#if there’s anything else you’d like me to tag here please let me know!

[frutigerfischl]

Oh my goood, your headcanons for CaitVi x Wanted Criminal! Reader were sooo accurate and awesome, can you, PLEASE, write a one-shot with this idea?

⌗ TITLE┆BLOOD WILL RUN┆song: my own piece of hell ★ ₊ ˚⟡

⌗ TAGS┆gn!reader, poly relationship, caitvi/reader, wantedcriminal!reader ★ ₊ ˚⟡

⌗ NOTE┆im glad you thought the hcs were accurate!! My friend helped me with them so I can't take all the credit :3, short oneshot because writers block is getting to me ★ ₊ ˚⟡

There’s blood under your nails again.

Not your blood, at least not this time. Someone else’s. A little too much of it, if the stiff, drying patches on your gloves are anything to go by. You peel them off, shoving them deep into the bag slung over your shoulder, before the dripping from your wrist can leave a trail on Caitlyn’s spotless floorboards. She’d have a fit if she saw the mess you were dragging into her home again—no, not home, safehouse. That’s what she called it when she shoved the key into your hand a few months ago. “For emergencies,” she’d said.

Caitlyn had known better than to ask how long you’d been running by then. Long enough that you stopped counting.

You’re halfway through shrugging out of your coat when the front door clicks open.

The instinct to bolt hits you hard, years of surviving on quick reflexes tightening your muscles. But the sharp edge of the voice that follows pulls you back from the brink.

“Relax. Just us.”

Vi.

You don’t turn. You don’t need to. You’d know that voice anywhere—the gruff rasp of it, like she’s always a little winded, as if her fights haven’t quite let her go yet. It’s comforting, in a way.

You glance over your shoulder anyway, long enough to catch her stepping through the doorway, Caitlyn right on her heels.

They’re still wearing their uniforms. The sight of Caitlyn in hers—crisp, formal, perfect—makes you flinch, even now. The cuffs hooked at her belt glint under the low light of the chandelier, a sharp reminder of how close this whole thing comes to falling apart every single time you see them.

They are falling apart, you think. All three of you.

Caitlyn shuts the door behind them, her eyes already scanning the room. “You’re hurt,” she says, her voice dipping into that soft, precise tone she saves for when she’s trying not to sound concerned. It doesn’t work.

“Not my blood,” you mutter.

That earns you a sharp look from Vi. “You shouldn’t even be here. You know what they’re saying about you up in Piltover, right? Enforcers are pulling double shifts trying to track you down.”

“As if I didn’t notice,” you shoot back, your mouth twitching with something too bitter to be called a smile. “You think I want to be here? I don’t exactly have a lot of options right now.”

It’s a weak excuse, and all three of you know it.

You hadn’t had to come here at all. You could’ve run further. Stayed in Zaun, burrowed into some forgotten hole until things cooled off. But you didn’t. You came here—their apartment, in Piltover of all places—and Vi’s scowl makes it obvious what she thinks of that decision.

But Caitlyn, true to form, softens before Vi does. She crosses the room, her long legs eating up the distance between you in a few steps. Her hand brushes your arm, light as a whisper, before moving up to tilt your chin so she can look at you properly.

Your mouth opens—some weak protest forming on your lips—but it dies when she meets your eyes.

“You’re lucky,” Caitlyn murmurs, her gaze trailing over your face like she’s cataloging every bruise, every scrape, every wrong thing she can’t fix. Her lips purse just slightly, a soft, worried quirk. “There’s a warrant with your name on it and your face sketched right at the top. If anyone else had caught you tonight—”

“They didn’t,” you interrupt. You force yourself to hold her stare. “And they won’t.”

It’s bold. Reckless, even. You know better than to make promises like that.

Behind Caitlyn, Vi scoffs. “Bold talk, coming from someone hiding in our apartment right now.”

Caitlyn’s fingers twitch on your chin, her thumb brushing just under your jaw. You see it in her face—the conflict, the silent battle between her sense of duty and something deeper, something softer. You wonder if she knows you see it, if she realizes how much you hate yourself for putting her through this.

“You can’t stay here,” Caitlyn says finally, stepping back. Her voice is gentler now, but firm. “Not long-term.”

“Like I don’t already know that,” you mutter.

Vi moves closer, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. Her presence is a weighty thing, solid and grounding. Where Caitlyn is cool precision, Vi is something rawer, something that cuts sharper and bleeds deeper. “They’ll find you eventually, Y/N. If you keep coming back here, we’re all screwed.”

“And what do you want me to do, huh?” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Keep running? Go to Zaun? You think I’ll last a week down there with Silco’s people crawling all over the place?”

Silence. Thick and suffocating.

Vi doesn’t answer, and Caitlyn doesn’t meet your eyes.

For a long moment, it feels like all of you are drowning.

Then, finally, Caitlyn sighs. The sound is soft, but it carries the weight of a decision she doesn’t want to make. She looks at Vi, and something unspoken passes between them.

“Fine,” Caitlyn says, her voice tight. “You can stay. But just for the night.”

You swallow, the tension in your chest loosening just a fraction. “Thanks.”

Vi’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t argue. She just pushes off the wall, coming to stand next to Caitlyn. “You better not make us regret this.”

For the first time tonight, you feel something almost like relief. It’s fragile and fleeting, but it’s there.

Caitlyn moves first, gently tugging you toward the couch. “Sit. Let me clean you up.”

You don’t argue.

[kivino]

MEANT FOR EACH OTHER || ZOMBIE AU || KÖNIG X READER || PART I

sum. A deep-seated paranoia takes hold of you. Every hour of the day, you feel like you’re being watched. Followed. And you’re not wrong. So observant, so beautiful and perfect, but always dismissed by your group, left behind, not paid even a sliver of attention. How tragic. It’s okay though. König is here to do right by you. F̶̖̓͆̕͝o̷̢͚̲̬̍͠r̶͖̝̾̊̍̾e̸͔͇̣��̈̊̾v̶̛͚͕́͗͝e̷̤̻͔͎̅̑̽r̴̝̬̩̘͒̒̃ ̴͔͆͋̈͝ȃ̷̢̭̯n̶̡̜̫͚̉̌̊̒ḍ̷̩̲̹͝ ̷̖̔͌͘ả̶̡̬̥͊l̶͕̇̓̄w̴̺̥̋̂͠ä̷̢̢̝́̒͗y̴̳̦̙̕ŝ̶͕̋̀.̵̝̱͒̌̅̆

tags. zombie au (twdg inspired), stalking, obsessive behavior, themes of paranoia, fear, distrust, isolation  

w.c. 2.7k

a.n. i had a post about this fic quite some time ago, but only got to finishing this fic right about now. it’s my bad, folks! still, i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! let me know your thoughts and like and reblog, please!

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link to this fic || ko-fi

You were not okay. Unstable. Dangerous to the group. That’s what you kept hearing every time you would try to speak up about your worries. “Help your fellow man” your ass. Delusional assholes, all of them, you thought, after having to endure this torture that appeared endless. Constant paranoia eating away at you, piece by piece, making you look over your shoulder more than look straight ahead, forcing your sleep to become so light you’d wake up from the slightest shifts of your companions dosing off in the tents beside yours. Or from the wind rattling the rusted metal sheets on the roof of the abandoned storage house you camped out in. You felt exhausted which was no less shitty than being unheard. Or, rather, straight up ignored.  

It’s been weeks…months of it? You weren’t quite sure anymore. You had trouble tracking the days at this point in time, any disruption turning you into a likeness of a jittery rabbit – head on a swivel, ready to dart at the merest visible sign of this…unknown and incomprehensible danger. So naturally, days blended into nights, and nights would smother themselves in-between the days, and there was no end to it. At times, anything felt as a sign of some foreign, unfamiliar and very unwelcome presence. The whole world ending, shriveling away into a primitive, disconnected and scattered realm of endless violence was bad enough, but then there was something else…You weren’t quite sure what started out this deep terror within you. But you just knew, after bumping into someone’s empty, but clearly frequently used hideout in a dingy, and frankly, nasty motel, nothing has been the same.

Stretches of makeshift barbed wire across all the fences and, in places, even the ground, where the passage wasn’t interrupted by wrecked cars forming a barricade in front of the dark building with the windows boarded up shut. As you approached the place, you swore you could hear a low purr of a generator and smell the fuel, heavy in the air, and thick on your tongue. However, the place, though well protected, seemed to be deserted. Not a sign of a human presence from a quick glance. A lawn chair on the second floor of the motel, right behind a study looking railing with the paint rubbed off in the center, however, threw you off a little bit, as well as the doors, either locked, or boarded up shut from the inside. No bodies, no signs of fight or struggle, very little blood, while the place itself was locked up so tight you’d think a herd of was mere hours away from reaching it. Who’d put so much effort into making this motel a fortress, only to then abandon it, since there were no bodies that would suggest an attack from the walkers, or a raid from a fellow man.

Things clearly didn’t line up and you didn’t like that. Your group, however, didn’t bother with technicalities and nuance. Safe place was a safe place, end of story. Having nothing to offer in terms of resources – apart from a couple of already ransacked vending machines, the motel was quickly moved on from after the group spent the night. Since no one managed to get a single door, but the one leading to the laundry room of the dreary place open, the decision was made to sleep in the tents within the barricaded parking lot. “You’re welcome to freeze your ass off outside the fence, if you’d like, love, I couldn’t give two shits” – grumbled Rory, a woman in her thirties, who was clearly not having your cautious behavior. You were more than sure that she probably had to sleep in places much colder and dangerous than this dirty godforsaken motel, so you let it go. That night was the last night of undisturbed and calm sleep you’ve had before the unrest took hold.

You haven’t told anyone (as if that would change anything, your mind adds with palpable bitterness), but you swore there was something at that motel. Always conveniently just out of the corner of your eye, avoiding you so well you were ready to scream in frustration at the lack of substantial evidence for your suspicions. A giant, hulking shadow, faster than your reaction speed. A suspicious, bright glint from stuffy darkness of a boarded-up window. A loose stretch of a chain-link fence with dull grass crushed underneath. But then, why would it be? Unless it pinned the lifeless blades of greenery to the ground while sliding out (or in) below the fence.  

Of course, without outright noticeable evidence it was just that. It. But you were just scared to admit that this shapeless, inexplicable “It" you kept in your thoughts day and night, waking up and going to bed with an insistent tremble in your chest and shaky hands, was someone. That this “It” would suddenly develop a form, a conscience. Then, a goal. You didn’t like that. Not in the slightest. Frankly, who would like the phantoms that reside in their mind to suddenly become real? Nobody. And definitely not fucking you.

Regardless of your limitless turmoil and anxiety, non-stop coiling within your gut, you had to wake up. Stirring awake in your stuffy, hot tent, you don’t waste any time finding a zipper on the cheap rainproof fabric and dragging it down, to let some (relatively) fresh air inside, letting your lungs enjoy it while it lasts. Your group of seven has already been obviously busy; you can hear some chatter and clacking of pots over the fire in the middle of the camp. Didn’t even wake you up? Odd. You’ll take it though. An extra hour of sleep is better than none.

You shuffle towards the opening in your tent, your hand snaking towards the half-empty backpack, laying on its side right in your reach. Empty-minded, you let your fingers pick at a bunch of zippers and clasps, while rubbing your eyes off the scarce leftover sleep. Your hand, much like a lithe spider finally gets inside the backpack to pull a sweatshirt out, until you hear a clear, almost deafening crunch of plastic in the morning quiet.

You can feel the blood in your veins turn to ice.

The hand snakes deeper inside, trying to get a feel of this plastic package that was definitely not there last night, before you went to sleep. Finally, you fish out multiple packs of ramen from your belongings and you sit there for a moment, in silence that only you can comprehend.

None of your group store their food in their personal backpacks. You included. Nobody went on any supply runs this week. And you definitely don’t remember ever having problems with sleepwalking. Your head finds its way into your hands. There “It” is again. You’re on the verge of hysteria. And even if your try to say something, it’s going to be the same song, all over again.

“You’re overthinking simple things.”

“Maybe you put it there before, but just…forgot about it?”

“What does it matter anyway? You’ve got more food to last you, would you stop being hung up over nothing?”

Same things, same voices, same thoughts. You were sick of it. Utterly and completely.

Finally!

You found it!  König could feel a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as you took out the gift he so carefully placed in the bag during the night. Sneaking around the other tents, careful with every step, suffocated with anticipation and worry. Now he had the perfect view of you from the shattered roof window of the storage house, which couldn’t have made the moment any better. Setting up this vantage point was his best decision yet…Apart from deciding to trail behind you, tagging along until your useless group members make the slightest mistake that will cost them their life. And then, König will be able to swoop in, finally help you openly, get you to join him (because why wouldn’t you? Your refusal was not even a possibility in his mind). The mere thought sent shivers of excitement down his body, sweet and languid. He couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of peeking out from behind the window once again, tilting his head ever so slightly, so his dark hood is not too visible over the vivid backdrop of the winter sky – off-grey and dull, much like a dirty slush that was this year’s snow, resting in a thick, melting blanket over the dark earth.

His eyes are zeroed in on you, squinting through the bright light penetrating even the dull clouds hanging over the earth and he could just feel the familiar, loving tremble in his chest when he sees you taking out his little surprise from your bag. It would seem that you’re lost for words – clutching your poor little head in your hands, mulling over who it might be from. Or maybe you’re already drowning in despair, deep in the realization that no one from your group can protect you properly, if someone was able to sneak into the camp in the middle of the night. Yes! Yes… König couldn’t have asked for a better reaction.

This…utter distress you were displaying, fanned the flames within him like no other person ever managed to, even before the world has ended. Frankly, anything you did would set off this insistent, lasting spark deep within his chest, burning König up from inside out, until it felt like he was smoldering if his eyes couldn’t catch a glimpse of you for too long. His insides would churn with an unknown, heavy feeling, it almost felt like he was drowning in a bog, being dragged down in the depths of his mind with little to no resistance. Only catching a glimpse of you helped to stop that feeling. So, keeping away just wasn’t an option. Never was. Never will be. And how could it ever be, if even in his restless dreams he searched for you, while every waking thought revolved around you. How determined he was to see his plan through, how desperate for the closer presence of your light in his life, finally being able to bask in it without your disgusting group getting in the way.

König never thought the accidental encounter at the motel he’s been holed up in would end up in him packing up everything he had to follow your useless group. You. You were the first living soul he’s seen up close since the world started falling apart so rapidly. It awakened something he completely forgot about in the months he hasn’t seen any people. The newfound hope.

Your carefree smile near the bonfire first confused him. How can you be happy and laugh the way you did when nothing around you was in its original state – shattered, broken, locked, rotten, spoiled or otherwise; when he the danger was around the corner, lurking just out of reach, ready to pounce and consume the measly, weak remains of humanity any time. Nothing to smile about for him. Despite his initial, less than generous assumption about your mental abilities and level of intelligence, you proved more cautious and careful than any people from your group. Stupid jackasses, satisfied with the surface-level search. How pathetic.

It would be such a pleasure to finally get rid of them. Give them all that they deserved. Every blow, every bite and every scratch. But not from him, sadly. He has to be even more careful, so you don’t have any basis to even assume König had anything to do with their deaths. He’ll…nudge them in the direction of death, but he will not be the deliverer of justice. As much as he wished he could.

Not you, though. Oh, never you. That day, as König peeked from the darkness of the motel room around him, through tiny slits in the dusty curtains that obscured everything behind the wooden boards he hammered in himself, you seemed like you started figuring something out, looking over the spots of the motel he most often frequented. Almost like you could feel or see his presence there, only hours ago.

Carefully, but nonchalantly walking around vending machines, the good spot overlooking the front gate and the parking lot with König’s chair on the second-floor balcony, his sleeping spot on warm nights, in a bed of a pickup truck, and finally, attempting to open the room where the man would sort through the supplies he had. When he was completely shrouded in darkness of said supply room, it felt like you could see right through it, like you caught sight of him through the dirty glass window. Your narrowed eyes, suspicion-ridden expression, laced with fear at the same time that he glimpsed at before tearing himself away from the handmade peephole in a manner too reluctant and terrified for him.

There and then, leaned on a wall with his breath short and face burning up under the hood that obscured his face, König realized. You shared a connection, deeper than any. You must be. How easily you picked apart each of the places that belonged to him, like you felt with your whole being the dark, smudged stains of his presence left behind, how observant you were, it couldn’t have been a simple lucky guess, he was sure of it. You were meant for each other. Yes, yes, that’s it! The world fell apart, but it was always supposed to happen, you would find each other no matter what. The thought, for the first time in many, so many months filled to the brim with blood, gore, loneliness and hunger filled him with comfort.

That was what drew him in, there was nothing easy or outright understandable about you to König. He didn’t mind, though. You were meant for each other, that was all that mattered. He would bathe the world in blood if it meant you’ll be there to find way into his arms. He’ll protect you, just like the comfort from the smallest glimpse of your charming self protected him from the darkness that caged him in for so long. Only König can protect you. You just didn’t know it yet.

Of course, he realizes that his attempts might be too…forward for you, but it was for the best. He was doing it for you only, for your wellbeing, and no one else’s. Of course, he could be much more discreet, yet instead König chose to be meticulous with how he approached leaving behind signs of his presence. It was charming and so, so endearing, how quickly you picked up on the smallest traces left by him, how your brows would knit together in careful consideration, piecing together every clue given to you by König’s generous hand. Like a conversation between only the two of you. König had to let you know that your savior, your protector is coming. He wasn’t worried about you pointing out things left by him to your group; figures that they would choose to ignore it – it wasn’t meant for them.

König cherished every expression, every tiny reaction you gave to the smallest traces of his presence, keeping them hidden, locked away in his mind, recalling every and each one while lulling himself to a sleep that was sure to bring more dreams of you. The man savored them like there was nothing better than seeing your eyes widen in horror, hand clasping over your mouth to contain a loud scream of terror, as you stumble across a large, neatly stacked pile of festering, unmoving walkers that just a day ago creeped upon the camp, with no one from your group noticing, as expected. Of course, König could easily dispose of the whole pile elsewhere, burn them, bury them, or dismember them until there was nothing but rotten mincemeat left on the ground, but he wanted to send another message, by leaving the bodies for his beloved to find. Just so you’ll know, he’ll do anything to keep you safe. Anything to keep you all to himself.

Or when the shuffling within you tent momentarily stop after he would intentionally snap a twig with his full weight while doing a round through your camp, intent on putting another food item in your bag. Clearly you took notice of someone lurking through the camp, but didn’t dare to check what was the noise you heard. How cute. König needed you to know that you won’t go hungry with him either – he’ll give away the last he has for you to last longer. The world will have a little more light with you in it, rather than with him.

König also knew you could see his shadow from the corner of your eye at times. Those days, he was intentionally being sloppy, allowing himself more and more of the simple, invigorating pleasures of taking in your beauty just a few more seconds before ducking behind the thick trunks, scattered bushes or a corner. His blood would come to a boil almost instantly, the hood that usually allowed for normal breathing would soon become suffocating for him, and his hands would start to tremble until his teeth would find a way to bite into his flesh, flashes of pain searing the incredibly joy the image of you gave him.

It was hard to wait. So hard to not act on his deep-seated, loving urges and finally take you all for himself, like it should be. Like it was meant to be. Every day without you in his arms felt more and more like torture, hours ticking away with him wasting himself out of your embrace he craved so restlessly. Anything seemed to remind him of you, pulling along the slow realization that you were not there to ease his heavy mind out of the instability that threatened to spill over in destructive, bloody violence. It was worse than bad. König needed you. So wholly and desperately he couldn’t exist or function in the way he was used to.

Soon. He’ll set everything in motion very soon. König already started carrying over all his stuff and equipment from the roof to a camp he put together carefully, a safe distance away from this storage house. You’ll need a safe place to stumble into, after all. And, from that safe place, right into his arms.

You won’t have a choice. Because you were meant for each other. You just didn’t know it yet.

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Cariño [Part 7]

Jake Lockley x f!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Series Masterlist

Summary: The story comes to an end.

A/N: I know, it's been centuries, chapter 6 was posted in June 2023 (the shame), but here is the ending. Finally. Honestly, I'm not very happy with this story as a whole, but now it's done.

Warnings: kissing, p in v sex, cream pie, oral (both receiving), reader can't speak Spanish, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 3239

You had gone to Jake’s room early the next morning and knocked. No answer. 

You’d tried calling his phone, the one that worked yesterday. His number was out of service.

After speaking to the front desk, you found out he had checked out the night before, barely two hours after you had last seen him. 

A little after 8am you received the rest of the money into your bank account, payment for the job. 

It was fine. Really. 

He is an adult. He could do what he wanted. He didn’t owe you anything. 

But it hurt. A lot. 

You pushed the feelings down deep until you could almost walk on them. There was no need to dwell on this, dwell on him. But your thoughts kept migrating back, like a compass needle swinging north no matter how hard you shook it. 

You got ready and boarded your flight, not home, but to another job. Procuring and authenticating a Ruben, the honest, legal work you had pushed back a little so that you could get Jake his ankh. 

It was simple enough, practically a done deal and you were home and paid within two days. 

You heard through one of your contacts that the day after his party Edward Malay’s mansion had caught fire. He had seemingly died in the blaze. 

All you could think of was the look he had given you when Jack’s hand was on your waist. 

You let the rest of the following week slide by without any work, your heart just wasn’t in it. But by the Wednesday Detective Eric Peterson, the officer who worked for the police art and antiques unit, had called you asking for your help and promising you weren’t going to get hit in the face again this time. 

You took the job and got on with your life. There wasn’t much else to do. 

.

