that your alpha was having a good conversation based on his chuckle had your omega purring in contenment. 

Jinwoo’s eyes looked around as he felt another presence in the room and his eyes lit up as he saw you.

“Wow she’s beautiful”, he thought to himself. While you looked stunning in the moonlight you looked absolutely radiant in the sunlight, “the lunar goddess has truly blessed me”, he thought. He quickly gets up and pulls out your chair for you.

Your face heats and you look down as you take your seat finding it hard to make eye contact when he is looking at you with such an intense gaze.

“Princess Y/N it is a pleasure to see you in the sunlight, you look divine”, Jinwoo says as he takes your hand and kisses the back of it.

You feel lightheaded from feeling his soft lips against your skin but quickly regain your composure and finally look him in the eyes and by the lunar goddess you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get over how such a perfect being was your fated mate. 

“It’s good to see you as well my alpha”, you say silkily.

Jinwoo feels himself throb in the confines of his pants at hearing you call him your alpha. His eyes begin to glow lilac and you think you’ve done something to offend him but he simply chuckles and returns to his seat.

“Y/N, are you and Apha Sung really fated mates?”, the baby of the family, Reign asks with round eyes. Even though he’s only 15 he’s already found his mate a strong alpha that spoils him rotten. 

“We are fated mates, the feeling was just as mother described it all these years. I would’ve never imagined it would be Jinwoo”, you say as you look down.

“I think you found the perfect alpha Y/N and I’m so happy for you. I told you, you weren’t cursed”, says Aldwin with a smug grin on his face. You often vented to your brother about how you swore you were cursed to live a lonely life but he always reassured you that you would find your mate. You feel immensely grateful that his words were true.

“Can we please have this conversation over breakfast? Mother I’m starving, we spent forever waiting for Y/N. What were you doing that took so long?”, your sister Liza asks, eyeing you up and down. You didn’t look that much different then your usual get up so she can’t imagine what took so long.

Jinwoo chuckles and you look at him confused. He laughed like he knew exactly what you were up to that morning and oh shit knowing him he probably did. Then the realization dawns on you, Jinwoo can implant his soldiers into peoples shadows and view them directly from their eyes. You looked at him eyes widening as he just looked at you with a knowing smirk.

You bury your head in your hands. You can’t believe you forgot one of Jinwoo's key abilities. You can’t believe he saw that you were riding your toy like a bitch in heat and moaning his name the entire time.

“Th-There’s no reason to discuss what took me so long. I just wanted to look good enough for my alpha”, you say pretending like you’re not drowning in a pool of your own embarrassment but the scent wafting from you betrays you. Thankfully your family decides to not question you further and your mother rings in the chefs.

A grand feast is laid before your family which is reasonable, your parents did have six omegas and that size doesn’t include your mother or Jinwoo making it a party of 8. You’re pretty sure the chefs are trying to impress Jinwoo as there are a variety of meats laid before the alpha. You take in the spread there are pancakes, waffles, toast, eggs, blueberry muffins, fresh fruit which includes dianach, redamia, salal, and thorny peaches, fresh orange, pineapple, and grape juice and even a large pitcher of ambrose wine. There are typical meats such as bacon, sausage, and ham but you can also smell the more exotic meats the chefs must have brought out for this occasion such as griffon meat, ice bear meat, and even filet steaks from a wyvern dragon. The room smells heavenly and your family wastes no time digging in. 

The twins Ifrit and Shiva are fighting over who had claim to the muffins which you found amusing considering that there were a dozen that were baked but meal times were often like this. Even though you were all omegas you had a healthy appetite however, your appetites dwarfed in comparison to Jinwoo. You saw him load plate after plate of meat, eggs, and cheese and you kept in mind to reach out to the chefs later for more cooking lessons involving meat. While you excelled at vegetarian dishes your skills with meat were subpar at best.

“So Jinwoo do you think you could want any concubines?” Elowen asks without a hint of shame.