It was evening on a Friday night, and after trying to stop yourself from nodding off in front of the television you finally admitted defeat. Switched it off and got up to go to bed. 

There was a knock at the door. Ordinary and repetitive. 

You frowned. Waited a moment before moving closer to the door, keeping your footsteps light. 

Ever so carefully you checked the peephole and saw…

Jake. 

It was like a pin had been pushed through your chest, a sharp and small and perfect pain. 

Jake.

He hadn’t knocked like he usually did, forgone that familiar, distinctive sound.

You swallowed and opened the door. There was a split second when his gaze fell on you, the tiniest moment where he seemed to disappear and be replaced by someone else.

“Jak-”

 He surged forward before you had even fully opened the door, his hands cupping your cheeks and his lips meeting yours. 

The force of his actions made you step back as he stepped forward, moving with you so that the kiss remained unbroken. 

You froze, surprised and questioning whether you had actually fallen asleep on the settee and this was all about to become some half remembered dream. 

He pulled back, crestfallen, mistaking your shock for rejection. 

“I’m-”

You didn’t let him finish his sentence. 

You moved forward, grabbing hold of his jacket and pulling his mouth back to yours.

He let out the sweetest little moan as he kissed you back, wrapping his arms around you as his tongue slid into your mouth. He nudged the front door shut with his foot before he walked you backwards and further into the room. 

For a moment he pulled back, breathing hard, his hands still on your face. “Cariño,” he stroked his thumbs over your cheeks, seemingly searching your eyes for something and kissing you again deeply when he found it. 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and the back of his neck, running your fingers through the hair that wasn’t covered by his cap at the nape. 

Slowly he continued to urge you back until your legs nudged against the armrest of the settee. You let out a small moan as his tongue danced over yours and pushed you back into the sofa, his right hand coming around to press flat on your back and keep your descent slow and controlled. 

You pulled off his hat and pushed his coat from his shoulders, urging it down his arms as he shimmied it the rest of the way down and climbed on top of you. 

He slid his right hand down your side, your outer thigh, before hooking his fingers under the back of your knee and pulling your leg over his hip. He pressed in close, lightly grinding against you for a second until you pressed at his lower back with your calf and pushed him fully down. 

The fiction sparked pleasure along your veins, burning into your skin as you clawed at his shirt trying to pull him impossibly closer. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to mutter between kisses. “I shouldn’t have just taken off.”

You kiss him back fiercely, “You don’t owe me anything-”

“I do cariño, I do.” He kisses down your jaw, nipping lightly at your skin until you yelp. You can feel his smile as he presses his lips to your skin to ease the burn. 

“Jake,” You pull him back slightly, tugging lightly at his hair so that you can see his face. You’re not sure why you’re doing this, why you need to have this conversation now of all times. But emotion twists in your gut and won’t let you let this slide. 

His eyebrows pinch together slightly as he moves back, his eyes soft and hesitant. Expecting more rejection. 

You can’t help but stroke his cheek, the beginnings of stubble brush along your fingertips. “Jake,” you repeat and he closes his eyes briefly at the softness in your voice. “You don’t owe me anything, you can do-”

“I owe you an explanation.” He stares at you so sincerely it’s like his gaze is piercing into your soul. “I owe you-”

“Ja-”

“I wanted to kiss you again… back at the hotel. I wanted to…” He moves a fraction closer, his right hand sliding down to your waist as he presses his hips more fully against yours and rocking ever so slightly. 

You bite back the little gasp that wants to escape your lips. 

“I wanted to…” he swallows, his line of sight fixated on your lips as his tongue runs along his own, “make love to you.”

Your heart beats so rapidly that it echoes in your neck. 

“But instead I,” he shakes his head, crunching up his face as he internally chastises himself. “I fucked up, I-”

You silence him with your mouth on his, unable to hold yourself back any longer. 

He moans wantonly against your lips, eagerly accepting your tongue when you lick into his mouth. His hands are cool from the outside air, but it’s a balm to your feverish skin as he slides the tip of his fingers under your top and skims along your hips. 

Jake rocks against you feverishly, groaning happily when you wrap your legs around his waist fully. His erection pressed against you, the zipper of his jeans brushing perfectly along your core. The sensation spikes along your nerves and makes you squeeze his arms in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. 

He mouths at your neck, sucking and licking, paying particular attention to every sigh and hitch of your breath. 

“I have… so much,” he swallows, his voice muffled by your skin. Not able to pull himself away for even a second to speak clearly. “I need to tell you,” he pauses, biting his lip. “There are things that you should kno-”

You take his face in your hands and kiss him again, soft and sweet even though his lips are hot and wet. “Later.”

“Cari-”

“I mean this in the nicest way Lockley, but if you don’t sit back,” you move as you speak, unhooking your legs from his waist and urging him into a sitting position on the sofa, “and let me do what I want, then I’m never going to forgive you.” 

He keeps his hands on you as you gently manhandle him. A soft expression all over his face, as if his heart had cracked under the strain of carrying his emotions for far too long. And now the joy in his chest had no choice but to seep into his skin. 

“What do you want to do?” His voice is quiet, reverent almost. And, in that moment you’re sure he would fall on a sword if you uttered the words. 

You shift back, off the sofa and onto your knees between his legs, your hands on either side of his thighs to push them a little wider. 

The heavy bulge of his erection strains against the denim, practically seconds away from popping the neatly stitched seams. His cock twitches under your gaze and Jake lets out a soft groan as you squeeze his thighs, scrapping your nails along his inseam. 

“I want you to…” You slide your palms higher until your eager fingers can reach his belt. You flick open the buckle, pulling the leather free before you undo his trouser button and start to pull down his fly.

“You don't have to.” He whispers. His eyes glued to your face, his hands balled up by his sides and pressing into the sofa, barely resisting the urge to grab the back of your neck and pull you close so he could rut against the heat of your mouth.

“I want to.” You hold his gaze, slowly tugging the zipper down. 

Jake breathes hard, the air catching in his throat as his cock throbs. It's painful how much he aches, straining against the tough, unyielding fabric. 

He gasps when your fingers touch the skin just about his waistband and eagerly raises his hips to help you pull his clothing down to his ankles. His cock bobs free with a dull slap against his stomach and when you finally take him gently in your hand and kiss the very tip, he nearly comes on the spot. 

You press the palm of your free hand firmly against his inner thigh, a gentle reminder to keep him vaguely still and his legs parted. His muscles tense and twitch, flexing under your fingers.

His voice is weak when he mutters your name, soft and strained. You flick your tongue over his head, swirling twice before pulling back a fraction and look up at him. 

The warm artificial light makes his skin glow, the shadows on the sofa perfectly outlining his form, like a work of art you’d been tasked to assess. 

“Please,” his breathing is controlled even as his chest rises and falls. 

You wait until he starts to continue, to finish his thought, it’s only fair really due to the amount of times he’s teased you in the past with trivial things, before you take the tip into your mouth. 

Jake swears under his breath, his eyes screwing up as he fights the urge to buck and you bob your head slowly before you sink deeper. 

“Fuck,” He hisses, his eyes glazed. 

You hum softly as you suck and lick, relaxing your jaw as best you can to take as much of him as possible. His little pants and gasps for air make you lightheaded, your blood singing as he twitches on your tongue. 

You slide your hand from his thigh, up his leg to lightly roll his heavy balls in your palm. 

“Shit, cariño, I…” He moans, his stomach muscles clenching as he flinches forward. Pleasure sparking up his spine and twisting along his nerves. His orgasm so close it’s almost blinding. 

He wants to press close, to let you play him to your own heart's desire and come down your pretty throat with a scream. 

But he won’t. Yet. 

Jake finds the strength to take hold of your shoulders, “Stop, please.”

You do instantly and he sighs, eagerly leaning forward and kissing you fiercely. Licking into your mouth and groaning when you sink your fingers into his hair. 

He gently guides you into his lap as he hurriedly helps you pull off your clothes and the rest of his. 

“So pretty,” he groans as he mouths at your breasts, suckling lightly as he slides his left hand down your side and presses at your core. 

You shiver involuntarily under his touch, swallowing down a moan as he softly circles your clit with his calloused fingers. You squeeze his shoulders, your hips bucking automatically at the slow drag. 

He hums low in his throat, watching you with dark eyes. Languidly he runs his middle and forefinger over your folds, barely there pressure. “Can I?” He mutters as he rubs at your clit again, hardly even taking the edge of the ache. 

You nod rapidly, “Jake, please, I want you to-” You moan loudly as he presses inside. 

He swears at the wetness that greets him, quickly curling his fingers and stroking as he presses against your bundle of nerves with his thumb. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he moves, keeping time with the rocking of your hips. 

“That’s in cariño,” he whispers, his voice thick, “take everything you want.” 

You almost don’t recognise the whine that leaves your lips as your own. Pleasure twists and pulses in your stomach, claws at your skin as your thighs burn and shake. 

He litters your chest with wet, desperate kisses, his stubble scraping deliciously over your skin. Somehow he manages to swallow a groan as you tense, his cock twitches, smearing salvia and precome against his stomach. 

“Jake,” you gasp, the weight in your stomach dropping as he strokes and pulls the pleasure from your bones. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” he whines, his voice nearly as desperate as your own. “Please, please,” his throat is dry as he mindlessly begs, transfixed on the look and feel of you. 

You come all at once, your orgasm piercing through your muscles and running like a current through your nerves. Jake guides you through it, holding you close and muttering sweet words and you shake and shatter in his arms. 

He slowly pulls out of you as you weaken, kissing your temple and stroking your back. You press your face into his neck, breathing hard. Your skin is hot but his touch is soothing. 

“I’m sorry I wouldn’t tell you what cariño means,” he whispers, there’s a weight in his chest, a tightness he needs to shift that’s fracturing. “It-”

“I know what it means,” you smile and pull back so that you can look at his face. “I just kept asking to see when you would tell me.” 

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re cruel to me cariño.” He teases, his eyes bright. “Too cruel.” 

You grin before you kiss him deeply, wet and warm as your tongue slides over his. He shivers delightfully as you just scrape your nails over his scalp, lost in your touch. 

His cock presses hot and heavy between your bodies, desperate for any kind of friction and when you angle your hips away from his slightly Jake just thinks you mean to tease him all the more. 

He certainly doesn’t expect you to raise up on your knees while you kiss him feverishly, nor did he predict how you guide him to your centre and just sink down. 

He moans, his forehead pinched together in ecstasy as you envelop him, so soft and warm and he nearly chokes, stammering out swears and please as you squeeze.

“Cariño,” his hands fly to your hips, tensing and desperate as you finally take all of him. 

You rock slowly, moving in a long figure of eight as your body adjusts to his size. The thickness stretching you wonderfully. 

Jake gasps, his fingers digging in as he holds on for dear life. Bliss buzzes along his skin, settles at the base of his spine with a dizzying speed. “I’m,” he swallows, his breath hitches as you move a fraction faster. His cock pulses as it rubs within you, pleasure building and building and building. “I’m so sorry, I can’t, I’m gonna…”

You don’t let up your movements as you lean forward, ghosting your lips over his. “Please,” you dart out your tongue, running lightly over his bottom lip. “I want you to.”  

Jake groans loudly, gasping for air as he pulls you as close as physically possible. His hips thrust up as he comes hard, the sensation whiting out his vision as he calls out your name in prayer. 

‘Thank yous’ fall his hushed whispers from his mouth as he shakes and recovers, his heart racing in his chest. You can’t help but watch him, transfixed in how his face pinches and glows in pleasure.

You’re smiling at him when he opens his eyes, and you brush some of his loose curls from in front of his face as he gazes at you. 

“You okay?” You giggle, joy rising up in your chest at the love sick look he gives you. 

“More than,” he kisses you softly, his strong arms hugging you close. “More than more than.” 

Without warning he twists, moving you onto your back flat against the sofa while staying deep inside of you. You let out a little yelp of surprise that turns into more laughter. 

“I love that sound,” Jake kisses your nose, grinning. “I think it is my second favourite.”

“Second favourite?” 

He nods, “This is the first.” He moves quickly, pulling his softening cock from your pussy only to quickly dip down, kissing your stomach once before he presses the flat of his tongue in one long, slow lick through your folds. He groans as your combined fluids fill his mouth, and your cry of pleasure sounds in his ears. 

He swirls his tongue over your click one way and then the other before he gently presses two fingers on either side of your entrance and stretches slightly, opening you wider. “Fuck, such a mess here.” He groans, biting his lip at how your muscles flutter under his hold before he gets back to the task at hand. 

“Jake,” you gasp as his warm tongue runs over you again, the tip just dipping inside as he flicks up, trying to gather as much of your combined release as possible before he swallows. 

You wriggle under the onslaught, your back arching off the cushions as he works on you, quickly hurtling you towards another orgasm. 

He groans as you writhe, using his hands to pull your legs over his shoulders without breaking his rhythm. He flicks his tongue, alternating between sucking and licking until you’re sobbing and soaking a wet patch into the sofa. 

His fingers knead your thighs and ass cheeks, coaxing you to buck and grind exactly how your desperate body is begging you to. 

Your orgasm takes you by surprise. One second you’re moaning and thrusting up into the wet heat of his mouth, the next you're practically paralysed as pleasure washes over your mind, body and soul. 

Jake groans as you come, not letting up on his onslaught until you're panting heavily and limp. As he sits up you can feel his cock against the back of your thigh, hard and ready once more. 

He grins devilishly, “Can I fuck you again cariño?” 

Thank you for reading!

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[mono-chrono]

I’m still on my shit

[brattyspence]

sober thoughts | s.reid

summary: pining!reader makes a drunk call to spencer after going out with friends, and is aggressively trying to flirt with him. 

tags: reader is DRUNK! alcohol!! dont read if thats not okay!!, fluffy as fuck, spencer is the most gentle of gentlemen, pining!reader, reader wears makeup/dress/heels, spencer is lowkey bad at flirting but he shows affection in weird ways, one use of Y/N (sorry i know)

a/n: this has been bouncing around in my head for a while. sigh.

word count: 1.9k

masterlist

He was used to seeing you tipsy, if that was even the right word for it. 

You were friends, after all. Best friends, even. And the fact that he lived only a few doors down from the pub the team frequented made it stupid not to offer his couch to you after going out with the team. 

You weren’t a heavy drinker by any stretch of the imagination. Every now and then on a Friday night, you’d head out with the team and have one, maybe two drinks if you were feeling particularly adventurous–but you still didn’t want to drive home, especially when he was offering his home to you. Truthfully, you just liked getting to hang out with him. You liked getting to exist in his orbit and discuss a random topic late into the night. It had become normal for you, an excuse to do something together that didn’t revolve around work. 

What was not normal was the fact that it was a Saturday at 11 PM and you were really drunk, calling him. 

Your contact photo filled his screen, illuminating the dark room. You weren’t one to call, preferring the convenience of a text. Especially this late, which worried him a bit. He picked up quickly, tucking the phone to his ear.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Hey, Spencer?” It wasn’t your voice. “This is Molly, Y/N’s friend. I’m sorry to call so late. We’re out with some friends from college celebrating someone’s birthday, and she got… like, drunk drunk, kinda sloppy… and she’s been blabbing about you for a while. She wanted me to call you.”

“Oh,” he sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, preparing himself. “Can you put her on?”

“Yeah. Not sure you’ll get anything out of her, though. Here…”

He can hear the general chatter and chaos of the bar over the call. There’s some rustling sounds before you finally take the phone.

“Hi,” you say, your voice dripping with a certain kind of fondness. He can hear the smile through the screen. 

“Hey,” he replies. ”You having fun?”

“Oh, Spencer, I was… I haven’t heard your voice in so long. What’re you…” you trail off, lifting the phone from your ear to answer someone else. “Sorry. ‘S so loud in here.

He chuckles to himself. “I saw you yesterday.”

“Yeah, ‘nd that was… Oh, I can’t do math right now. A long time ago.”

“Are you okay?”

On the other side of town, you were sitting in a barstool, swiping your finger along the beads of condensation rolling down the glass of water in front of you. 

“Mhm. ‘M good. Fine. Drunk.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he smiles. “Are you gonna be able to get home?”

“Uhh…” you pause. “I was gonna Uber… but then I thought that maybe… if you weren't busy… we could hang out…” 

He could vaguely make out dialog on the other end of the phone. Some kind of “Girl, this sounds really pathetic,” followed by a “Shhhh!” in two other drunken voices.

“But I could also make Molly order me an Uber,” you added. “‘S okay. Nevermind.”

“No, you're not getting in an Uber inebriated. That’s ridiculous.”

“‘M not inebriated.”

A background voice comes back. “Yeah, you are.”

Spencer sighs into the phone. “Just… send me your location, please? I’ll come get you.”

“O-kay. ‘M sending it right now, jus’ tell me when you-”

The call went dead before you could finish your thought, which he chalked up to some kind of drunken user error. A few seconds later a text came through 

You: dropped a pin

You: its molly again. let me know if you got this

He responded, relieved that you had someone looking after you, before getting ready and grabbing his keys. 

-

You were sitting on a bench outside the bar. The air was cool and crisp, but you were warm, your skin clammy from the alcohol. You had been mumbling something incoherent about Spencer, he’s just so good to me, Molly, and oh, god, I don’t know what to do with myself, and…

Molly, who had been trying to sober you up (unsuccessfully), was standing in front of you, arms crossed, listening to your incessant rambling.

“...’nd sometimes he talks to me, ‘nd I have no idea what he’s talking about but he’s so hot when he’s smart. You should hear, it, Mol’.”

Cars pass on the street behind you, filling the silence momentarily. Molly looks over her shoulder, scanning the street before turning back to you. “Alright. Be quiet. He’s here” 

“Don’t care.”

She puts her hand out to help you up, which you accept rising to your feet. You’re surprised by how unsteady you feel, but you focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

“I’ll make fun of you for this tomorrow,” she says. 

You only have a few seconds to grumble in protest before Spencer reaches you. He scans you quickly, chuckling to himself.

“You are a mess,” he says, amused. 

You feel slightly infantilized watching Molly hand over all your personal effects to him. You weren’t even sure when you’d put down your wallet and keys, much less where, but you’re thankful she picked them up and not someone else.

“Good luck,” She tells him. She pats your arm before turning back to the bar, leaving you alone on the street with him. 

“You okay?” He asks. You watch him shuck off his jacket, which he helps you slide over your arms.

“‘M fine,” you reply. “Warm.”

“Because you’re drunk.” He keeps his eyes trained on the zipper of the jacket, or really anywhere that isn't you in that dress. “Alcohol is a vasodilator. So you feel warm. But it's forty degrees outside, and hypothermia doesn't care.”

You pout at him, watching as he pulls the zipper tab up enough to shield you from the cold. Only then does he really look at you. 

“I wanted you to see my pretty dress,” you pout. Your words come out slurred still. 

You meet his eyes for a split second. He opens his mouth, seemingly about to reply, but quickly decides against it. He shakes his head as if to clear the thought.

“Come on. We gotta get you home.” 

“You don't like it?” 

“I didn't say that.” He tucks a hand under your arm as you begin back down the street, keeping you steady. 

“So you do like it?” You look over at him, your face more excited than he was expecting. 

“It’s very pretty,” he replies.

Your shoulder bumps his as you walk, seemingly unable to maintain a straight path along the sidewalk. The click of your heels against the pavement is uneven, despite your efforts to maintain some kind of composure, and unfortunately for you, he’s right, and it's freezing outside. You make steady progress down the block, placing all your focus on not falling flat on your face. Thankfully, he doesn't live all that far.

“D’you think I look pretty, too?” You ask, approaching the steps to his apartment.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, looking down at you. He takes in the slight flush of your cheeks as the effects of the alcohol battle the chill in the air.

“I’m trying to flirt with you. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh, you're going to be difficult all night, aren't you?” He sighs, ignoring the question. He pauses outside the door, keys in hand, and unlocks the door before guiding you inside. 

“You don't ever want to flirt with me.”

The door falls shut behind you with a clunk. The room is dark, with only the distant light from a lamp somewhere across the room illuminating it. You squint when he turns on the big light.

“That’s not true,” he says, quietly. If you weren’t hanging on to his every word, you might have missed it. He carefully unzips the jacket, tugging it off your shoulders and setting it on the table.

“So why won’t you flirt with me right now?” 

“Because you’re drunk,” He guides you towards the couch, his touch still careful as ever. 

You flop down onto the cushions. The leather sticks to your legs as you sit. Being the gentleman he is, he has already left pajamas out, his pajamas, you’d since claimed as your own, with the blanket you steal every time you stay over. 

“So what?” You begin working at the clasp on your heels, fumbling with the leather straps to no avail. 

“So, you’re drunk.” He repeats, reappearing in front of you. He sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of you, and hands you a pack of makeup wipes. “Do you need help with your shoes?” 

You nod. A soft breath of laughter escapes him as he leans in to help you take them off, setting them on the carpeted floor. 

“Spence,” you look at the pack of wipes. “Why do you have these?”

“Because every time you’re here you forget them,” he replies. 

“Oh.” You rip them open. “You don’t have a secret girlfriend?”

“No,” he replies, lowering your foot back to the ground. 

“You don't let other drunk girls sleep over?” You paw at your eyeliner, effectively smearing it around more than removing it. 

“I don't let anyone sleep over,” he says, taking the wipe from you. “Just you. Close your eyes.”

“Because you love me?” 

His fingers find the underside of your chin, gently tilting your face towards his so he can finish swiping away the last of your eyeliner. Maybe you’re blushing as a result of the alcohol warming your bloodstream, but the more likely answer is him, at this proximity. 

As soon as he’s done wiping your eyes, you open them again to look up at him. 

“You’re bold when you’re drunk,” he says, smiling. He sets the used wipe down on the table.

“Mhm. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not going to,” He says. “Sorry. Go get changed.”

“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” you say. You collect the clothes off the couch and slink across the apartment into the bathroom to change. You don’t bother shutting the bathroom door before slinking off the dress you were wearing and sliding on the pajamas he’d left for you. Once you finish, you collect your dress off the floor and make your way back towards the couch, settling right into the cushions as you frequently did on nights like this. 

You were formulating another complaint about his lack of reciprocation, but your thoughts were interrupted as he pulled the blanket on his couch over you. Your blanket, or at least one you’d claimed as your own during one of your nights spent here. He had already turned off the ceiling fan, which you’d always insisted off when you slept over. You followed him with your gaze as he turned the lights off, swapping them instead for a smaller, softer light somewhere in the kitchen, remembering the way you’d always insisted he leave a light on somewhere, just for you. Your phone was already charging on a side table, your heels sitting nicely by the door, your keys on his key holder, evidence of you, everywhere, details that were distinctly for your comfort. Maybe you had missed his signals. 

“I think you do love me…” 

He reappeared a moment later, crouching in front of you with that look. He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Go to sleep.”

“And I love you. And I called you because I wanted to tell you that.” 

“You really need to sleep it off. You’re saying things you don’t mean.”

“But I do mean it,” you whined. “I swear. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” he laughed. 

“But I will. I promise,” you replied. “No bedtime kiss?”

Of course, this time you did pick up the way he looked at you. 

“No, honey. Maybe tomorrow.”

[hurlingdown]

                   DEAL WITH THE DEVIL !? ☆

synopsis. in a fit of jealousy, suguru makes a deal with the devil. in exchange for being the only one you would ever fuck, he would have to become a sleeve tailor made for your cock. in other words, your very personal whore. wc. 4.2k

tags. top! reader, sub! geto. reader is a dilf. brat! suguru, brat tamer! reader. hardcore dom/sub. rough anal sex, orgasm denial, switching positions (riding, missionary, doggy), sir kink, mixture of degradation & praise kink, dacryphilia, age difference, objectifying, heavy use of whore, pillow princess learns how to ride dick, cum-eating, spit kink, jealousy, subspace, blowjob, yandere! geto undertones, possessiveness.

a/n. suguru gets railed within an inch of his life. good things happen.

“I bet you had plenty fun out there,” Suguru slurred, “dancing with that pretty ‘gal. Probably forgot all about me, too—the two of you were lost in your own little world.” 

Suguru slouched over you to rest his head in the crook of your neck, thighs straining where they bracketed your hips. You could feel his every heated breath against the protrusion of your jugular vein, the sweat of his palms seeping into your skin, burning a path down to hell wherever they went. The awkward shift of his muscles as he raised himself with difficulty, only to plummet down harshly. 

There was no rhythm in the ride. No patience. No tenderness in the way he touched you, branded you with him. Suguru was pissed at you, and you knew it. 

“Suguru,” you moaned, sweaty hands settling on his hips, trying to help him ride, but he swatted your hands away every time you so touched him. At this rate, both of you were going to wake up with bruises tomorrow—and not the kind that felt good. “Fuck, baby, you’re hurting yourself. Let me.” 

He only shook his head, shivering. “Why should I,” he scoffed, “when you don’t even want me. You only want—whatever this is. You only want to fuck a hole. So here I am. A hole for you.” You could tell he was biting his lip, another shudder wracking through his body, and the sight tore into you like a contusion, making you throb. “You can close your eyes and imagine it’s her you’ve got your cock in. She’s prettier, anyway, older than me, too—maybe you’d enjoy it better.” 

“You know that’s not true,” you reasoned, swallowing down a groan as he clenched around you with a ferocity, like he wanted it to hurt. “I only danced with her because you- you were ignoring me in the first place. Please, baby. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t—don’t you fucking baby me.” Suguru lifted his head, a glare so full of hurt that it dug into you like a jagged blade. “We’re not even a thing. Y-you don’t want to make us a thing.” He swallows harshly, before muttering, “Legal enough for a few good fucks, but too young for anything real.” 

The underlying accusation makes you bristle. You had never protested anything beyond this point—but this was just unfair to you. You didn’t want to make the two of you a thing? Was he fucking serious? And—too young for anything real? How many times have you reassured him that it didn’t matter to you? 

“I believe the reason why you were ignoring me in the first place,” you kept your voice quiet and steady, “was because I brought us up and like a brat, you didn’t want to talk about it. You never want to talk, Suguru. It’s never the right time to talk for you. And now you think, after I go off dancing with someone else to take my mind off the headache you’ve given me, you can act all jealous like I fucked them in front of you.” 

You knew you were going to regret your next words, but at that moment, the immature desire to teach him a lesson overshadowed any sense of rationality. The anger, the disbelief, everything made it harder to think. And you were only human. 

Suguru glowered at you almost childishly, daring you to finish. 

“And maybe I really should, next time,” you continued. “Since you don’t think I’m making any effort. Maybe someone else will appreciate it.” 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he whispered. 

You frowned. “Suguru—” 

“Don’t you fucking dare!” 

“Suguru,” you snapped. “Don’t raise your voice at me.” 

He froze up at your sudden switch in tone, something darker, more guttural. Something you only use when you’re talking to an unruly brat in the bedroom. Suguru slowly raised his head in confusion. “What?” 

“I know you’re pissed,” you muttered. “But don’t forget whose cock you’re sitting on, right now. If you want to bring this up while we’re having sex, go ahead, but stick to the rules.” 

 “Are you fucking serious—” 

You snapped your hips up, and he moaned, a pretty, tremulous sound. Suguru turned his head to glare at you weakly, half-panting already. It was funny how you could almost reduce him to a dog in heat with merely an inch of control. 

“Yes,” you affirmed. “Now, you can either get off, throw your little tantrum, and walk out of this relationship forever; or you can be a good boy and deal with this reasonably. Which one is it?” 

He parted his lips, as though he wanted to argue, but you only levelled him with an unimpressed look. He huffed, stubbornly glancing away. 

“Well? Suguru?” 

“... Keep going,” he scowled, cheeks flushing. You blinked at him in amusement, not even bothering to bite down the snark that filled your expression at his wishful words. He frowned. “What? Move already.” 

“Oh, no. I’m not gonna do the work for you,” you drawled, hands crawling up his thighs to give them a taunting little squeeze. “See, you didn’t want to let me help you, earlier—I guess you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.” You paused, smiling at him. “Ain’t that right?” 

“Fuck you,” he spat. 

“You sure you want to keep that attitude tonight, Suguru?” 

A shiver climbs up his spine, and he shakes his head after a reluctant moment. He knew the consequences of misbehaviour. How you could take him over your lap and make him count every strike, keep him deprived of cock until he was crying and slobbering, begging for something, anything, to replace the ache of emptiness inside him. 

… And he also knew what those hands could do if he behaved himself properly. 

“I’ll be your good boy,” Suguru mumbled. “Fuck me? Please?” 

His hands curled into fists on your shoulders, and he glanced at you, almost expectant. Your hands continued to travel upwards, rubbing slow circles onto the jut of his hipbones, making him sigh in bliss. How easy it was for him to accept your affection as a sign of forgiveness. Too easy, even. 

“Let’s see how good you do by yourself, first.” 

His gaze snapped to yours in defiance, the look of a spoiled brat—and you wanted to break it. You wanted to see him sob and whimper and moan as pounded into his twitching hole, rough, violent, the way that made his eyes roll back in ecstasy and mouth part in hoarse, pleasured screams. 

“But I’ve said please already,” Suguru retorted. “You can’t expect me to—” 

“Last I remember, I gave you two choices, Suguru. You took the second one. This is the second one.” 

“Fucking asshole,” he snarled. “Fine.” 

“Language,” you chastised, but Suguru paid no mind, elbows slung over your shoulders to cage you in a half-hug, shifting on his knees to get better leverage. He rolled his hips—the way you had taught him to before, forward, go down, backward, go up. Slow circular motions that smushed your cock, in just the right angle, against the throbbing gland nesting inside him, soft moans leaving his lips. It was nothing like the careless violence before. 

This was so much better. 

“Yeah, just like that, sweetheart.” Your annoying voice rang, almost a lullaby in the way it made his eyes fall lidded, a whine building at the back of his throat. His body was so attuned to receiving pleasure—it made a whole difference when the reigns were in his hands, now. Fuck. If only you could take him already.

It was good, just bearably so, for a few minutes. Suguru struggled to gain rhythm, rocking down with a little more meaning, just to feel you slide in a little deeper each time, reaching all the dirty places inside his body no one else ever could. He tried to focus on movement and control, instead of getting lost in the way your girth would massage his taut walls, as though telling him to ease up already. 

He scowled. None of this would be a problem if you weren’t so damn difficult. And stingy. 

“Shit,” he cursed, pressing his forehead against the solid grill of your shoulder. “I’m n-not gonna, hnnn, make it if you don’t… don’t d-do something.” 

Suguru could feel the tension in his hamstrings with every slow bounce, the heat curling in his distended abdomen, a tell-tale sign that he was close to teetering over the edge. He could feel your thighs flexing beneath his, and clearly it felt good for you, too, so why, why won’t you just stake your claim on his insides already and turn him into a helpless, sobbing mess, like you always do? 

“Go ahead. I never said you couldn’t come.” 

Fuck that. Of course he wanted to fucking cum—just not like this. Not when you were merely holding him like he were nothing more than another toy, built for your pleasure. Suguru could be good. He could play as your pretty little whore. Hell, he would let you use him wherever and whenever you wanted to. But there was one condition to all of this generosity. 

You were his. 

And if you were going to treat him nothing more like a fleshlight you had rented from a sex shop, something to be borrowed and returned and tossed aside, then he wasn’t going to take it quietly. 

This wasn’t fair to him, not at all. You were being unfair. 

“Look at me,” he grit out. “Look at what you’re doing to me.” 

Suguru grabbed your hand, rubbing your palm against his sticky crotch until your fingers loosely wrapped around his length, a desperate moan spilling out from him as he rutted into your grasp. It was good, but not enough. Hardly. He wanted your hands on every part of him that they could reach. He wanted more. 

To his surprise, you didn’t snap at him for breaking the rules; that, or use your age, size or his willingness to your advantage. Your grip only tightened on his twitching cock, choking a whine out of him. He lifted his head to glance at you with heady eyes, shivering at the interest in your gaze. 

It only spurred him on. 

“This,” he slurred, resting a hand on his slightly swollen stomach, “is yours.” He lifted his hips and moved his hand lower, lower, prodding at the slick-coated length that emerged underneath him with the pad of his forefinger. “Now this… this is mine. You understand?” 

Your breath hitched, arousal building rapidly at his sultry words. This was new, and not bad at all. If this was the game he wanted to play… you supposed you could play along, for now. Just to let him have his fill of fun. 

“They can look at it, touch it, even take pictures of it… but I own the only two holes that you can be inside of. Ever.” Suguru knew he was being selfish, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t bear to ride something that didn’t belong to him—something that had been tainted by the filth of your other toys. He continued, “I can play by your rules. Be your good whore. Shut up when you tell me to. But play by mine, too.” 

“Greedy,” you snarked. “But fine.” 

He looked pleased at your easy acceptance. 

“Good. Now look at m-me, properly, when I cum on your cock.” 

You kept your word, letting him take the lead. It was obvious he was still getting used to steering with the reigns so unceremoniously thrust into his hands, but fuck, was it hot. You stroked him, your touch rough but still reverent, thumb digging into his beading slit at times, making him cry out as he rode you with renewed vigour. 

“Both hands on me,” he ordered, before hastily adding, “please.” 

He didn’t tell you where, so you put your fingers in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” you panted, almost losing yourself in the way he fluttered around you tirelessly, soaking you up and taking you in. The rhythm of his bounce. The sensual roll of his hips. The obscene whimpers and shudders that sent vibrations into your body whenever he fucked himself a little too good. You loved it all. You wanted it all. If this was what you were getting in exchange for a little rule-breaking, then you would do it a thousand times over. 

Suguru was gasping, thighs twitching, moaning senselessly and drooling around your fingers, and you knew he was about to break from the pressure. Oh, well. He did a good run, for his first time. 

You let go of his cock, and he nearly screamed out in frustration. 

“No, fuck, no, no, no—” 

“But what?” you hummed, and Suguru wanted to wipe that innocent smile off your face with violence. “You said you’d cum on my cock, darling. I don’t see why you need my hands on you.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it,” he snapped. What was wrong with you? Weren’t you edging yourself, too? Wasn’t it painful for you, to be denied of release? You were being so frustrating. 

“I played by your rules, sweets.” You pressed a tender kiss to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and he let out a helpless shiver. “This cock right here?” You nudged upwards to force your cockhead against his stomach walls, earning you a filthy whine. “All yours. But don’t forget. You promised to be my whore in exchange for that. Now, we don’t condone breaking promises, do we?” 

“N-no, but it doesn’t explain why you had to stop—” 

“Because I wanted to.” You let a small smile creep onto your face, relishing in the glazed look in his eye, the quiver in his bottom lip, as though he were about to cry. “Whores don’t order their owner around… unless it’s for the entertainment of their owner, of course. And right now, I’ve gotten terribly bored of it.” 

Suguru looked positively dumbfounded. But if that meant you were going to finally do something about it instead of sitting there, then he wasn’t going to argue with you. He let you maneuver him onto his back pliantly, almost coy in the way he glanced up at you through his lashes, spreading his legs for you. 

How could anyone expect him to want to protect his dignity when you looked at him like that? He wasn’t even prey, to you—something much, more lowly. An object, your possession. A confection to be devoured. You had let him at a glimpse of the power you held over him, and fuck, did it feel great to have you bending to his every whim, stroking his cock for his pleasure for once, but this… this was nothing but not a deal with the devil. True sovereignty was never in his hands. It was all an illusion. 

But if his only purpose would be reduced to a sleeve for your cock to fit into, merely for your pleasure and entertainment, then Suguru would get you so addicted to him, you’d prefer him over any other drug. 

“Please,” he begged, glossy eyes peering at you, “sir.” 

You smiled. “What do you want, Suguru?” 

“I-I want,” he said, half short of a whine, “w-want you- to take control. Please.” 

“Thought you were enjoying yourself, love.” 

Suguru knew what you wanted. To recognise his new identity—something inferior to you. Something that needed to depend on you to survive. 

“I- am- but, mmph, my legs h-hurt.” The glance he gave you, then, sent a shock straight into your chest. He breathed out a quiet confession, the killer blow, “I need you to put me in my place, sir. Please.” 

Your grin grew crooked, hands finally settling on the thick of his hips for the perfect leverage to thrust, and Suguru knew, then, that he had fucking won. 

The first smack of your hips against his ass had him keening. It stung, especially how he was bruised all over from riding you too hard, earlier—but the sharp zing of pleasure coursing through him made up for it a hundred times over. He wrapped his arms around your neck needily, fingers curling into your hair to keep you close, as close as you could be with your cock stuffed inside him. 

“Sir!” he sobbed, legs going around your hips as he trembled in ecstasy, moaning, gasping for breath, because finally, fucking finally, you were here in his arms, giving hell to his insides just the way he liked it. “Yes, yes, mmh, yes, sir—” 

All he could do was breathe. 

“So loud,” you cooed. “Poor thing.” 

“C-can't help- mnh, it,” Suguru whimpered, his body jerking weakly with every thrust. He squeezed his eyes shut for the briefest of moments, sobbing with pleasure as you took him again and again, the weight and heat of your body pinning him down completely, consummately, caging his lithe one, and he loved it. “W-wanted this- for soo long. You- always f-fuck me so- good, sir.”  

“Yeah? Why were you so stubborn, then?” you leered down at him, “Being all tough, snapping at me—acting like you had it. You really had your fun, didn’t you.” 

“‘m so- sorry,” he moaned, eyes rolling back. “W-won’t do i-it again.” 

Your smile grew wider at that. “What a good whore,” you sighed in appreciation, tilting his head by the chin to examine his tear-streaked face. “Pretty, too. Not all whores look pretty when they cry. You’re one of a kind, Suguru.” 

“Sir- you’re- ah, haa, t-thank you, sir,” he panted, whimpering as you pinched one of his nipples, “‘s all ‘cause- of y-you, sir. you make- make me feel- s-so good.” 

“Good to know.” You smoothed a hand over the red and purple blossoming on his pecs from the assault you had subjected them to, your sweat dripping onto his body with every jostle and thrust. “Now shut up for a bit and take it, yeah?” 

Suguru nodded frantically, eyes half-lidded as he gazed up at you. He was getting close again, the excitement in his belly churning tenfold in this new position that had him feeling every sensation of you pulsing inside him, now that he didn’t need to divert his attention elsewhere. Fuck. He couldn’t even remember why he was mad at you in the first place. He cried out as you thrusted meanly, cock grating against his prostate, his legs tightening around your waist in reflex. 

And then you pulled out with a devilish smirk. 

Suguru sobbed out, voice breaking in parts, the sound loud and desperate. “Please, s-sir. I- I was going- I was about to- ” 

“I know,” you crooned. “Told you to shut up, didn’t I?” 

He nodded pliantly, but he couldn’t hold in a whimper, soft and needy. You couldn’t help but admire the sight beneath you, despite the pain-pleasure inside you of yet another ruined orgasm—his eyes were shiny with tears, skin flushed prettily and bruised around the chest and waist, back arched as he desperately tried to get you to move. 

“Turn around for me, sweet thing.” You pressed a kiss to his wet cheek, trying to soothe him. “I know you can do that. You were so good for me just now, baby… I’m so proud of you. I’m sure a teensy little more is nothing to you, mm?” 

Suguru nodded again, rolling onto his stomach sluggishly. He was getting tired, stars drifting past with every slow, dreamy blink, body drained by the way you fucked it like it was something unbreakable. 

He pressed his face into your pillow, inhaling sharply at the scent of your musk filling his every breath, whining as you gripped his hips and tugged him backwards, the head of your cock rubbing against his puffy rim. There was nothing, absolutely nothing else worth his attention on at the moment, the world fading to a trifling blur under your touch. 

The only sounds he could hear were your heavy pants against his shoulder blades, the chanting of fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me in the distant back of his mind, making his insides melt with the desire to be taken. There was no more Suguru. There was only a hole in his place. 

He could feel his eyes drooping, soft breaths luring him to sleep, but out of the cloud of smoke and haze, you were there, a steady presence behind him, the warmth of your calloused palms branding his hips and thighs guiding him back to reality. 

“Let’s remind ourselves,” you husked, your voice wrapping around him like a warm blanket of safety amid the static. “Who are you to me, Suguru?” 

He breathed out a moan, then answered without thinking. “Yours- only yours.” 

“Specifics, baby. Let’s try again.” 

He tried to shift back onto you—even an inch would do, with how desperate he was, but your hand on his hip held him in place. You huffed out a laugh as he turned his head to frown cutely at you. “Your- your property,” he tried again. “Your plaything.” 

“Better,” you praised, “but they’re not what I’m looking for. What else?” 

Suguru knew what you wanted to hear, but he just couldn’t recall at that moment—it was too much, the edging, the scent of you everywhere, the exhaustion, the hot sweaty press of your chest against him, your big hands on his body, your cock rubbing between his thighs. All of it was making his head blank. 

He whimpered helplessly, wanting to turn to you for help, but you kept him in that same humiliating position, as though it were a common whore you were breeding and not him—

“Whore,” he gasped. “I’m your whore.” 

You grinned, then, sharp and pleased, and Suguru could almost cry at the relief he felt. “And what do good whores do, mm?” 

He sobbed, “Good whores take what they’re given… and say thank you.” 

“Good,” you repeated, breathless. “Very good, Suguru.” 

You positioned yourself properly this time, tapping the head of your cock wetly against his entrance just to hear him whine, before entering him with a heavy, careless thrust—to the very brim. 

Suguru buried his face into the pillow, practically screaming. He fisted the bedsheets, head swimming with the sudden burst pleasure overwhelming his senses, the pleasure of being taken, used, like property you had paid for; the pleasure of you picking him, of all people, to be the one you wanted to play with. All the toys in the aisle and you had chosen him. 

He’d gladly be your personal whore. 

“Now,” you prompted with a drawl, “what do we say, mm?” 

“T-thank you, sir,” Suguru whined, “Thank you so- soo much.” 

“Well done,” you breathed, carding a hand through his long, silky hair—before pulling it back into a makeshift pony tail and yanking him up by it, roughly. You ignored his startled whine, taking a second to admire the shape of your cock jutting out from his now exposed abdomen—before towing him backwards, slowly, until his back settled against your chest. 

You could feel his frame quivering against yours. Where was his confidence? The attitude, the jealousy? Guess you had fucked him so good he had forgotten everything else but his only purpose in life—to offer up his holes for your pleasure. 

“Open up, whore,” you whispered. 

Suguru didn’t need to be told twice. He fluttered his lashes, parting his lips for you, breath hitching as you collected a ball of spit, letting it drizzle slowly, obscenely, from your mouth to the waiting hole beneath you. You snapped his jaws shut, making sure you heard the audible swallow before you let go. 

“Thank you,” he whimpered. You smiled. You had such a good-mannered whore. 

He snivelled when he felt a hand enclose his cock—the poor thing so hard it was almost purple, lovingly stroking him. Tears slid down his cheeks freely as soft moans and pants spilled unbidden. He sobbed out brokenly, body jerking in your arms as his cock gave a weak, helpless spurt, the orgasm washing over him in cathartic waves. 

“T-thank you,” he panted, glancing up at you with pretty, moist eyes. 