You choke on the waffle you were eating. While concubines were common in the royal kingdoms, if an omega couldn’t keep up with her alpha’s sex drive it was uncommon for prime alphas and omegas as the connection was so deep that the bond prevented them from wanting to have sex with anyone else.

You felt a low growl emanating from you before you could even stop it. You felt like you were seeing red. Your omega was furious and you slowly felt yourself losing control. Your claws and canines lengthened and sharpened, your eyes began to glow, the smell of burnt rubber danced in the air.

“Oh you’ve done it now Elowen, don’t expect me to bail you out”, Aldwin deadpannes as he continues to chow down on his meal. 

How dare she!? Was it not enough that she had her own mate and now she’s trying to move in on yours? You just found your fated mate after all these years alone. Watching your friends and family find their mates while you sat on the sidelines. Jinwoo was YOURS. You feel your control over your omega slipping as the seconds go by. You were about to lunge across the table and gouge out her eyes until you felt an arm drape around you and squeeze you to a firm chest.

“Calm yourself princess Y/N”, Jinwoo whispered in your ear as he caressed your face lovingly before addressing Elowen, “That’s Alpha Sung to you and I have no intention of having anyone else from now on other than princess Y/N”, he spoke in a calm but stern voice.

At that you felt yourself relax but took note of that he said now. That means Jinwoo must have experience right? Then a realization hits you. You were about to attack your sister and from the looks of it everyone would’ve allowed it if Jinwoo didn’t stop you. You don’t know what came over you but the thought of your alpha with another drove you up the wall and had jealousy coursing through you. Were all fated mates like this or was it different since you were a prime omega? By the look in your mothers eye you knew that to be true.

With that breakfast thankfully concludes and the servants come in to clean up.

“Alpha Sung, Y/N I think a trip to the garden would do you both well. Get some fresh air, take in the scenery, it’s important for you to get to know one another before your lunar union” your mother states as your siblings get up to leave the room except for Elowen who is still shooting heart eyes at YOUR alpha but you know there’s nothing to worry about. Jinwoo is loyal to you and no one else and that soothed your omega and anger at your sister.

“Come with me Jinwoo I’ll take you to the garden”, you say as you take his hands in yours.

[tiny-tot-teddy]

hhh so I’m having a lot of thoughts abt dadson. mainly about son being so naive about sex and relationships, that he thinks its normal to “love” your dad. and dad doesn’t really correct him. he thought it was cute when he was a kid, but he’s grown up quite a bit now and he’s still just as needy and in love as before. but now he’s a bit more…developed physically. he has these nice curves, especially his ass ugh.

dad just can’t help but feel his cock twitch when his boy looks up at him with those big puppy eyes and says “I love you daddy…” and clings to his arm.

maybe the mom is out of the picture, so that’s why son is so attached to dad. dad is all he has left, of course he would love him so deeply!

okay now for the horny part…dad teaching his son about sex since he’s getting older. after all, he doesn’t want his boy to have any outside influence, wants to make sure that he isn’t seeing anything he isn’t supposed to. no porn, no outside sex ed, just daddy’s special sex ed.

at first he was just telling his boy what sex was and how to be safe, then son asks dad “I wanna try…” and just bats those big pretty eyes at him again. he just can’t say no!

so he starts off nice and slow, just teaching his little one how to kiss. he just gets so hard hearing his boy moan into his mouth, clinging to him so tightly. he gradually corrupts his boy more and more. moving to just touching him in certain places and asking how he feels, makes his boy say if it feels good or not when he touches him here or rubs him there.

daddy calling it their “special time” as well 😵‍💫 taking advantage of how naive his boy is sooo omg. I wanna keep going but I feel like I’m gonna write a whole novel if I don’t stop ahsjdkd lemme know if I should tho owo

omgggg please do keep coming back with more of this??? this was perfect i'm sitting here all heart eyed hehe