Suguru only let out a feeble whine as you slowly slid out of him, clenching and gaping from the emptiness, placing him back on all fours. He clutched the sheets with trembling hands as something wet tapped on his cheek, and he opened his mouth without much thought. 

“My pretty whore,” you praised, and put your cock in his mouth. The warm gush of cum down his throat had him choking out a beautiful sound of gratitude. 

Suguru had been stupid to think he could ever get the upperhand in a deal with the devil. But that was all he was now, wasn’t he? A stupid, pretty whore, only ever good for taking cock. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought, with a mouthful of cum and more trickling down the side of his chin. 

Maybe he was always meant to be like this. 

Maybe what he needed was your guidance, all along.

masterlist!

[luludeluluramblings]

The Tape

Reader and Conner’s sex tape gets leaked…

Based on this…

Warning: Fem!Reader, NSFW themes, no actual smut, pure crack nonsense, fake Twitter post

A/N: @fanfictionlover277353 Heard you wanted some more! Here’s some of my nonsense!

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"Come on, Babs. Please. I'm begging. Just for a few hours. Two tops." Dick's whining could be heard through out the entire cave. The vibrato of his voice echoing off the rocky walls and stalagmites as he leaned over Barbara's shoulder and played with her hair.

She was currently sitting at the Bat Computer, looking over anything related to the family or incidents in Gotham with strained eyes and an exasperated look on her face.

"I told you, I'm busy-"

"You need a break." Dick interrupted, playing the hypocrite with a grin. "Come on, two hours. We'll watch a movie, you can even pick. No sappy Rom-coms, anything you want. All your choice." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Admittedly, Barbara was tempted, but she let out an indulgent sigh.

"Fine. I'll set up notifications to alert me if anything that needs to get scrub gets posted." She quickly type out a few things on to the computer, having it connected to her phone before Dick whisked her off with way too much excitement.

It was a simple notification system. One that would alert her if anyone's vigilantes identities were mentioned in the media. Unfortunately, it wasn't set up to alert her if anyone's civilian identities were mentioned. That included the family's only civilian member as well.

And, a lot can happen in two hours with the power of the internet and a very interesting topic.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You were having a good day. A very nice day. You had gone out into the world, enjoying the sights and sounds of a mid-morning Gotham. Ignoring the wailing sirens in the distance, by now you had grown used to it.

Dick, Babs, and Alfred where in the manor doing either Bat stuff or sleeping. Damian was visiting Jon. Duke was on patrol. Cass was at dance practice. Bruce was at the Watchtower. Tim was at the Wayne office. Stephanie was your chaperone (stalker) of the day. And, Jason was fuck who knows where.

A peaceful, calm day.

Until you got a Twitter notification and you realized...

"Oh, that's not good. That is really not good." You mutter, watching as the internet burns while you drink your coffee. Not like you could do much else. You still sent a quick text to Conner, just to prepare him while you mentally packed.

You warned him when he suggested filming the two of you making love in the Wayne manor parlor right in front of the fireplace.

You had suggested you’d both go to the mountains and fuck in the wild, but he just had to be kinky and want to do it in the manor. Better lighting he said.

If it wasn’t for the fact that it had been your anniversary and he had pulled out all the stops, you would’ve said no. (It doesn’t matter that he had you literally crying from the pleasure when the two of you had finally finished filming. Nope. Not at all.)

However, that mountain sex might still be on the table. You didn't want to be around when the rest of the family saw that video, so a remote location in the mountains sounded like a decent idea. You’d been wanting to runaway from the manor for a while anyway.

“Hey, Steph, hand me your phone real quick…” Best to probably by yourself some time.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Conner had a tendency to mute his notification on all his socials. Not that he didn't look at what people tagged him in or mentioned him in. He just find it easier to manage.

So when he got a text from you saying to check Twitter, he was a bit puzzled. But, he figured you had seen him tagged in something funny and wanted him to see it too.

Only for the record in his head to scratch when he realized what he had been tagged in.

"SHIT! Shit, shit, shit, shit." Could he get off planet fast enough? This was bad. Not the video. That was good. He may have thrown extra fuel on the fire by liking it and retweeting it on to his official account, but, damn it, was he proud of that. Probably shouldn’t have hired that rando to edit it for him though.

But, yeah, he was about to possibly be the only man ever murdered in cold blood by Batman. It was one thing to fuck his civilian daughter, but filming it in the man’s own home? Yeah, the kryptonite was definitely coming out and getting stabbed into his skull.

"JON! Distract Damian!" Conner yelled out before taking off, knowing that Jon's super hearing would pick up it up. Best get to Gotham and grab you before Batman came after his ass.

There was a nice planet a few solar systems over that you two could have some fun on. Maybe if he was lucky, you could visit that spot in front of the fireplace on last time. He doubted the two of you would get another chance to do it there again.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Jason had actually been at Roy’s that day, having finished some Outlaw business from the night before. Only to be interrupted when Roy suddenly choked on his drink and sprayed it all over him from across the table. Soaking Jason and the papers on said table.

“What the fuck?” He muttered in disgust whipping the dripping liquid off him.

Roy, however, was still choking. Wheezing as he clutched his phone like it was the most precious thing in existence.

“Nothing! Nothing!” Instantly, Roy was trying to back the video up the Cloud and his back up phone. He’s paid for porn with less quality than this and he was not wasting this opportunity before it was scrubbed from the internet.

“Let me see that.” Jason pushed the table and slammed it into Roy’s gut, causing the phone to clatter on to it. A video silently playing on the screen.

A video of two people in a fancy parlor. Doing very intimate things.

Two people Jason knew. In a fancy parlor that Jason knew.

A parlor that Jason had literally sat in three days ago watching the fire in the exact same fireplace.

“Did you fucking save this, asshole?”

“Dude, that is ART!”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Back in the BatCave Alfred had come down to tidy up after resting a bit only to look at the screen in horror. Despite his many skills, socially media escaped him at times.

However he did manage to learn one thing…

“That was what was on my bloody carpet?!”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Tim had been in his office, going over a couple charts when his secretary burst into the room. Stumbling and falling on the floor panting. One of her heels broken.

Normally she was a serious and composed woman, not tolerating any nonsense from him. So this behavior was unexpected and worrisome.

Tim rushed to stand up at help her when she suddenly blurted out, “Leaked sex tape!”

That made him panic. Before confusion hit him.

“Wait, did I film on of those? I don’t remember filming one of those-“

“Your sister! Superboy! PR is going fucking nuts and getting calls. Share prices are fucking increasing because of this!”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

The Justice League Watchtower was in a meeting. Quite a long one judging by the way most of it’s members sitting around the table seemed to be drifting off or subtly scrolling their phones.

Oliver Queen, Green Arrow was one of those people scrolling. Checking over twitter, catching up on the latest gossip. Only to nearly fucking scream in the middle of the meeting when he realized what Superboy had shared on his official account.

Forget man of steel, the kid has damn balls of steel.

Worst yet, the video had been posted for over an hour. A full hour. Almost two. There was no way that was going to be getting scrubbed and forgotten. He’d bet it was in a military archive already with a team of scientist documenting the half-Kryptonian’s dick size right now.

It was an impressively long video. One that Oliver was sorely tempted to watch. But, he didn’t because he knew Batman would actually rearrange his face if he did. Like fist and plastic surgery rearrange it.

So, when he heard Batman’s voice ring out in the meeting, he broke his phone in half to hide the evidence of his discovery.

Only, Batman hadn’t been calling for his attention. He was calling for Booster Gold’s.

“Booster, focus on the meeting. Put that away—“

It was amusing to see Booster get caught with his phone out watching him scramble to shut it off in a panic. Only for it to fall to the ground.

And, the sound to turn on at full volume.

Moans to fill the silent void of the room.

Oliver could only look on in horror when he realized just what Booster had been watching, during a Justice League meeting, and across the table from Batman himself.

“Conner, please, p-please, stop teasing.”

“No, I don’t think I will. You look so pretty like this. All nice and—“

No one moved. Not as they watched Batman literally work through every emotion under that cowl of his and Superman’s face went as white as it possibly could, anguish washing over both their faces when they realized who was in the video booster was watching.

Diana was the only one that stood up and moved to pick up the phone. Everyone held their breaths when she slowly looked down at the screen.

“Quite impressive. You both must be proud.” She said with a slight hum.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I apologize so much for this, but I just was cackling the entire time I came up with this and wrote it. Forgive me y’all! 🙏🏻

A/N: All the Twitter stuff was randomly generated and picked! I’m not good with it, but I added it for giggles!

[puckinghischier]

Fakers

Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary: reader needs jack to be her fake boyfriend, and it leads to something very not fake

notes: hello!! it’s literally 2am and i just finished this, so needless to say it’s unedited, but i love this fic so much. i combined two different requests for it and i had so much fun with it. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

also i’m starting a tag list in the comments, so let me know if you’d like to be added!! 🫡

request: from my 400 follower celly - You owe me.” “I owe you $20 not a day of pretending to be your partner to get your parents off your back” & “A realizing that they have feelings for B when they see them with someone else”

[5.4k]

“Jack! Please tell me you’re home. It’s an emergency!” you frantically slam his apartment door shut.

Searching the large space for any signs of life, you beg for him to be home.

“Jack! C’mon! It’s urgent!” you yell out, walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.

You twist the knob of the closed door, finding it locked. Huffing, you start beating your fist against the wood.

“Open up! I know you’re in there!”

You continue your assault on the door, stopping only when the door opens and your fist meets air. You step back in surprise, nearly hitting Jack square in his bare chest.

A soaking wet, shirtless Jack stands in front of you with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“God, what took you so long? I texted you SOS on my way over here,” you barreled past him, walking into his bedroom.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s not like I just had a grueling three-hour practice or anything. God forbid I take a hot shower afterwards,” Jack throws his hands up in the air, watching you walk straight for his closet.

You and jack had been friends since the second you moved to Jersey, the sassy brunette being just what you needed to make you feel at home in the unfamiliar state.

As you were moving in down the hall, Jack had half of the team over at his apartment watching game film in preparation for a week of road games.

Him and few teammates walked out into the hallway to investigate the loud bangs they kept hearing, watching you try to squeeze a bookshelf into your apartment that was three times the size of the doorway.

An hour later you had a disassembled bookshelf and four very attractive men in your living room.

Jack had recruited some of his teammates, as you later learned, to help you put the bookshelf back together.

You apologized for interrupting their plans, the rest of Jack’s teammates still in his apartment, and insisted they go back to their friends. You told them you could handle putting back together a bookshelf, even though you had absolutely no idea what you were doing.

They waved off your concerns, telling you they needed to help you finish what they started.

After the bookshelf was put together and in place, Jack invited you over to his apartment, deciding they had watched enough film for that night, using the incentive of pizza to lure you. You would’ve objected, seeing as he invited you into an apartment full of strange men, but the pang of hunger in your stomach threw all caution to the wind, leading your feet three doors down and into the strange apartment.

You gained a whole group of friends that night, not knowing until a week later your new friends were Jersey’s own professional hockey team.

Jack and Luke helped you finish the rest of your move in, spending more and more time with your new neighbors as the days went on. You added weekly take out dinners into your schedules and alternating hockey watch parties in each other’s apartments, the brothers insisting you need to learn to love the game.

You can’t deny the fact that you started developing feelings for the middle Hughes pretty quickly, his fun energy and magnetic personality roping you in. The nature of your friendship was extremely laid back, the two of you bickering nearly as much as you made the other laugh. Luke often said the two of you either act like an old married couple or newlyweds that already resent each other.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out, however, that Jack was too focused on living the hockey lifestyle to settle down anytime soon. You noticed the flow of girls in and out of his apartment, having met a few on their way out in the mornings on your way to work.

Attempting to push your feelings to the back of your mind, you continued spending time with the rowdy athletes. A small part of you still held out hope, especially after Jack gave you a key to their apartment, telling you he was tired of having to get the door every time you decided you wanted to come over.

Which is exactly how you were able to enter his apartment now, in your desperate time of need.

You knew your parents were going to visit you once you had settled in. The piece of information they left out, though, was that they scheduled a dinner with the lawyer son of one of your dad’s coworkers that also happens to live in the city.

Now, sifting through his closet in search of an outfit appropriate for the high-end restaurant your parents reserved for tonight, you worry about Jack’s reaction to your – and now his – predicament.

“Jack, don’t you own anything that isn’t designer? I don’t want my parents to think you’re a douche throwing his money in everyone’s face,” you slide each Tom Ford, Armani, and his one Gucci suit to the side.

Jack, still standing with his hand on his open door, starts walking over to you, crossing his arms.

“So, you not only barge into my apartment unexpectedly and interrupt my shower, but you’re now criticizing my formal wear?” he asks before realization shows on his face. “Wait, what do you mean your parents? And why are you so dressed up?” he suddenly notices your floor-length, black formal dress and full face of make-up.

You turn to face him slowly, an overexaggerated, nervous smile on your face.

“Well…you’re…meetingmyparentstonight,” you mumble out, running your words together.

“Run that back one more time?” Jack asks you, eyes widening.

“You’re meeting my parents tonight,” you say at a normal pace this time, doing small jazz hands.

Groaning, Jack turns away from you, placing his hands on the top of his head as he paces.

“What did you do?” he asks, still pacing, knowing how you are and that you’re only ever this anxious about stuff when there’s a reason.

“Okay, so don’t get mad,” you start, placing your hands out in front of you as if you’re calming down a wild animal.

“Oh, great, that’s always followed by good news,” Jack rolls his eyes, stopping to stand in front of you.

“I might have, maybe, just a little bit…told my parents that you were my boyfriend,” you rush out again, closing your eyes and wincing.

Jack doesn’t respond, not making a single sound. You slowly open one eye, waiting for him to start scolding you. You see him standing there, wide eyes and frozen.

“You told…parents…your boyfriend?” his broken sentence amuses you, but you have to hold in the laugh, figuring laughing at him wouldn’t do you any favors right now.

“Yes,” you confirm, causing Jack to close his eyes and inhale, his hand flying up to press against his forehead. “But! They’re trying to set me up on a blind date with one of my dad’s stuck-up coworker’s sons. You know I told them I’d never date a lawyer,” you explain, stepping closer to Jack, testing the waters. “Plus, I hate being set up, Jack. One of my dating requirements is friends first, date later.”

“Why?” Jack now pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why in the hell would you tell your parents I’m your boyfriend? I haven’t dated in someone in…I don’t know, three years? This should’ve been a Luke job.”

“Because you’re my best friend. It wouldn’t have been believable with Luke because I don’t know him as well as I know you,” you tell him, watching him open his mouth to argue. “Plus, you owe me.”

Jack scoffs. “Oh, I owe you, huh? Do tell, what for?”

“When I bought your sushi last week because you forgot your wallet at the rink when I met you out for lunch.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Are you serious? I owe you $20, not a day of pretending to be your boyfriend to get your parents off your back!”

“But…a day of pretending to be my boyfriend can pay your $20 debt,” you smile and tilt your head, batting your eyelashes.

Jack mulls the idea over in his head for a few moments, deciding on if he’s going to help you or not. You continue batting your eyelashes and giving Jack your trademark puppy dog eyes.

“Fine…give me twenty minutes and I’ll be ready,” he grumbles, shoulders deflating a little.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you squeal, doing a happy jump and running over to hug him.

You realize a second too late he’s still damp and very naked, jumping back and apologizing mere seconds after you made contact with his bare skin.

“I’ll go wait in your living room,” you say, turning and heading towards his door.

“I’m wearing the Gucci, by the way,” he calls out as you reach the doorway.

“Please, at least wear the Armani so they think you’re poor rich, not rich rich,” you hear him laugh as you shut his door.

Just as Jack told you, twenty minutes later you’re in his car on the way to some rooftop restaurant your parents reserved for your ‘family’ dinner.

“So, what’s our story?” Jack asks, breaking the silence.

“Our story?” you repeat, confused.

“Yeah, our story. Like, what was the magical moment we realized we were actually more than friends and were head over heels with one another?” he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You look over at him, a small smirk on his lips.

“Do you seriously think I went into that much detail when I stuttered out ‘oh…I uhh…forgot to tell you, Jack and I are dating now!’ when my mother mentioned Ben was joining us for dinner?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

You scoff at him, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms.

“We don’t have a story. Mom didn’t ask questions so I didn’t offer any,” you respond, looking over at him.

“Wait, she didn’t ask any questions? What was her response?” he asked you, glancing over at you every few seconds.

“No? She just said it was great and to invite you to dinner too, maybe you and Ben would get along,” Jack’s furrowed brow confusing you.

“Shit, Y/N, she doesn’t believe you,” he sits up straight.

“She doesn’t?”

“No, she doesn’t. If she believed you then she would have told Ben not to come. If she believed you, she would have grilled you with questions and squealed with excitement. She wouldn’t have just accepted the answer and told you to bring me along like some pet,” you note the worry in his tone.

Thinking about your mother’s reaction, you remember the uninterested tone she used when telling you how great it was you were with Jack. The lack of enthusiasm definitely uncharacteristic from your mom. You had just assumed she was shocked, not that she didn’t believe you.

“Holy shit you’re right! She didn’t believe me. What are we gonna do?” you reach down the hand resting in your lap and start picking your thumb nail on again, extremely worried they’ll see through your bullshit the second you sit down at the table.

Jack notices the anxious habit of yours, reaching over and placing his hand over your own, effectively stopping your movements.

“We give them the best damn performance of our lives.”

———————————————————————————

As soon as you walk onto the open rooftop, you think you should’ve let Jack wear his Gucci suit.

The dimly lit space is full of people in expensive looking dresses and crisp, clean suits.

You suddenly feel very underdressed.

The hostess leads you over to a table in the corner, you and Jack being the last to arrive.

Jack’s hand is held tightly in yours, the small pep talk he gave you in the elevator already forgotten.

“Oh, Y/N! You’re here!” you hear your mother’s voice as you approach the table, breaking you out of your wardrobe anxieties.

You give a tight-lipped smile, keeping yourself pressed against Jack’s side.

“Well, don’t just stand there, give me a hug!” she exclaims, standing from her seat, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

You reciprocate her actions, placing your hands on her back.

“Honey, you look so good. I hope this place has been kind to you,” she places her hands on your face, a smile beaming back at you.

You nod at her. “Yeah, I love it here so far.”

She lets you go, her smile never fading.

“Alright, where’s the hug for your old man?” you hear your dad speak from somewhere behind you, turning to see him walking towards you with open arms.

Sinking into his hug, you let yourself enjoy the feeling. Getting to spend time with your dad is a rarity, considering he’s part of a big law-firm back home. He was always working late and missing holidays when you were a kid, your experience with him why you always swore you’d never marry a lawyer like your mother did.

“I missed you, Dad,” you tell him honestly, pulling back from his embrace.

“I missed you more, kiddo,” he pats your cheek, stepping away to take his seat at the table once again.

You hear Jack clear his throat behind you, reminding him that you need to introduce him.

“Oh! Mom, Dad,” you turn back and reach your hand out towards Jack, “this is Jack, the neighbor I’ve been telling you about.” Jack squeezes you hand, reminding you he’s your boyfriend tonight, not your neighbor. “Well…I guess I need to introduce him as my boyfriend now, cause we’re dating!” you say a little too enthusiastically, lifting your intertwined hands for everyone to see.

Jack chuckles, bringing his free hand over to push your joined hands down.

“Hi, I’m Jack, Y/N’s neighbor boyfriend,” he reaches over to shake your dad’s hand.

You notice your mom’s skeptical smile, standing to give Jack a short, half hug.

As you scan the area, trying to find anything else to focus on other than your lack of being able to play it cool, you notice the third body at the table.

You look at the man, his jet black, scruffy hair not at all what you were expecting. He was extremely handsome, you had to give him that. His blue eyes stood out against the dark setting, his black dress shirt under his black suit jacket causing them to stand out even more.

“Well, since introductions are being made, this is Ben, Jim’s boy. He works at a firm just a few miles away, actually,” your dad beams as Ben stands, walking around the table to give Jack’s hand a firm shake.

They exchange a short greeting before Ben makes his way over to you, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles, taking you by surprise.

“Pleasure to meet you…” he trails off, keeping eye contact as he raises back up into a standing position. “Both of you,” he adds as an afterthought, letting go of your hand and glancing at Jack.

“Yeah…you too,” Jack’s tone is laced with an emotion you can’t quite pick up on, but the glare he’s sending Ben is extremely noticeable.

As everyone takes their seats again, Jack scoots your chair out for you before sitting in the chair beside of you, taking your hand in his and resting them on the table.

Small talk is exchanged about Jack’s job, a disapproving nod from your father, your mother asking questions about what he plans to do after his career is over, making sure to throw in digs about how young hockey players are required to retire and the fact that contract money runs out fast with the lifestyle athletes live.

Jack handles them in stride, talking about how he wants to get into coaching once his career comes to an end, but he wants to play hockey for as long as he’s physically able. He also informed your parents that his mother instilled in him how to budget, making sure his necessities are always paid before anything else gets purchased, including a retirement fund.

The conversation then shifts to you and your new job, your mother filling Ben in with side comments the whole time about how you graduated with honors and was offered a big city job right out of college. Ben looked at you the entire time you were talking, seeming genuinely interested in what you were sharing.

Once the conversation shifts to Ben, that’s when the dinner starts going south.

“Ben is in line to become a partner at his firm very soon. It’s all his father talks about at work anymore,” your dad informs the table, laughing and slapping a hand to Ben’s shoulder.

“Well, there’s a few other guys in the running, I’m not a shoo-in yet,” Ben responds, trying to knock down his praise a bit.

“Oh, don’t be so modest, Ben, our Y/N here loves an overachiever, isn’t that right, darling?” your mom looks over to you.

You don’t know what to say to her, stunned that she would be so blatantly obvious about her intentions in front of Ben like this.

“I…well…Yeah, I guess,” you stutter out, not sure how to respond to your mother’s words.

“Do you excel in your field, Jack?” your mom questions your fake boyfriend of the night.

He looks up from his food, not entirely sure how to handle the question. Does he tell them the truth and risk sounding like a gloating asshole, or does he play the modest card and confirm your parent’s suspicions that he’s less than?

“Jack was team captain of team USA! And he’s an alternate captain for the Devils now! He’s also one of the team’s top point scorers,” you ramble out facts about Jack’s hockey career, sensing his hesitation.

Your father’s brows shoot up in surprise.

“Way to go man, sounds awesome,” Ben sounds genuinely impressed.

“That’s something to be proud of,” is all your mother responds.

You look over at Jack in apology, the flush of his cheeks hidden by the dark surroundings.

“Jack was also drafted number one overall in the NHL draft when he was only eighteen. Isn’t that crazy?” you continue, not knowing how to stop the information rolling from your mouth.

“Good for you, son,” your dad says through chewing his food, earning a glare from your mother.

Jack chuckles out a thanks, kicking your foot under the table.

“Always my biggest fan, huh babe?” Jack looks over at you, the look in his eyes telling you to stop, you’re being obvious again.

“Well…it’s not just your good looks that won me over,” you attempt a joke, but it didn’t land very well.

Jack winces at how that sounded.

Realizing what you just said, with the current scrutiny surrounding Jack’s choice of career, you mentally palm your forehead.

“I need to use the restroom, excuse me,” you all but run away from the table.

You make your way to the small bathroom, collecting yourself and telling yourself you don’t have that long left of this torturous dinner.

When you exit the bathroom, you see Ben standing there, waiting for you to come out.

“So…is now a good time to tell you that I know you and Jack aren’t dating?” he asks you, an amused smile on his face.

Your body turns cold, every muscle frozen in place. How does he know? Has your act really been that bad?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him, laughing nervously.

“Listen, you don’t have to hide it from me. I’m not here because I want to be set up with you. I’m here because I need my dad to still think I’m single,” he surprises you.

“Wait, you have a girlfriend?” you ask him, shock evident in your voice.

“Boyfriend, actually. But haven’t really broke that part to my parents yet.”

Your jaw drops, not believing that your parents are unknowingly trying to set you up with a gay man.

“Holy shit,” you start laughing, unable to hide stop your hand from shooting out to grip Ben’s arm. “I promise I’m not laughing because you’re gay. I’m laughing because my parents would die if they figured out the man they’re trying to set me up doesn’t even like girls.” You want to go over there and scream this piece of information into their faces, but know it’s not your place to out Ben.

“I hate when they try to set me up with people, and I thought it would stop since I moved away, but when they told me you were coming to dinner tonight I panicked and told them I was dating Jack because I didn’t want to have to dodge phone calls and ignore texts, again,” you bring your hand up to wipe the tears out of your eyes. “Who would’ve thought I didn’t even have to worry about it because there’s more of a chance you’d be attracted to my fake boyfriend than me.”

Ben laughs with you, allowing you to lean against him.

From the dinner table, Jack can hear your laughter, turning his head to see you leaning on Ben, the two of you being entirely too close for his liking.

“Well, looks like they’re getting along,” your mother tells your father, nodding her head in the direction of you and Ben.

Jack fully turns in his seat, watching how you talk animatedly with Ben, a large grin on your face as he returns it, looking down at you.

Something wicked swirls in Jack’s stomach, not enjoying watching you laugh with someone like you laugh with him.

He thinks back to all the times you’ve been around his apartment, complaining about the latest guy you were trying to meet up with canceling on you and how angry it makes him to see you upset. He thinks about how you always complain to him about dating apps, wishing you could just meet someone naturally, going on and on about having a ‘meet cute’ like your favorite rom coms and wondering why it always makes him think about how cute you looked trying to shove that big ass bookshelf into your apartment. He thinks about the time you brought a date to one of his games, the satisfaction of seeing you in his jersey almost enough to outweigh the sudden burst of anger he felt in the middle of the game, looking up to see his arm around your shoulders, hand resting a little too close to your chest for his comfort.

He thinks about how he’s always fending off his teammates and random men at bars, not trusting their intentions with you. And the looks that he catches Luke giving the two of you when you’re arguing, his favorite activity being getting you worked up, loving how red your ears get when he keeps firing sarcasm back at your anger.

He always assumed these feelings were a general protectiveness of you and enjoyment of being around you, almost like you were his sister, never once entertaining the idea that they could be more than that.

Until now, that is. Until you’re standing there in that dress, possibly the most beautiful he’s ever seen you, leaning all over another man when you asked him to come here with you. You asked him to be your fake boyfriend, not Mr. Big Time Lawyer.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go make sure my girlfriend is okay,” he tells your parents, dropping his cloth napkin on the table and scooting his chair back.

You’re still laughing with Ben, exchanging stories about the different set-ups your parents have tried on the two of you.

“You know, even though it’s very obvious you’re not dating, I do have to admit, I can see the feelings you two have for each other,” Ben tells you, changing the subject.

“Oh, no, we’re just friends,” you tell him, your cheeks flushing a bit.

Ben gives you a look, rolling his eyes. “Honey, anyone within a three-mile radius can see that that boy is smitten with you, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

You look over at Jack who’s looking over at you and Ben.

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head, deciding you can trust Ben. “I mean, I definitely have feelings for him, have for a while, but he’s not the dating type,” you laugh. “Hell, he was worried about having to be my fake boyfriend, considering he hasn’t dated anyone in years. Anyways, the girls I see leaving his apartment most mornings says otherwise.”

“Haven’t you learned men are stupid? Someone usually has to tell them what they’re feeling. Show them what they’re missing out on,” he steps closer to you, the two of you only inches apart now. “Just like right now.”

You cock your head, confused at Ben’s words until you hear footsteps stomping towards you.

“Y/N, babe,” Jack spits out, anger radiating off of him, “can we go somewhere…private to talk?” he puts on a tight smile, watching Ben step back away from you.

“Uh, sure,” you tell him as he grabs your arm, gently leading you over to a secluded corner of the rooftop.

He stands in front of you, running his hands up his face before sweeping them through his hair.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, jutting his hand out in the direction you just came from.

“We were just-“

“You were ‘just’ flirting with the man your parents are trying to set you up with in front of their eyes when you brought me here to show them you’re not interested,” he interrupts you, frustration clear in his tone.

“Jack, you don’t understand, Ben is-“

“Perfect for you? Handsome? Your parent’s dream man for you? Better than me?” he cuts you off, his last statement taking you by surprise.

“Jack, where’s this coming from? Ben’s not better than you? What would ever make you think that?” your confusion turns to concern.

“Oh, don’t act all sad and worried now. Not when you were over here getting all close to Ben,” he waves his hands around, disgust lacing his voice as he said Ben’s name, “just mere seconds ago while I was sitting at the table with your parents, watching the whole thing and thinking about how much I love you!” he raises his voice, but not loud enough to disturb the people dining around you.

You’re so shocked at Jack’s words that you step back from him, not believing what you’re hearing.

“Jack, I-“ you start once more, but Jack’s voice cuts you off.

“I know I’m realizing this way too late, but dammit, Y/N, that man,” he points over to Ben, “is not the guy for you. I know I’ve just stood by and watched you try to go on date after date after date with men who weren’t right for you, but I think I was too scared to think about what my feelings meant. I’ve ran off so many men at bars its not even funny. Hell, I’ve told my own teammates you’re off limits, thinking I was just protecting you from getting hurt. But really, all I was doing was being selfish. I was keeping you all to myself while bringing random girls home every couple of nights after having drinks, only to kick them out first thing in the morning when I woke up and had a nasty feeling in my chest,” he pauses, his tone turning from stern to soft as he takes a step towards you.

“I’m realizing that feeling was disgust. Disgust at myself for filling my time with girls that don’t matter, girls that I would never be satisfied with because they weren’t you. I think part of me knew from the second I saw this crazy woman at the end of the hall, trying to push a bookshelf that had to outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds, through the tiny ass door of her apartment. It was confirmed when you agreed to come to my apartment and ate pizza while goofing off with my teammates, instantly clicking with every single one of them. It settled a little deeper when you showed up at my door after I had gotten home from being on the road, demanding we watch Quinn’s hockey game because it was time for you to study hockey. It was made permanent when you showed up to your first Devils game, my name and number on your back, eyes lit up in awe like it was Christmas morning,” he continues, causing tears to sting your eyes as he reaches over to cup your face in his hands.

“I ignored it for all of this time, because I think, deep down, I was scared of losing you. I was scared that you were going to see me as this dumb, jock hockey player that lived down the hall from you and let me down easy. I was scared you’d see how absolutely out of my league you are. I was scared to be vulnerable and admit that I was in love with you, because I couldn’t bear to think that you didn’t love me back,” his face is mere inches from yours. “But I’m tired of ignoring it. Seeing you, laughing with Ben, all pressed up against him like that, thinking that I might have already lost you before I even had the chance to have you, made me realize that I had to try. I had to at least…try,” he finishes, resting his forehead against yours.

The tears are fully streaming down your face at this point, not caring that you’re likely ruining the mascara you spent over fifteen minutes perfecting earlier.

“Jack, you stupid man, just kiss me already,” you whisper out, your breath fanning across his lips.

He smiles, lifting your chin up to press your lips together, sighing happily into the kiss.

You match his smile, making the kiss silly and sloppy, but you don’t care. His lips feel like they were made to fit in-between yours, the softness of them far better than you had imagined.

Pulling back from the kiss, you bring your hands up to rest on his wrists, his hands still holding your face.

“You know, if you had let me speak, I would have saved you the speech and informed you that Ben wasn’t trying to make a move on me, because Ben is gay and has a boyfriend,” Jack pulls back from you, allowing you to see the shocked expression on his face. “We were bonding over the amount of times our parents have tried to set us up with people just like this before, and then he was telling me how in love with each other we were. I was telling him how I definitely was in love with you, but I didn’t believe you were in love with me,” you laugh at Jack, the situation comical now.

“I- he’s gay?” is all Jack responds with.

You throw your head back, laughing at him. “That’s what you took away from what I just said?”

“Sorry, I just, wasn’t expecting it, is all,” he says, moving his hands to your neck, pushing your head back up to look at him.

“Oh, so you were expecting my love confession, then?” you tease him.

“Well, duh, you did ask me to be your fake boyfriend tonight,” Jack moves his hand to pinch your cheek.

“So…are you still? Fake, that is?” you ask him, placing your arms on his shoulders, clasping your hands around the back of his neck.

Jack looks down at you, the expression on his face something entirely new to you, but it’s one you can surely get used to.

“Ehh, I don’t know…ask me again the next time you need a buffer,” he shrugs, smirking at you.

You tug on a piece of his hair, causing him to hiss out.

“Geez, I’m kidding. Of course I’m your real boyfriend now. I gave you a monologue, we’re basically engaged at this point,” he jerks his head a bit, making your hands fall from his hair.

You know it’s a joke, but your cheeks heat at the implication anyways, Jack noticing your lack of response.

“Relax, I was just kidding. That’s at least three more surprise blind date dinners with your parents before we to that. I’ll even pull out a ‘fake’ ring and everything,” he winks, putting air quotes around the word fake.

As Jack enjoys the sound of your laugh, he steals a glance over at the table where your parents sit, surprised at the pleased look on your mom’s face and earning a slight nod from your dad.

He looks back down at you, face scrunched in laughter, thinking about how this night was worth way more than $20.

[rootedinrevisions]

Kinktober 2024: Day 9

SUMMARY: Jake Seresin has been trying to take you home from The Hard Deck for a while. However, there's always been something holding you back. A secret that you can't stand the thought of revealing to him. But when he finally gets you to tell him your secret, his reaction is anything but what you expect. And he lets down the "Hangman" persona you've come to know and you see the softer side of Jake.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't know why but I just feel like Jake would be super soft and sweet with you if it was your first time. Sure he's experienced, but he's going to make sure that it's all about you and making you feel good.

PROMPT: "Do you want to take it off or should I do it for you?"

KINK: First Time

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT. (Simple P in V.)

WORD COUNT: 6.6k

TAG LIST: TAG LIST: @omgbrianabomgbrianab I @shanimallina87 I @fanficmom94 I @smoothdogsgirl I @djs8891 I @saucy-sassy-sparkly  I  @alipap3  I  @dudinhastuff  I  @lunatygerqueen  I  @hookslove1592  I  @glenpowellluver  I  @missmarveledsblog

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! (I currently have one for Glen Powell & His Characters, One for Bradley/Rooster now, and then a third for WWE/Wrestling. I also can create one for Bucky & other MCU characters if there's interest for more of those characters!)

The Hard Deck was quieter than usual, the lively chatter and music of the jukebox fading as the night went on. Most of the regulars had already left as it was ten minutes to closing time. Penny had just waved her goodbyes, her voice playful as she teased Jake, telling him not to give you any trouble. You smiled at her back as she disappeared out the door, then went back to cleaning up behind the bar.

Jake leaned against it, watching you with that familiar, teasing glint in his green eyes. You were used to the way his gaze followed you, but tonight it felt heavier somehow—more focused. Maybe because there weren’t any distractions or anyone else vying for his attention now that closing time was here.

"You never stop, do you?" His voice was low, amused, cutting through the quiet.

You rolled your eyes, wiping down the bar one last time, trying to ignore the way Jake’s eyes followed you. You looked up from wiping down the counter. 

"Someone's gotta clean up after you guys," you shot back with a smirk.

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, but you know I don’t think that’s the only reason you stay late."

You felt the familiar warmth bloom in your chest, the kind that always came when he said things like that. His charm was effortless, but you’d spent months brushing it off. Well, most of the time. Lately, you weren’t so good at it. Because despite the cocky persona, you were starting to see something more beneath it—something softer, more genuine. And that scared you.

Because even though you liked him—maybe more than you cared to admit—there was one thing you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to tell him.

You shot him a look, half playful, half warning, as you tossed the towel onto the counter. "I mean this is my job and I have to stay until closing no matter what. But…humor moe. What’s that supposed to mean?"

He leaned forward on his elbows, his grin widening. "Just that we both know you don’t mind me hanging around."

Your heart fluttered despite yourself, but you forced a smirk. "You always got a line ready, huh?"

"I don’t need lines with you, sweetheart. I think you know that."

You let out a breath and shook your head, feeling your heart race. "You should get going, Seresin. Penny might’ve been joking, but I’m not in the mood to deal with you tonight."

Jake smirked, but there was a gentleness in his gaze. "Or you could stop pushing me away, darlin'. It's been months, and I think we both know this little game of yours is starting to wear thin." His words were soft, but there was no mistaking the desire behind them.

Before you could respond, Jake walked around the bar. You felt your pulse quicken as he crossed the threshold, coming into your space—so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. He didn’t touch you right away, just stood there, eyes tracing your face as if memorizing every detail.

"Jake," you breathed, trying to keep your voice steady, but it came out softer than you intended.

He was standing so close now that you had to tilt your head back slightly to look up at him. His eyes, those piercing green eyes, locked onto yours, and you felt the tension building, thickening the air between you.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "Tell me to stop, and I will," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with desire.

You swallowed, heart racing, but you didn’t move away. Instead, you let the moment hang there, the pull between you undeniable. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you sucked in a breath, torn between wanting to push him away and pull him closer.

"I should—" you started, but the words faltered as he stepped closer, his body now inches from yours.

"You should what?" Jake whispered, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "Keep pushing me away? Or finally let me in?"

His hand slid down to your waist, his thumb grazing the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. It was such a small touch, but it sent heat flooding through you. You had been playing this game with him for months—keeping him at arm’s length, pretending his advances didn’t affect you. But here, now, in this quiet moment with the bar empty and the lights low, you could feel your resolve slipping.

Jake tilted your chin up, forcing you to look into his eyes. "Stop pretending you don’t feel this too."

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could find another excuse to push him away, you surged forward, closing the distance between you. Your lips met his in a heated, desperate kiss, months of tension spilling over all at once.

Jake wasted no time, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you flush against him. His lips were warm, demanding, and you matched his intensity, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed closer, wanting more, needing more. It was as if all the weeks of flirting and teasing had built up to this moment, and now that the dam had broken, neither of you could hold back.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Jake rested his forehead against yours, his voice rough. "Let me take you home tonight."

Your heart was racing as Jake’s words hung between you. Let me take you home tonight. His voice was thick with desire, and his forehead was still resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin.

But as the reality of what he was asking set in, a rush of nerves flooded through you. You pulled back slightly, creating space between your bodies. Jake immediately noticed the shift, his brows knitting together in confusion as you stepped away.

“Why do you keep pulling away from me?” he asked softly, his voice a mix of frustration and concern. 

His hand remained on your waist, though gentler now, as if he was afraid you’d slip away entirely.

You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing, but the words were stuck in your throat. 

He waited, watching you carefully, his expression softening as he searched your face for an answer.

“I don’t… I don’t do that,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake frowned, clearly misunderstanding. “What, a one-night stand?” His lips quirked into a small, almost disbelieving smile. “Darlin’, I’ve been chasing you for months. This isn’t just some one-time thing.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. He wasn’t playing around, and you knew it. But that wasn’t what this was about. You looked away, biting your lip as you tried to find the courage to say what had been weighing on you all this time.

He tilted your chin up gently, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Talk to me,” he urged, his voice low but patient. “What’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability of the moment making you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t expected. The tension between you had always been playful, teasing, but this… this was different. This was real. And the fear of disappointing him was almost overwhelming.

“Jake…” You hesitated, the words thick on your tongue. “I’ve never been with anyone. In that way.”

The weight of your confession hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, afraid of how he might react. But when you finally dared to glance up, you saw something unexpected in his eyes.

There was no judgment. No disappointment. Just understanding.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, grounding you as he took a step closer. “You mean you’re—?”

“A virgin,” you finished for him, your voice barely a whisper.

Jake exhaled softly, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed what you’d said. Then, to your surprise, he let out a small, almost incredulous laugh—though it wasn’t mocking. It was more like he couldn’t believe the situation. “You thought that’d make me walk away?”

“I just thought…” You trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. The truth was, you didn’t know what you had expected. Maybe that he’d see you as some kind of challenge, or that he’d decide it wasn’t worth it. “You’re… you. And I know you’ve been with… other people.”

Jake’s smile softened as he shook his head, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Yeah, I’ve been with other people. But none of them were you.”

His words made your heart skip a beat, and before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender, reassuring kiss. “You think I’ve been showing up at this bar every night just for fun? I’m not here for a fling. I’m here because I want you.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. It was so easy to get caught up in your own insecurities, to assume that someone like Jake wouldn’t want you once he knew the truth. But he was still here, still holding you close, as if none of that mattered.

“I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for,” Jake said softly, his hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours. “But if you’ll let me… I’ll talk you through it. We’ll take it slow.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache, and for the first time that night, the nervousness you’d been feeling started to ease. Jake wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pressuring you. He was offering you a choice.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “You’d do that?”

Jake’s smile widened, his green eyes softening. “Darlin’, I’d do anything for you.”

As you and Jake finished closing up the bar, the familiar clinking of glasses and the faint scent of spilled beer lingered in the air. You wiped down the last countertop while Jake stacked chairs, a comfortable silence enveloping the space. But the excitement and nerves bubbling inside you felt electric.

Once the last light was turned off and the door was locked, you stepped out into the cool night air, glancing over at Jake. He stood beside you, his hands shoved in his pockets, his casual demeanor making him seem effortlessly charming.

You turned to him, your stomach fluttering with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. “So… what happens now?” You felt a bit awkward asking, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

Jake’s smile was warm and genuine, lighting up his green eyes. “Well, we could go to my place or yours. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

His suggestion sent another thrill of excitement through you. “I think I’d feel better at your place,” you admitted, recalling the warmth and safety of the last time you were there. “My roommate is home.”

Jake nodded, a knowing look on his face. “That’s cool. I actually got a ride here, so if you don’t mind driving…?”

“Not at all,” you replied, leading the way to your car, your heart racing with the prospect of what the night might hold.

Once inside, you fished your phone out of your bag and shot a quick text to your roommate, letting her know you wouldn’t be home tonight. Just as you hit send, her response buzzed through, and you groaned at the barrage of messages that followed.

Your car’s Bluetooth connected automatically, and suddenly, your roommate’s messages began to read out loud in the car. 

“‘Where are you? Who are you with? Are you with the sexy blond pilot from Texas you’ve been talking about?’”

“Are you serious?” you muttered under your breath.

You rolled your eyes, your face flushing with embarrassment as Jake chuckled beside you. “So, am I the sexy blond pilot from Texas you’ve been talking about? Or is there someone else I should know about?”

“Yes, you are,” you admitted, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. You couldn’t tell if you were flustered or exhilarated, the thrill of the moment mingling with your nervousness.

Jake grinned, a teasing glint in his eye. “I like that title. It has a nice ring to it.”

As you pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, you couldn’t help but glance at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He was relaxed, leaning back against the seat, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Don’t worry. I promise not to embarrass you too much in front of your roommate when I meet her.”

You glance over for a second. The “when I meet her” is not being lost on you. He was so confident that this was something more than it seemed like it was. That there would be more times he went home with you. That there would be a point where you introduce him to your friends.

“It’s kind of cute how you get all flustered.”

“Cute?” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, though it was a little breathy. “Is that really the word you want to use right now?”

Jake shrugged, his smirk only growing wider. “What can I say? I’m a fan of cute.”

As you drove through the dimly lit streets, the tension in the car shifted to a more comfortable vibe. You found yourself stealing glances at him, his profile silhouetted against the glow of the dashboard lights, and every now and then, your eyes would meet.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his gaze steady on you, the question sincere.

“Just… this feels surreal,” you admitted, biting your lip. “I didn’t think I’d ever actually go home with someone, especially not someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” he echoed, pretending to be hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, charming, flirtatious, with a history of one-night stands,” you teased, though your heart raced as you said it.

“I’m more than just my reputation, you know.” Jake let out a chuckle, leaning closer as he turned his body toward you. “I promise I won’t be that guy tonight.”

You appreciated his earnestness, and it eased some of your nerves. “What guy are you going to be then?”

“The guy who’s crazy about you,” he said softly, the sincerity of his words hitting you like a warm wave.

You glanced away, your heart pounding, the weight of his confession sinking in. The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable silence, the city lights flashing by as you felt the promise of something more lingering in the air. The only time either of you spoke was when Jake would give you directions on where to turn to get to his off-base apartment.

As you approached his apartment complex, you parked the car and turned off the engine, the moment hanging between you. You took a deep breath, readying yourself for whatever came next.

Jake reached over and gently squeezed your hand, his touch sending warmth through you. “You okay?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze, the tension palpable. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low and inviting. “Let’s take it slow, alright?”

As you stepped into Jake's apartment, the familiar warmth and coziness wrapped around you like a hug. The low light from a few strategically placed lamps bathed the space in a golden glow, and the faint scent of cologne lingered in the air. It felt inviting, and for a moment, the nervous energy that had been building since you left The Hard Deck began to dissipate.

Jake closed the door behind you and gestured toward the couch. “Make yourself at home. Want something to drink?”

You glanced around, taking in the soft, comfortable furnishings and the scattered remnants of his life—a few books on the coffee table, a framed picture of him and his fellow pilots, and a small plant in the corner that added a splash of green. “Sure, um… what do you have?” you asked, a hint of nervousness creeping back into your voice.

“Beer, water, or I think I might have some whiskey,” he replied, flashing a playful smile. “I could also make us some fancy cocktails if you’re feeling adventurous.”

You chuckled softly. “I’ll stick with beer for now. I think my nerves could use something familiar.”

“Good choice,” he said, moving toward the small kitchen area, and you followed, taking a seat on the couch. The soft cushions cradled you, a welcome comfort. As he grabbed two cold beers from the fridge, you noticed the way his muscles flexed, the effortless grace with which he moved.

He returned, handing you a bottle and plopping down beside you. “So, what do you want to watch?” He reached for the remote, casually leaning back against the couch, his proximity both comforting and electrifying.

You took a sip of your beer, grateful for the momentary distraction. “I’m not picky. What do you usually watch?”

He chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m a sucker for anything with explosions, but I guess I could put on something less intense for you.”

“Maybe something funny?” you suggested, smiling. “I could use a good laugh right now.”

“Alright, let’s see what we can find,” he replied, scrolling through the options before settling on a comedy special. The familiar sound of laughter filled the room, and as you settled back, you felt the tension begin to ease away.

As the comedy special played on, you found yourself laughing at the jokes, the atmosphere gradually shifting from tense to relaxed. You both exchanged playful banter, the conversation flowing easily between you as you started to feel more at ease.

Jake made a few jokes that had you in stitches, and it felt refreshing to be with someone who made you laugh so easily. The sound of his laughter was infectious, and soon you were both caught up in a lighthearted exchange.

At one point, he leaned closer, his body angled toward yours, and you caught the warmth of his gaze. “You know, I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past few months,” he said, his voice softening, sincerity spilling over the humor. “You’re not like other girls I’ve met.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “You’re real. You don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. I like that.”

A small blush crept across your cheeks at his compliment. “Thanks, I guess,” you replied, feeling the warmth of his gaze on you.

The air between you crackled with an undeniable tension, a magnetic pull that drew you closer to Jake. He maintained a patient silence, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for a cue. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

After a moment, you gathered your courage, leaning in just slightly, your breath hitching as you closed the distance. Jake's gaze softened, his lips parting slightly in anticipation.

When your lips finally met, it felt electric. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration, but as you melted against him, the softness deepened into something more passionate. Jake’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as he responded to your kiss with a fervor that sent shivers down your spine.

You lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, the world outside fading into oblivion. The kiss was everything you had imagined—sweet, thrilling, and filled with an unspoken promise.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you found Jake watching you with a mix of admiration and desire in his eyes. 

“Wow,” he murmured, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I didn’t think you could get any cuter.”

You couldn’t help but blush at his compliment, but the warmth of his body against yours was urging you to take things further. “Maybe we should… do something else,” you suggested your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake’s smile widened, and without hesitation, he stood, offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said, leading you toward his bedroom.

The moment you stepped inside, you felt a rush of anticipation. The room was dimly lit, with a warm glow emanating from a bedside lamp. It felt safe and intimate, the perfect setting for what was about to unfold.

Jake turned to you, his expression serious yet inviting. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he were afraid to push you too far too fast.

You nodded, feeling more confident now that you were here with him. “I am,” you replied, your heart racing with excitement. “I want to be with you.”

He closed the space between you, cupping your face in his hands. “Then let’s take it slow, okay?”

You smiled at him, grateful for his understanding. He leaned in, capturing your lips again in a heated kiss. His hands roamed your back, sending sparks of electricity through your skin, as you melted into him. You could feel the intensity of his desire mirrored in your own, and it filled you with a sense of exhilaration.

With a gentle nudge, Jake led you to the bed, sitting you down as he knelt in front of you. He took a moment to look up at you, his green eyes filled with warmth and something deeper—something that made your heart race.

“Are you really okay with this?” he asked again, his voice a soothing balm to your nerves.

You reached for him, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “I am,” you assured him, your heart swelling with affection. “Just… be gentle with me.”

“Always,” he promised, leaning in to kiss you softly, a world of emotion wrapped up in that one gesture.

As the kiss deepened, you felt the heat of his body pressing against yours, and the weight of your nervousness slowly began to lift. Jake’s hands moved to your waist, guiding you as he joined you on the bed, settling beside you with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and inviting.

A wave of heat washed over you at his words. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied shyly, the chemistry between you undeniable.

As the kiss deepened, a surge of confidence coursed through you. With a newfound boldness, your hands slid down Jake's chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and it fueled your desire. As you pushed his shirt up, Jake paused, letting you take the lead for just a moment longer.

With a playful smile, he pulled away just enough to shed the shirt completely, revealing his toned torso. Your breath hitched at the sight, and his green eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and admiration.

His hands moved to your shirt next, fingers gently grazing your skin as he looked into your eyes, searching for your consent. “Do you want to take it off, or should I do it for you?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You felt a flutter of excitement in your stomach, a thrill at being so vulnerable yet completely safe with him. “You can do it,” you replied, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart.

With a smile that sent warmth pooling in your chest, Jake carefully lifted your shirt, baring your skin inch by inch. His touch was gentle, and you reveled in the sensation of being exposed to him. Once your shirt was off, he leaned down, kissing a trail down your neck, shoulders, and collarbones, sending shivers through you.

The warmth of his breath against your skin sent waves of anticipation through you. With a deep breath, you caught him off guard by whispering, “I want more.”

Without missing a beat, Jake’s lips found yours again, igniting a fire that burned brighter than before. His hands moved with purpose, exploring your body as he trailed kisses down your chest, pausing to pay attention to every sensitive spot. The way he worshipped your skin made you feel cherished and desired all at once.

With each kiss, your confidence grew, and the nervousness that once lingered began to fade into exhilaration. You melted into him, losing yourself in the sensation of his warmth against you.

Jake’s kisses ignited every nerve ending in your body, and you responded instinctively, arching into him as he continued his exploration. His hands moved expertly, caressing your skin and pulling you closer, as if trying to fuse your bodies into one.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured against your collarbone, and the way he looked at you, with such intensity and reverence, made you feel like the only person in the world.

Feeling emboldened, you reached out, your fingers grazing his jawline before tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as you captured his lips once more. The kiss was fervent, passionate, and filled with the promise of everything that was yet to come.

With a playful glint in his eye, Jake pulled back just slightly, his breath hot against your lips. “Just so you know,” he said, a teasing smirk on his face, “this is definitely not a one-time thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling lighter, more alive than ever. “I’m glad,” you replied, your heart swelling with anticipation for what the night had in store.

As the kiss deepened, you felt the heat between you both intensifying. Jake's hands moved with a mix of urgency and tenderness as he helped you slide out of the rest of your clothes. Each piece of fabric that fell away felt like a barrier dissolving, but as you lay fully exposed before him, a wave of shyness washed over you. The vulnerability was overwhelming, and your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Jake noticed the change in your demeanor, the way your confidence seemed to flicker just for a moment. With a gentle smile, he leaned over to grab a blanket from the edge of the bed, pulling it up over both of you, as if to cocoon you in warmth and comfort. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his eyes filled with reassurance, “you’re stunning. Just take a deep breath.”

You glanced at him, his presence grounding you even as you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. His gaze was warm, filled with a mix of desire and admiration, and it helped ease some of your nerves. But there was still the matter of the not-so-fun conversation to be had.

“Okay, we should talk about… you know,” Jake said, his voice a little more serious as he leaned back slightly, creating a little space. “Protection.”

You nodded, feeling your heart race in a different way now. “I’m on the pill,” you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady. “But I’d prefer it if you wore a condom too.”

Jake’s expression shifted to one of understanding. “Absolutely,” he said, a hint of relief in his tone. “Better safe than sorry.” He leaned over to his nightstand, opening the drawer and retrieving a condom.

You watched as he slid it on with practiced ease, the action both intimate and reassuring. It reminded you that despite the heat of the moment, he was still focused on your comfort and safety.

Once he was ready, he turned back to you, the blanket still wrapped around your bodies. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and sincere.

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease, the warmth of the blanket and his presence enveloping you. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… a little nervous.”

He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s completely normal. We can take this as slow as you need.”

With that, the nervous tension began to ebb away, replaced by the gentle caress of anticipation. Jake shifted closer, his body warm against yours beneath the blanket. You could feel his heart beating in rhythm with yours, a comforting reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll follow your lead,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any signs of hesitation.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded again, feeling the warmth of his gaze on you. “I want you,” you whispered, your voice steady now.

A grin broke out on Jake’s face, his eyes sparkling with delight. “Then let’s make this a night to remember,” he replied, his tone a mix of excitement and reverence.

With that, he closed the space between you, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one slow and deliberate. The world outside faded away, and in that moment, it was just you and Jake, ready to explore the depth of your connection together.

As Jake positioned himself at your entrance, a rush of anticipation coursed through you. He paused, looking deeply into your eyes, searching for any signs of uncertainty. With a gentle nod from you, he began to slide himself inside you, inch by inch.

The initial sensation was unfamiliar, but it wasn’t painful; instead, it felt like a warm, fulfilling stretch, unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Your breath hitched as he moved slowly, allowing you to adjust to this new intimacy. Jake’s lips found your neck, planting soft kisses along your collarbone, whispering sweet nothings that made your heart race even faster.

“Just breathe, okay? I’ve got you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with awe.

You nodded, feeling his warmth envelop you, both physically and emotionally. With each gentle thrust, he slid deeper, filling you completely. The rhythm he established was deliberate, slow, and tender, letting you savor every sensation.

“Tell me how it feels,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with you, his green gaze intense and sincere.

“It feels… good,” you breathed out, the words escaping before you could second-guess yourself. 

A smile spread across his face, his confidence mingling with genuine affection. “That’s all I want. Just want to make you feel good. You just tell me if you want me to go faster or if you want me to slow down.”

You shook your head, feeling more confident with every soft thrust. “No, just… keep going.”

Encouraged by your words, Jake adjusted his position slightly, finding a deeper angle. The pleasure built steadily, warmth pooling in your core as he moved. Each gentle thrust sent waves of sensation coursing through you, the connection between your bodies deepening with every moment.

He continued to whisper to you, his voice a mix of reassurance and desire. “You’re doing amazing. Just like that. You’re perfect.”

Jake’s kisses traveled back to your lips, capturing your mouth again in a heated kiss that ignited the spark between you even further. He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, as if he wanted to envelop you completely.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer as you felt yourself responding to his rhythm, instinctively moving with him. The sensation of his skin against yours ignited every nerve ending, making you gasp softly between kisses.

“You’re incredible,” Jake murmured, his voice husky and filled with admiration.

His words sent a thrill down your spine. You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the sensations he was creating, the warmth radiating from where you were joined. You focused on your breathing, allowing each inhale and exhale to synchronize with his movements, feeling the heat pooling in your core grow more intense.

“Jake,” you whispered, the name barely escaping your lips. You felt more vulnerable than ever, yet there was a thrill in that vulnerability, a trust in the way he held you, as if he were cherishing you.

With a gentle movement, he shifted his angle, and suddenly a wave of pleasure surged through you, almost overwhelming in its intensity. You gasped, feeling the unfamiliar sensation build higher and higher within you.

“Did you like that?” he teased, his breath warm against your neck. He began to pick up his pace, the urgency in his movements matching the rising tide of pleasure. 

You could only nod, too lost in the moment to find the words.

“Good,” he breathed, his lips trailing down to your collarbone. “I want you to feel everything, to let it all in.”

As he continued to move inside you, you felt a sense of liberation wash over you. Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pulled him closer, silently urging him to keep going.

“You can let go, baby. Just enjoy it,” he encouraged his voice a steady anchor amidst the rising waves of pleasure.

And let go you did. You surrendered to the sensations, allowing each thrust to send you higher and higher, the world outside becoming a blur as you focused solely on the feeling of him inside you, filling you, moving with you.

Your breaths came in shorter gasps, and you felt an unfamiliar tightening deep within you, the unmistakable sign of your impending climax. 

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pleasure, but Jake seemed to sense your body’s reactions.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispered, his eyes searching yours for permission. “I want to see you let go.”

With a final, desperate thrust, that wave crashed over you, enveloping you in ecstasy. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room as the world exploded in colors behind your closed eyelids.

Jake followed you, his movements becoming more erratic as he found his release, his body tensing above you, his eyes locked onto yours. In that shared moment of bliss, everything fell away—the doubts, the worries, and the fears—all that existed was the two of you, intertwined in a dance of passion and vulnerability.

As you both rode the waves of pleasure down, Jake collapsed beside you, pulling you close, his heart racing in time with yours. You nestled into him, feeling the warmth radiating from his body.

“Wow,” he finally breathed, his voice still thick with disbelief. “That was… incredible.”

You chuckled softly, still catching your breath. “Yeah, it was.”

Jake stroked your hair gently, his fingers weaving through the strands. “You okay?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious.

You nodded, looking up to meet his gaze. “Yeah, I am. More than okay, actually.”

A smile spread across his face, a mixture of relief and delight. “Good. Because that was just the beginning.”

After disposing of the condom, Jake crawled back into bed, the sheets cool against his skin. He noticed you instinctively covering yourself with the blanket, a hint of shyness creeping in after the intense connection you had just shared.

With a soft chuckle, he quickly rummaged through his dresser, retrieving a clean T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. 

“Hey,” he called out gently, “you might want to get comfy.” He tossed the clothes toward you, a playful grin on his face.

You caught the shirt and pants, a smile tugging at your lips as you slipped into the bathroom. After changing, you took a moment to compose yourself. The lingering sensations from earlier sent butterflies swirling in your stomach, and you took a deep breath to steady your nerves. You glanced at your reflection, a mix of exhilaration and disbelief washing over you.

When you finally stepped out, you found Jake lying in bed, now wearing a pair of sweatpants and leaning back against the headboard, his phone in hand. 

His eyes lit up the moment he saw you. “There you are,” he said, grinning. “Looking good.”

You felt the warmth spread across your cheeks at his compliment. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice soft as you moved to the edge of the bed, feeling the softness of the sheets beneath your fingers.

There was a confidence radiating off him like a warm glow. “How are you feeling?” he asked genuine concern in his gaze.

“Still processing, I think,” you admitted, shifting slightly as you sat on the edge of the bed, the blanket pooling around your legs. “But… I’m really happy.”

He smiled at that, his expression softening. “Good. You should be. That was amazing.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to break free. “It was,” you agreed, glancing down at your hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but…”

“But?” he prompted, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity piqued.

“But it was better than I ever imagined,” you finished, feeling a rush of honesty.

Jake’s smile widened, and he scooted closer to you, his knee brushing against yours. “I’m glad to hear that. You deserve to feel that way, you know?” He paused, his voice turning serious. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of warmth spread through you at his words. “I know. I trust you,” you said softly, searching his gaze for any sign of doubt. But all you found was sincerity.

“Good,” he replied, his tone lightening again. “So, what do you want to do now? We could order food, watch something ridiculous on TV, or just talk. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the options. “Food sounds good,” you said, feeling your stomach rumble in agreement.

“Alright,” he said, leaning back against the headboard with a playful smirk. “I’ll let you pick. Just know, if you choose pineapple on pizza, I might have to reevaluate our relationship.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “No pineapple, I promise.”

“Whew,” he said dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if he had been spared from a terrible fate. “That’s a relief.”

As you reached for your phone to look up menus, you felt the tension from earlier dissolve into the comfortable atmosphere around you. You couldn’t shake the feeling of warmth and safety that wrapped around you like a cozy blanket.

You exchanged jokes and light-hearted banter, the air filled with laughter. It felt easy, the way it always had, but now there was an added layer of intimacy that made your heart race every time his hand brushed against yours.

“Alright, I think I found a place,” you said, finally breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you. “How about tacos? They have really good ones.”

Jake nodded, looking pleased. “Tacos it is. But you have to promise me we’ll get dessert afterward.”

“Deal,” you agreed, your stomach fluttering again, both from the food and the closeness of him beside you.

After placing the order, you settled back into the bed, leaning against Jake as he grabbed the remote. With a few clicks, the TV flickered to life, a mindless comedy playing in the background as you both relaxed.

Every so often, he would glance at you, a soft smile on his face as he made jokes about the show. You could feel the chemistry between you, the tension of the night slowly morphing into something warm and comforting, as if you were both basking in the aftermath of what had just unfolded.

[mimikittysblog]

♡18:53♡

Pairing: Poly! Ateez x Fem! Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive towards the end

Warnings: MxM, pet names, uh reader teases them at the end so ⚠️MNDI⚠️, this one I did not proofread. That’s it I think :/

A/N: Surpriiiseee! I really made this on a whim. The inspiration came out of nowhere and I just had to write it. This is much shorter than the previous one but I do hope you guys like this too hehe! Also this is VERY MUCH a self insert lol 😭 and lastly I know jackshit about league so if I get anything wrong sorry 🙏

Tagging: @faeprincess777 @starygw3n @bee-gremlin @pinkpearlstar @sweetinsaniiity (if you wanna be tagged in my next poly ateez story, texts or not then please let me know!)

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Being the only girl in this big relationship had its downsides and its perks. One of the downsides is that sometimes there are just things that the boys like that unfortunately you’re just not interested in.

One of them being gaming.

Quite cliche but it’s true.

Now it’s not like you never play any video games with the boys. You’ve guys play some Among Us, Gmod, Dead by Daylight and countless Nintendo games like Smash Bros, Mario Party and Mario Kart just to name some.

Though you don’t play Mario Party that often as you and Wooyoung always end up strangling each other by the end of it, and not the good kind.

Besides that, the list of games you and your amazing boyfriends play doesn’t even end there.

However there will be some games you just don’t care for.

One of them being League of Legends.

Just couldn’t get into it, so you just let that be their thing.

Tonight after a long week of work. The boys thought it’d be fun to treat themselves by renting a room at a nice nearby PC Bang.

Now most times you’d sit this one out and just have some alone time at home. However to their surprise you decided to join.

“I just wanna be around you guys! Your presence is enough. Plus watching you guys play is still fun, even if I don’t join!” You reasoned.

“Hmmm alright.. though if you want our attention or wanna do something else just say so!” Seonghwa said.

“Or just sit in one of our laps princess.” Mingi said teasingly.

Now usually when they are having nights like this, after a while you would eventually take up on Mingi’s offer and sit in one of their laps.

However you decided to entertain yourself another way.

After seeing some girlfriends on TikTok do this with their boyfriends while they’re gaming or watching a sports game. You decided to follow in their footsteps.

So here you are sitting in one of the comfy gaming chairs near Yeosang and Mingi, ipad on your lap with the notes app opened with a grid filled with prompts and the words “BINGO” at the top.

Yes! You decided to play Boyfriend Bingo tonight!

Throughout the night you’ve been crossing off things whenever the boys did something you predicted.

Oh! Yunho’s team won! Thats a check.

“…Guys seriously do you even know how to play?! Come on get it together! San cover me! Oh what seriously??? Guys I’m dying here!…”

Wooyoung yapping for a straight minute. Check.

“…….Yes!”

Yeosang staying silent until the end of the round. Another check.

Huh I’m good at this.

“Sweetheart you sure you’re not bored??”

“I’m sure Hwa.” You say with a suspiciously big smile.

“..okay..”

Seonghwa checking up on me. And a check!

Though somethings you had to wait a bit longer for. But you were sure you’d get them eventually. Hopefully you’d get at least 3 bingos by the end of the night.

However looking at your grid and how you have 2 bingos already, you’re positive you can cross out this entire grid.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

After a good hour you finally got Jongho becoming whiney.

Adorable. And also a check!

“Ah! …Woah!! ..Boom!!!! …Ugh!”

San only making noises for the first 5 minutes. Cheeeeck!

Oh and San suddenly grabbing someone else’s thigh? Jealous. But check!

Hmm I need to fill out this box. You thought to yourself.

“Joooongiieee? When is the food coming?” You suddenly asked.

“Huh?? Oh uh.. any minute now baby!” He replied.

“Oh darling you’re hungry?” Yeosang asked.

“Mhm! Its okay I can wait a bit- oh here it is!” You said about to get up and get the food from the worker.

“No no I got it!!” Hongjoong said as he quickly left his desk.

“WAIT NO HYUNG WE NEED YOU!” Jongho yelled.

“Just a sec!”

Subtly you checked the Hongjoong getting up in the middle of the round box. Before taking your food from him.

“Thank you my love!” You said as you kissed his cheek.

“Of course princess. You sure you’re not bored?” He asked.

“Noooope!”

“Okay the-“

“HYUNG HURRY UP WE’RE LOSING!!”

“The more you yell Jung Wooyoung the more I rather sit here with princess!” He said before going back to his seat.

Ah damn I should’ve put in ‘Wooyoung yelling when he’s losing.’ Oh wait I did! Checkity check check.

You happily continue playing as you eat your yummy food.

Also since you’re a good girlfriend, you go around giving the boys a taste of your food. Just cause you know they’re curious.

Still accepting my food while playing. Check!

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

Finally they decided to play one more round and you only need one more box!!

You’re confident you’re gonna get it though. Cause you know them that well.

And soon enough half of the room at the end of the match screams out in victory while the other half whines and groans in loss.

Aaaaannndd…

“Aaaww Mingles is all pouty cause he lost!” Yunho said in fake sympathy.

“Hmph.”

“Come here Mingi is okay! You’ll win next time! MMMMUAAHH!”

“BINGO!!”

Suddenly they all whip their heads to look at you.

“Bingo?” Jongho asked with a tilt of his head.

“You’ve just been playing Bingo this whole time???” San asked as well.

“Yup! Boyfriend bingo!” You said with a big smile and flipped your ipad around.

“Boyfriend bingo?” Seonghwa asked.

Yeosang then took the ipad.

“HAHA Wooyoung yapping for a straight minute!”

“WHAT?! I DID NOT?”

“I timed it.”

Wooyoung then snatched the ipad.

“Hongjoong constantly going ‘Huh?’! HAHA BABE OMG” Wooyoung then the other started laughing the more they read out your grid.

“DID I REALLY??”

“Yes love you did.” Seonghwa said with a laugh.

“Oh my, you know us scarily well love.” Yunho said.

“I’m your girlfriend!!! I’m supposed to!”

“You really are the cutest thing we could’ve ever asked for!” Yeosang said as he walked over and gave you a kiss.

“What was the last thing you crossed off baby?” Mingi asked.

“Oh! It was you getting a kiss after you lost!”

“YOU KNEW I’D LOSE??? Hmph!! Wooyoung you shouldn’t have kissed me! She would’ve lost!” He whined with a bigger pout.

“…well.. i mean.. statistically speaking you couldn’t ALWAYS win…”

Mingi then turned around in another huff.

“Princessaaaaa!!! I’m sorryyy!! Heheheh” you said as you got up, ran to him and hugged him from behind.

“Will a kiss make it better?” You asked.

“..maybe.”

“He just wants kisses!” Jongho yelled.

“EVERYONE GIVE MINGLES KISSESSS!” Wooyoung then yelled.

With that everyone quickly gathered around Mingi to give him a fat smooch. As he pretended to groan in protest.

And with that you guys all cleaned up and headed home.

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

“We should all play girlfriend Bingo next time!” San said as you guys made it back home.

“Ohohooo you think you can beat me? Think you know me so well Sannie??” You said teasingly.

“Oh princess we do know you so well.” Yunho chirped in.

“We’re your boyfriends! We’re supposed to!” Yeosang said mirroring your words.

“Hmmmm! Okay then! Go and each of you make your own grid! Whoever this week can get a full grid like me will get a prize!” you announced as you skipped to the bathroom to freshen up.

“A prize you say?” Hongjoong asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Hmmm whoever wins gets to see me in my newest lingerie first~”

With that you took off your shirt and bra and threw it at them as you lock the bathroom door.

Groans, whines and banging at the bathroom door can be heard as you simply turned up your music.

Let’s see who knows me best!

.✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ✧.

© mimikittysblog 2024

[always-just-red]

I NEED some angst+comfort with Zayne PLEASE. It could be anything, the reader being run over in front of him, him being stressed about work and being mean to the reader... Literally anything

This was my first request, so thank you so much! I started this last night with a cup of tea and an "I'm sure I can manage some angst for Zayne, why not?" sort of attitude, and it culminated with me evil laughing to myself at 3am. Enjoy I guess? 😭

Reserved

Zayne x Reader ❄

Summary: You've been looking forward to this dinner with Zayne for a week, but it seems he has other priorities.

Genre: angst, SO MUCH angst (but sshhhh... we save it with some comfort... 👀)

Warnings/Additional tags: established relationship, fluff, uses of y/n, reader is feeling neglected, Zayne gets a tiny bit mean

| Word count: 1.2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Zayne… c’mon. Let’s go.”

You feel like a child, whining for what feels like the hundredth time in the last half hour, but you’ve little else left to do. You’re perched on Zayne’s desk, having long ago lost respect for the sanctity of his workspace, and you pout as you stare down at the phone in your palm. The screen is lit up by a reminder you’d set a week ago: Reservation. The Cerulean. 8 o’clock.

It’s 8:25, and you’ve snoozed it five times already— each time more pointedly than the last.

“Just a minute,” Zayne mumbles.

“You said that an hour ago!”

The man hums in acknowledgment, but he doesn’t look up from his computer. His face is bathed in the ghoulish light of the screen, his glasses shining as he dips his head— just a fraction— to glance at the paperwork spread before him. You give him his minute: let second after second tick by, though you mark each one with an idle tap on the desk’s cold surface.

A murmur: “Stop that, please.” His patience is thinning too.

You’re feeling petty, because you’ve been listening to the patter of his keyboard forever and it’s driving you insane. You purse your lips and tap louder. One second. Tap. Two seconds. Tap. Three. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Stop it.” Zayne’s hand catches yours, his grip soft, but his face stern.

And he still won’t look at you.

He releases your hand, and his dutiful fingers are back to their post, pattering away. With a huff, you come away from his desk, stalking past him to the window, where you fold your arms and study the barren street below. The view is obscured by the dark and the drops of rain that carve hazy trails down the glass. You can just about make out a couple, emerging from the hospital’s entrance. No uniforms. A patient and their other half, and they’re leaning on each-other— no— pushing each-other, competing for the cover of an umbrella that’s much too small. They’re laughing, you think.

Your chest aches.

“Zayne,” you press.

His chair rolls back, wheels harsh on the floor, and he’s standing, logging out of his computer with a final, few clacks. “I’m done,” he snaps, but his tone says otherwise. He tugs his coat from the back of his chair. “We can go.”

…

You sit on the edge of the wet pavement, rain seeping from your hair and soaking the fabric of your clothes. You should be cold, but you’re not. You’re nothing. Your eyes are cast downwards and all you see is grey, though it’s illuminated by an orange glow.

Behind you, light bleeds through the windows of a busy restaurant. Zayne is still in there, playing diplomat. Playing doctor: always trying to fix things.

Your phone buzzes, and you slip it from its home in your coat pocket. There’s a message: having fun? Then another: ur welcome, miss bodyguard.

Rafayel. He knows a guy who knows the guy who owns this place, so you’d called in a favour. You and Zayne had been drowning in work for a week: him, overwhelmed by new patients at the hospital, and you, out hunting the wanderers that had put them there. Linkon is getting worse. Everything is getting worse, and you just wanted one, single night for yourself.

Well, not just yourself.

The monotonous drum of the rain breaks to the creak of an opening door, but you don’t react. “Y/N?” Zayne sounds far away. “Where did you— Y/N!?”

Footsteps echo on the pavement behind you, splitting puddles, and the orange light is gone. You’re trapped by a shadow that’s talking, speaking your name, but you pretend you can’t hear it. Let him say it a hundred times. A thousand; you can wait.

“Just a minute,” you lilt, your voice dripping spite.

You’re going to sit here for an hour.

“Y/N…” The doctor is oh so patient. “Please get up. You’ll catch a cold if you—”

“Good!” you spit, rounding on him. “Then why don’t I check myself into the hospital? Maybe then you’ll actually think about me once in a while!”

Zayne is towering over you: a small, wet, pathetic little thing, but you still make him draw back. His virescent eyes are wide, his lips parted ever so slightly. He almost always knows what to say, but this is an exception.

After a long moment, he moves around you. Slowly, he lowers himself to sit at your side.

“Do you have any idea,” you start, staring out across the slick road, “how selfish you make me feel? How much I hate myself when I… when I ask you to…”

The confession catches in your throat. It hurts, but you force it out anyway:

“What you do is so important, Zayne. You’re saving lives. You’re giving people back to their families, their loved ones, and you’re amazing for that. I think you’re amazing for that. But I miss you. It feels like I have to share you with the rest of the world, and I know I have no right to ask it, but sometimes? Sometimes I just… want you to be mine.”

You’re looking down, now. Hugging your knees— burying your face, so he won’t see you cry. There’s rain and salt in your mouth, and you wish he would say something. Anything. 

You have to wait a few seconds, but then you feel it: something heavy being draped over your shoulders. His coat. Then his arm is around you, drawing you close, closer, until you’re nestled against his chest.

“You have every right to ask,” he soothes, his tone so warm when it’s compensating for the rest of him. “I am yours, Y/N. I will always be yours.”

“But your work—”

“Can wait,” he finishes for you. “I know I forget that sometimes. And I’m sorry. But you?”

He lifts your chin, gazing down at you with something you can only describe as adoration.

“There is nothing in this world more important to me than you.”

Your heart flutters at the words and the feathery touch of his thumb on your cheek, wiping away a tear. It’s futile in a downpour, but it still makes you smile. Rain is spattering on your forehead, some dripping from his now-soaked hair, and you laugh as he tries to dry your face with his sleeve.

“You’re important to me, too,” you manage between chuckles, “and I’m sorry, too.” Your cheeks are flushed, even in the cold. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“No.” A statement: not up for debate. Zayne untangles your limbs from his as he helps you stand. “We have a reservation.”

“We had a reservation. They gave away our table, Zayne.”

“Did they?”

There’s a hint of smugness. “Wait… what did you—”

He nods at the restaurant, and you follow his glistening gaze to where a waiter is holding the door— a menu clutched above his head, shielding him from the rain. He’s looking back at you. Waiting.

“Rafayel isn’t the only one with friends in high places,” Zayne smiles, leaning down to speak into your ear, and it makes you shiver. “The head chef is a friend of mine. I saved his brother’s life, you know.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 4: Foxes and Sailfish]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), awkward interactions on a boat, making friends in the Vale, references to war-related violence, Aemond flashbacks haunt the narrative, Red and Jace share an exciting new experience!

Word count: 5.8k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

The fireplace crackles, there’s smoke in the air. The shards of seashells take shape on the board as you affix them with paste made of boiled bones, unloved bodies you’ve scavenged: rabbits, foxes, deer, weasels, squirrels, snakes, turtles, birds. Sometimes Criston will find you searching for carcasses in the garden or the Godswood—a basket full of skulls and ribs, hands covered with dirt—and beg you to go back to Maegor’s Holdfast where you belong. He says: Please, princess, let me do that for you. I’ll bring you all the bones you need. This is too grisly a task for young ladies. And then, when you try to refuse him: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. And so you accept his offer and surrender your basket, knowing that being the daughter Mother wishes you were will always require pretending.

Aemond is in bed, freshly rid of his left eye and floating in a silent, pearlescent lake of milk of the poppy. He is unconscious for now, but he can only have a dose every six hours, and when it begins to wear off he becomes feverish and fearful. You can’t leave him. Aemond is a year older than you, always just a little bit wiser, always quicker and steadier on his feet; you have never known a world without him in it. But now he is the one who needs you. This is a strange feeling.

Mother, Criston, Helaena, and Maester Orwyle are always gliding in and out of the room—whispering, grim-faced ghosts—but at the moment you are alone with Aemond. A shadow appears in the doorway. It’s Aegon, and his face is marred too: there’s a bruise on his cheekbone from where someone hit him, Grandsire or Mother. He is slumped against the doorframe with a goblet of wine in his hand. He takes a slurp and uses his cup to gesture to where Aemond is sleeping. It’s a question.

“He’s alright, Aegon,” you say. “He’s resting. He’s healing.”

He licks his lips and skims his fingerprint around the rim of the goblet, pensive. “I wasn’t there.”

“None of us were.”

“Does he blame me for what happened?”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“But you would know if he felt it.”

Would I? Sometimes you don’t believe you know Aemond as well as they imagine you do. There have always been things he doesn’t tell you. You didn’t know he was planning to claim Vhagar. He is unpredictable, he is a deep reservoir of secrets; he taunts you, he guards you, he ignores you, he comes rushing back. You say to Aegon: “I don’t think he blames you.”

Aegon exhales, drunken exhausted relief. “Good.”

Beneath blankets that Helaena has embroidered with legends from the Age of Heroes, Aemond stirs. His remaining eye—glazed, drugged, an empty anemic blue—flutters opens and drifts to you. “Now we know why you don’t have a dragon,” he says, weak and raspy. “The price has gone up. They cost an eye each.”

You paint a sliver of a cerulean-colored shell with glue. “I’d pay that if I knew it would work.”

Aemond asks, as if it has been weighing on him: “Do I horrify you?”

You smile softly. “No more than you did before.”

From where he still loiters in the doorway nursing his wine, Aegon snickers. Aemond grins, then winces from the pain it causes him. “What are you making?”

“It’s Symeon Star-Eyes,” you say, tilting up the mosaic so he can see it better. “You read us that story, remember? He was a knight who used a staff with blades at both ends to cut down his enemies. He was blinded in combat, so he replaced his eyes with sapphires.”

“Sapphires,” Aemond mumbles drowsily.

“Yes.”

“Blue.”

“Like you,” you say, thinking of his game piece: the blue wolf, a mournful color, a beast that kills.

“Hm,” he murmurs to himself as he sinks back into sleep; and it’s not until Aemond’s wound has healed that you learn of the idea you’ve given him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Vermax is not an especially imposing dragon, a drab sort of green and smaller than Sunfyre, but he is frightening enough when he bares his teeth. He snarls and snaps at you, unloosed fire roiling up in his throat. You stand perhaps ten paces away from him, flinching away from the heat that refracts the air and puts ripples in it like disturbed water. Jace is attempting to soothe Vermax, a palm pressed to the beast’s scales. Rhaenyra and Daemon are watching, confounded.

“Mother wasn’t exaggerating,” you tell them. You are crestfallen; this is a humiliation. You have silver hair and undisputed parentage, and yet Jace is the one whose egg hatched. So who is the true Targaryen?

“Very, very peculiar,” Daemon muses, scratching his chin. He turns to Rhaenyra. “Make her get closer, let’s see what happens.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra says impatiently. In the light of day, you can observe her face more clearly. There are dark semicircles under her eyes, and lines that didn’t exist before Luke was killed. She is ten years closer to the grave than she was the night her father died.

You cannot see the riots from where you’re standing in the castle courtyard, but you can hear them, the ambient rumbling of people rejecting Rhaenyra’s rule. They decry the slaughter of Jaehaerys. They shout demands of proof that the imprisoned Greens are alive and well: Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor, you. Fear of Rhaenyra’s soldiers and her dragons may delay their wrath, but you don’t believe she can quell it. High overhead, Sheepstealer sails past the Red Keep, casting a massive shadow. Rhaenyra’s frown deepens. Daemon pretends not to notice.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra sighs, summoning Jace to return to her and abandon his attempts to quiet Vermax. Dutifully—though perhaps not without resentment—he acquiesces. Vermax is still growling at you. You glower back, wishing that Vhagar was here to eat him. “There are other ways to get to Heart’s Home. A ship will take longer, ten days or two weeks depending on the wind. The journey should be safe. The Sea Snake’s blockade controls Blackwater Bay, and the Greens have no navy.” Rhaenyra looks to you. “That’s still correct, isn’t it? The usurper was refused by the Greyjoys?”

“I don’t know,” you lie.

She gives you a disapproving glare and then turns her attention back to Jace. “Alyn of Hull can take you to the Vale in his ship. I’m sure Corlys can manage without him for a matter as important as this. I’ve sent a raven ahead to the Corbrays. They’ll be expecting you, and you’ll be married upon your arrival, with Lord and Lady Corbray serving as witnesses. You have until then to get accustomed to each other.”

Jace begins to mutter a protest, low enough that you can’t hear. Rhaenyra shushes him. Vermax takes flight and soars out towards the ocean. You step closer to the castle wall and listen to the clamor of the crowds, willing them to rise up and free your family, to destroy Rhaenyra’s. Daemon stalks you around the courtyard, unsheathing Dark Sister and whistling so you know how near he is. You refuse to acknowledge him.

Rhaenyra is telling Jace: “When the war is won, the Greens’ surviving loyalists will accept you as my heir if you are married to her and father her children.”

“What about Aegon? What if Aemond and Criston manage to smuggle him into hiding somewhere, and then one day he reappears and—?”

“Aegon won’t live,” Rhaenyra says confidently. “From what we’ve heard, his burns must be dreadful. He will succumb to them, hopefully slowly and with great pain, and in the meantime Aemond and Vhagar will be pinned down in the eastern Crownlands tending to him. And even once Aemond is unincumbered, he will not want to fly into battle against Caraxes and Sheepstealer together. Vhagar is fearsome, but she is old and slow. Aemond is cunning. He knows this.”

“You told Alicent we’d pardon him,” Jace says, and his tone is accusatory. How could you? How dare you?

“I said I’d spare him if he’s still alive when the war is over,” Rhaenyra replies with a sharp glance. “So let’s make sure he isn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner is sailfish, which you’ve never eaten before. All afternoon you saw them zipping through the water as Alyn of Hull’s ship cruised out of King’s Landing and towards the Gullet, their sapphire dorsal fins cutting up through the surf. Then the crew caught some and hauled them up onto the deck—large bulging eyes, toothless mouths agape as they suffocated in open air—and you watched as the fish were gutted and their scales and organs scrubbed from the planks with seawater that turned rosy with blood. Refuse washed back into the ocean: bones, fins, disembodied eyeballs dragging tails of optic nerves.

Alyn is a bastard of Corlys Velaryon, you’ve gathered; he is young to have been entrusted with his own vessel, and the resemblance is undeniable. He is chivalrous but very strict. You are not permitted in the room where several caged ravens are kept in case Alyn has to send a message back to the capital. You are not permitted to stand too close to the ship’s railing. You are not permitted to handle anything that could be used as a weapon. You are not permitted to converse with the crew. In truth, you are allowed to do almost nothing.

Now you are below deck, you and Jace seated at opposite ends of a long wooden table and alone except for two guards posted by the door. Tall white candles flicker, wobbling in their brass stands as the ship rocks. You drink too much wine and pick at your sailfish, pinkish lumps of meat seasoned with garlic and lemon juice. Jace pushes roasted parsnips and green beans around aimlessly on his plate. You can’t stop thinking of the family you’ve left behind: Mother and Helaena in a dungeon, Jaehaera and Maelor taken hostage by Rhaenyra, Daeron at war in the Reach, Aegon horrifically burned, Aemond and Criston battling to save him.

I shouldn’t be safe while they’re suffering. It’s wrong, it’s treasonous. I’m the least worthy of us. I’ve done nothing to help us win this war. I haven’t saved anyone.

You keep hoping for a vision of what Aemond is doing, what he is feeling, but you’ve never had any control over the glimpses you get into his mind. They are random, and brief, and fragmented. You don’t know if Aegon is still alive. You don’t know if Aemond is thinking of you.

“So that’s why you don’t have a dragon,” Jace says suddenly, and you look up at him, startled. He’s staring at you from beneath the dark curls that have fallen over his face, the mark of House Strong. He’s not entirely unappealing, if you don’t judge him as a Valyrian, an enemy combatant, a traitor. You can’t tell if Jace is being smug or sincere; you barely know him. “Because they hate you.”

Mother’s words resurface in your skull like sailfish dredged up from the waves: If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.

You aren’t sure how to earn anybody’s affection. With everyone you’ve known before you either had it or you didn’t, and that never seemed like something you could change.

“It’s not for lack of trying,” you say, fidgeting uneasily with your wine cup. “I tried to claim Vermithor when I was a child. He nearly killed me.”

Jace’s dark eyebrows go up. “Did he? On Dragonstone?”

You nod. “Grandsire arranged for us to visit the island while your family was travelling elsewhere. Driftmark, maybe, I don’t remember. I had always wanted Vermithor, and I felt…I knew that if I found him he would bond to me and let me ride him. I followed him all over Dragonstone for days, but he kept moving, and then…when I finally got close enough…” You’d outrun Criston and the other guards, but Aemond had been there to pull you out of the path of Vermithor’s flames; yet you don’t think Jace will want to hear this. It feels impossible to extricate Aemond from your memories. You’ve never known a life he was not intrinsically entwined with. “The Bronze Fury made his discontentment clear.”

Jace narrows his eyes and gives you an ironic smile, as if he’s thinking: Too bad you lived. “So you gave up.”

“Oh no, I tormented the others too. Silverwing, Grey Ghost, Seasmoke, none of them were very welcoming. I don’t recall Sheepstealer being there at the time…maybe he was feeding elsewhere in the Crownlands. I’d know if I’d seen him before, I think.”

“Sheepstealer is very…unique in appearance.”

You smile at the memory of Grandsire calling him hideous, then go somber when you remember he’s dead. “Grey Ghost was sweet, though. He didn’t attempt to burn me, he just flew away.”

“You’ve tried all of those dragons?” Now Jace seems genuinely intrigued. “Just…one after the other?”

You shrug and swig your wine. Jace gives you a disapproving glance; you put the cup down and begin eating instead. “I wanted a beast for myself. Everyone else had theirs, it seemed inevitable that I would find mine if I searched long enough. I even approached the Cannibal.”

“The Cannibal.” Jace shakes his head and forks sailfish into his mouth; it’s the first bite he’s taken tonight. “You were desperate. Or stupid.”

You smirk. “Or both.”

“What color are his flames? Green, like his eyes?”

“No,” you say softly, remembering the massive black dragon covered in spines like the stalagmites of a cave. “No, the Cannibal’s dragonfire is red.”

“Do you think yourself to be…” Jace gestures vaguely with his fork. “Lacking in some way? Less capable than Helaena or your brothers?”

This is a rude question. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I must be inadequate, or I would have a dragon.”

Jace seems to contemplate this as he eats.

“Why do you ask?” you provoke him, before recalling you’re supposed to be winning his affection, if such a thing is possible, and you very much doubt it. “Are you concerned I’ll pass this fault on to my children?”

“Well, it’s an interest of mine,” Jace says. “Locating dragonriders. What makes someone alluring to the beasts, as well as what doesn’t. This war will be won by dragons, I’m sure each side aspires to have more of them.”

You study him, taking nibbles of your sailfish. Recruiting dragonriders outside of the immediate family is not something Aemond would ever consider; he would not trust them, he would view them as supplanters of the natural order. But a bastard himself… “Was it your idea to find someone to ride Sheepstealer?”

Jace grins, cagey and teasing. He spears green beans with his fork. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

Because I can’t be trusted with the Blacks’ strategies. Just with birthing their heirs. “I didn’t know you had ideas.”

“Yes, well, Mother and Daemon try very hard not to notice them.” He points to your braid with his knife. “Do you wear your hair like that because of Visenya?”

You touch it self-consciously. You’re surprised he noticed. “Yes.”

“She married her brother,” Jace says, and this sounds like an accusation.

“She was also fearless, and dangerous, and she had a dragon.”

“Unlike you.”

“Right.”

Jace chuckles to himself. Now he is certainly being smug. Somewhere out in the night, Vermax is trailing the ship and will reunite with Jace once you’ve docked at Heart’s Home. You keep listening for Vhagar, imagining that Aemond will sense it as you sail near where he and Criston are tending to Aegon at Rook’s Rest, and he will fly to you and torch this ship and bring you home like he’s always promised. But perhaps Aemond is forgetting you. Perhaps he resents that you cannot help him win the war; perhaps he is beginning to hate you. Oblivious, Jace eats his sailfish.

“I had a bat named Sailfish,” you say.

Jace is puzzled. “A bat? Like…?” He makes flapping motions with his hands.

You smile and nod. “I kept bats.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoyed them,” you say, and again you must stop yourself from mentioning Aemond. He cared for them because I did. “They horrified most people, but the children thought they were adorable. I’d teach them how to hold the bats and feed them bugs and fruit, and Jaehaerys couldn’t stop laughing when they licked honey off his fingers…” Then you shudder and go quiet, because you cannot think of Jaehaerys without seeing his hemorrhaging, headless body in Aegon’s arms.

Jace frowns down at the table. The wooden beams of the ship groan; the candlelight flickers. “Just as Mother and Daemon do not often heed my suggestions,” he says carefully after a while. “They do not share many of their plans with me. I knew nothing of what my stepfather arranged to happen that night. And if I had known, I would not have allowed it.”

I don’t believe you can control Daemon at all, you think. But instead you reply hoarsely: “I’m glad you recognize it for the atrocity that it was.”

“I know I’ve spoken harshly in the past. But if you are truly to be my wife, I wish for us to be in harmony as much as possible. I hope you feel the same way.”

“I do.” You don’t have much of a choice. How can you sleep with a man who hates you, who you hate in equal measure? “And Jace…I didn’t know what was going to happen to Luke or Baela. I had no part in either of their deaths.”

“I can’t…” His voice breaks; he swipes at his dark glistening eyes, like flecks of onyx. “I can’t talk about them.”

You are alarmed. “Jace—”

“Goodnight,” he says as he leaves, already halfway across the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first time you’re together—at your vanity, late for dinner—Aemond doesn’t try to put his fingers inside you, and he doesn’t the second time either, or the third, or even the fourth. And this is just fine as far as you’re concerned, because the way Mother has mentioned the duty of a wife implies that there is a great deal of sacrifice involved for the woman, discomfort, pain, even harm, and what you have with Aemond—despite its many peculiarities—has never been painful, and you don’t want to ruin it. You don’t want to find out what other women mean when they talk about boredom and dread and blood.

Then one day you are in the garden, and you and Helaena are trying to teach the children how to play the game with the animal pieces, but they must not be quite old enough because they won’t listen. Jaehaera pokes Jaehaerys with Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Maelor chomps indifferently on Daeron’s purple shadowcat. You and Helaena laugh and give up the attempt as maids swoop in to corral the children.

“We’ll try again in a few months,” you say. “Perhaps they’ll be more tame by then.”

Helaena begins to gather up the game pieces. “We should ask Aegon to carve new animals for the children. Jaehaerys likes seals…” Then her hands go still and she stares at someone who’s standing behind you.

Before you can turn, Aemond leans down to where you’re kneeling on the cobblestones, grabs your braid, and wraps it around his fist. “Follow me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Why? Where?”

“Follow me,” he says again, more forcefully now. “I’m not asking.” Then he releases you with a rough shove and walks away.

You rise from the cobblestones and go after him, weaving through the paths of the garden, fountains trickling and flowers blooming and bees droning in the air. Aemond glances back to make sure you’re in pursuit, then disappears into an arbor grown over with roses, a tunnel of red blossoms and snagging thorns. Aemond sits on a stone bench that is draped in shadows and hidden from view; no one will see you unless they enter the tunnel. You can hear the distant sound of the ocean waves, and gulls and blue jays and the red-tailed hawks the noblemen hunt with. You take a seat beside Aemond, and immediately he lifts your legs so they rest across his lap, reaches beneath the hem of your maroon gown with his right hand, skims his way up the inside of your thigh as you pretend to fight him, all the while smiling and needing him closer, all your blood and muscles screaming for him, your bones aching like fractures that must be set.

“Look at me,” Aemond commands, catching your jaw in his left hand and holding you still, the transparent blue of his eye fixed on your face, where he reads every line and movement like a dead language, like the High Valyrian almost no one left can understand. “I want to know if I’m hurting you.”

Beneath your gown, his fingers are stroking you, waiting for you to be wet and relaxed enough, parting your lips.

“Are you afraid?” Aemond asks.

“No.” Maybe you should be, but you aren’t.

There is an unfamiliar fullness, strange but not unpleasant, and then when Aemond’s fingers begin to move inside you, you moan softly and close your eyes, breaking the spell. He lets go of your jaw and his palm shifts to cradle the side of your face, to bring you in closer, to hold you against him. And now you know that when he finally takes you, as a husband does a wife, it will be painless; and it will never be something you warn your silver-haired children about with dark resignation in your voice.

“What if they won’t let us marry?” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, dreading this more than anything. You don’t know that Targaryens and their dragons will soon be dying. “What if they send me away to wed some lord in the Reach or the Westerlands or the Vale?”

“Then I’ll find you,” Aemond says. “And I’ll burn down his castle, and I’ll bring you home.”

“You’re a monster,” you purr; but there’s a grin on your lips as he kisses you, something scalding and primordial like magma flowing beneath the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

Heart’s Home is a small grey castle in a vast grey world, the shadows of mountains filling the horizon, the sky overcast and bleak and the air tasting like metal. The last time you were in the Vale was as a girl, when Aemond pushed you into a frigid stream and you caught a chill that almost killed you, and he never apologized but he slept on your floor like a dog so he could be there to climb into bed and hold you when you shivered, and surely that is a greater sort of repentance than two vanishingly small words that anyone could say and perhaps not even mean.

You and Jace disembark from Alyn of Hull’s ship on the banks of where an inland river meets the saltwater of the Narrow Sea. Outside the castle walls, Heart’s Home has a stable and a sizable field, surely green and fertile in the summer, that is surrounded on three sides by a thick forest of coniferous trees. Cawing ravens perch on the branches; a hunting party emerges from the pines accompanied by braying hounds and carrying corpses of foxes to be skinned. You are greeted warmly by Lord Leowyn Corbray—who is tall and ancient, over seventy years old—and his wife Lady Carolei, around fifty and very round, with dark hair and pale skin that the harsh mountain wind rubs pink. While her husband fawns over Jace—“We were so honored by the queen’s request,” “We will ensure that your every need is attended to, Prince Jacaerys”—Lady Carolei Corbray watches you with an amused little smile, as if there are many questions she is impatient to ask you. Then you and your betrothed are ushered into the castle and served mutton pie full of gravy and vegetables, dark bread slathered with butter, blackberry oatcakes for dessert. You drink too much wine, because you know what will happen next. Jace does not reprove you this time; he’s drinking a good amount of ale himself.

The people of the Vale worship the Seven, and for all you know Jace does too, because there is no mention of a Valyrian wedding with fire and blood. Instead you exchange your vows in a tiny sept with plain glass windows and cold slate stones. A weathered, bony septon presides over the ceremony, and Lord Corbray stands in for your dead father. Even if Viserys was still alive, he wouldn’t feel like much less of a stranger. You are covered with a maiden’s cloak of your house—Lady Corbray announces proudly that it was sewn especially for this occasion—but it’s wrong, because they’ve used the old black and red sigil of House Targaryen rather than Aegon’s banner, a golden dragon on a green background. But you suppose it’s fitting because Jace’s cloak isn’t right either, as it depicts the seahorse of House Velaryon rather than the tri-colored flag of House Strong.

At the septon’s direction, Lord Corbray removes your cloak from your shoulders and Jace covers you with his own. And once you’ve exchanged the requisite words and Jace kisses you—him swift and uneasy, you trying not to flinch away—you realize that this is the first time you can remember him touching you. On the journey northward, Jace would sometimes find you pacing the ship’s deck and ask you silted, shallow questions: What kind of weather do you like best? What are your favorite desserts? Do you prefer swimming or horseback riding? What colors do you favor? Your nightly ritual was trying not to discuss your murdered relatives over dinner.

You are put to bed in a grand chamber at the top of one of the castle’s towers. There is a fireplace where logs snap and hiss, and a rug made of a shadowcat’s pelt; a chandelier of lit candles hangs from the ceiling. Through the window, you can see a silvery full moon obscured by clouds. You and Jace—freshly bathed and wearing loose, cotton nightclothes—wait in the quiet once your hosts have left, the blankets pulled up to your waists. All the bedlinens are white, you realize; you don’t think this is by accident.

They want to know if I’m truly a maiden. They want to know if I bleed.

You have no idea if you will or not. Nothing that Aemond has ever done to you has resulted in blood.

I don’t want it to hurt, you think with abrupt panic. You look around for a jar of oil, olive or rose, something to help him enter you. You open the drawers of your nightstand and are disappointed to find them empty.

“What are you doing?” Jace asks.

“Nothing.” You can’t explain without revealing you know more than a virgin should.

Jace turns to you. “You really haven’t done this before?”

Your nervousness must be evident. Surely no whore who had already been defiled by her monstrous brother would be sitting here wringing her trembling hands. “No.”

“Okay.” Jace takes a deep breath. He seems resolved to be brave for both of you; that is a husband’s burden, after all. “I haven’t either.”

“But you’ve…I mean, you’re a man, it’s different for you. You have experience of some sort, I assume…?” With Baela? With anyone?

Jace blushes and can’t meet your eyes. “I’m not above temptation. We kissed a few times.”

This is not reassuring. “Do you think you’ll be able to…? With me?” The daughter and sister of enemies?

He nods and smiles faintly. “Oh yeah, I think it’ll all work as it should.” Then he looks at you, dark eyes, dark curls, not ugly but not who you’ve ever imagined you would give yourself to. His gaze settles on your braid. “Here,” he says, and then he gently begins to unravel it.

You aren’t sure what to do. You’re not going to hit Jace, or fight him, or shove him or grab him or scratch him, and so you don’t know where you should put your hands. Once your hair is loose, you sink down to the soft feather mattress until you are lying flat on your back. Jace yanks off his shirt and tosses it to the floor, then he leans towards you, gesturing to your nightgown.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“Sure,” you say, and help him pull it off you. Even beneath the blankets, your bare skin feels the chill of the night air, and with the apprehension and fear there is something else too, a longing, a craving that has gone unsatiated. It’s crude to think, but it’s true: you’re used to being fed, and you haven’t been since Aemond went away.

Unexpectedly, Jace’s eyes don’t go to your breasts or lower; instead, they catch on the scar that cuts down from your left collarbone. He touches it with careful, weightless fingerprints. His voice is tender. “What happened here?”

“An assassin’s blade,” you say. “The night Jaehaerys died.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Here—in bed, in the firelight—he is not Rhaenyra’s eldest son and someone you are supposed to hate, someone who is a threat to your life, someone who once played a part in Aemond losing his eye. Here Jace is just a man, and you are naked, and beneath the blankets he is taking off his cotton trousers and then positioning himself between your legs. You are a little wet already, you can feel it, but you know you need more, you know he needs to make you ready with his fingers and his mouth, but Jace isn’t aware of this and you can’t tell him.

You gasp as he starts to push himself inside you, overwhelming burning pressure. “Jace, I’m afraid.”

He stops and looks down at you with seeking, sympathetic eyes. His skin is flushed, his breathing quick. If you could read his face, you’d think it says: What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything. “We can stop.”

“No, just…just please go slowly, okay? Please don’t hurt me.” No more than you have to.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, and then—perhaps because he doesn’t know what else to do—he kisses you, and at first it is formal and unnatural like it was in the sept, but then Jace’s lips begin to move with yours and the kiss glows warm like embers. Your fingers go to his hair—not a Targaryen’s, a Strong’s—and tangle in his curls. His hands explore your breasts, grazing and circling your nipples with his fingertips. You wrap your legs around Jace as his tongue darts into your mouth, wanting this, maybe even wanting him.

Jace thrusts into you, and there is a moment of blinding pain that makes you cry out; and for everything that has been said about Aemond—a monster, a murderer, violent and arrogant and wicked—nothing he has ever done to you has hurt like this. Immediately, Jace moves to pull away, but you stop him. “Don’t.”

He shakes his head. “But you’re hurt—”

You hold his face in your hands to make him listen. “I’m alright, I promise. Just wait here, just give me a moment.”

“Okay,” Jace sighs into your throat that’s damp with perspiration. He kisses you there, tasting your salt, fear that has turned to lust. “Okay, okay…”

Already the pain is fading, and your muscles are relaxing, and you are slick with wetness to ease the razored friction. And it’s nothing like the way Aemond knew how to touch you—you are nowhere near a climax—but still, there is something pleasurable about it, there is something nice about being tangled up with a man this way again.

“Go on,” you tell Jace; and he rests his forehead against yours as he thrusts into you, very slowly, and he’s shaking all over, and between breathless kisses he is moaning, in shock that a feeling this good exists, in mindless ecstasy, and then he spills himself inside you and collapses onto your chest, still kissing you, thanking you, asking if you’re alright. Before you can answer, he throws back the blankets and examines the sheets. When you look down, you can see that between your legs is a stain of pale pink, a miniscule amount of blood.

Is that all? you think, relieved. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so good either, but it was tolerable. And it will get better.

“No, no, no,” Jace murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. He is distressed, he is repentant. “I wounded you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be alright, Jace,” you say, rather amused.

He crawls back to you and lies down beside you on the bed. He is struggling to keep his eyes open. “You weren’t lying. You’ve never done that before.”

“No.”

“I won’t hurt you again.” He kisses your cheek. “My wife. My princess.” And then he rests his head on his pillow and within a minute he is snoring softly.

“My prince,” you whisper, trying it out. It doesn’t feel right yet, but maybe one day it will. You have to clean yourself off; Jace doesn’t know this about women, but you do. You climb out of bed, and Jace stirs as you leave.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s a reflex he’s repeated a thousand times, like it takes no thought at all. You stare bewildered at him. Jace’s eyes are still closed. And you think of Aemond—suddenly, with great clarity, as Jace sleeps in your shared bed—and you will yourself to be able to see where is and what he’s thinking. But there is nothing: only silence and firelight and the full moon hovering in the overcast, indigo sky outside.

Is he thinking of me? Does he feel lost too?

You have the maids draw a hot bath and you wash it all away, the sweat and the blood and the wetness and Jace’s seed that might give you a child with the unruly dark hair of the Strongs, and still you cannot stop thinking of Aemond.

Did he love me then? Does he love me now?

Back in your bedchamber, you gaze into the flames of the fireplace and try to remember the sound of Aemond’s voice, but you can’t. It keeps bleeding into the words of other people: Aegon, Daeron, Maelor, Jace.

[changisworld]

Skz with possessive reader? 🤭 like reader is still a sub but can be veery jealous. Like if she sees a fan flirting with a member she wouldn't let go of that member (did i explain it enough? Idk😭please tell me if i did) and what do you think how would members react?? hihi just my thoughts (its supposed to be smut-) 😭

-🦇

YAMMYYAMMYYAMMY this would be so me i swear

I think leeknow, seungmin & also hyunjin would be SOOOO obsessed with the idea of you being possessive, especially right in front of their face BXBSBSBSB, holding their hand in front of any girl that speaks to them, purposely not laughing at anything the other person says but laughing a moment later if your boyfriend says something even less interesting, purposely kissing his cheek a few too many times knowing lipstick or lipgloss would stain their cheek, just to show they really are yours & yours only.

Would definitely make it up to you as soon as you got home by fucking you into the mattress, teasing you on your behaviour as your eyes are going teary from how good he’s fucking you.

“you like this cock don’t you, hmm? seem to be so jealous of anyone who steps near it”

“made for you, would never dare give it to anyone else, unless that’s what you’re wanting hmm? jealous jealous girl”

“so hot when you’re so protective y’know that? almost wanted to fuck you right there”

on the other hand, i think han, felix & probably changbin would be SO flustered by it!! the way your voice sounds more monotone while talking to the girl who you can swear flirted with them just by breathing too close to them! once you’ve successfully got the girl to get the hint & fuck off, you can feel your boyfriends eyes burning into the side of your face, honestly kinda star struck

of course once you have time for yourselves they’re so so quick to show you how much they love YOU & don’t want anyone else!

“so so pretty, so lucky for you, you look so cute when you’re jealous”

“so protective of me, makes me melt”

definitely buys you or makes you a gift to further show how much YOU mean to them🥲

OKAY so jeongin & bangchan i feel like they would get insanely turned on from it.. because why the hell wouldn’t they when you’re latching yourself onto his arm like a sloth pretty much & pretty much ushering them away from whoever you deemed was flirting or being too nice to them. the thing is though, they probably never catch on at first that you’re jealous & they probably just assume you’re tired or feeling a bit sick or something & they feel so silly when it finally clicks in their head.

they for sure try to tease you by acting even more dumb & asking you outright why you were acting that way, & the second you tell them that you WERE in fact jealous, they know just the way to make it up to you.

“i’m all yours, lemme show you how much i care, hmm?”

“you’re perfect for me & me only, don’t get jealous over anyone because they don’t compare, just look at you”

“if you could feel how good you feel trust me you’d never even want or need to be jealous of anyone else” he groans as he presses his tip past your folds

main masterlist here

->anon list & tag list are open!

@jisungml

[wearysparrows]

(Never) Let Go of Me

ao3/masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 (here)

Summary: Memories of that summer when you silently asked Sylus to take your life.

CW: no use of 'Y/N', AFAB reader implied but no pronouns are used, reader is MC, suicidal thoughts, eating disorders mentioned, minor hallucinations, mentions of self harm, references to depression, guns, Hurt/Comfort, hurt no comfort, angst, not beta read 5.4k

A/N: Please read the tags, as this work contains content that may be distressing or triggering to some readers.

Could you miss something that you’d never had? Sylus was never yours in the first place. His body, lying still in its expanse beside you. But you missed him. It was your shame to harbor these tender feelings. You watched the sleeping flutter of his eyelids. How rare was it to see him sleep?

No, I don’t want to embarrass you with the thought of myself.

  Neither of you had ever left. Above all, there was nothing. From each of you. How you had grown to love the space where there was nothing at all! Even in your dreams, he walked hand in hand with someone else who was not you, and he was happy. You reached out to touch him as he slept. The open junction of his fore and upper arm, the place for insertion of a needle. You put a single finger there, on the soft skin. You weren’t sure if the pulse you felt was yours or his. You couldn’t draw anything from him, nor take away. And so nothing in you had anywhere to go. There was the earliest sound of a bird outside. Too early, just before the heralding of the sunrise. He looked at you now, eyes opening like fresh wounds.

“Listening to the birdsong?”

A voice, warm and roughed with his sleep.

“Yeah.”

The two of you walked in that wheatfield. Above you, the horrible emptiness of an expansive blue sky. The sun beat down on the back of your neck, and you felt it pulse with the heat. His hand wasn’t in yours, but it was around your waist, which was close enough. You were sweating underneath your clothes where he touched you, and you hoped he couldn’t feel it. He was white against the stalks, and they seemed to reach for him in the wind. He was looking down at you, stopping in his movements.

“You’re burning me with your eyes.”

Teasing you. He was smiling.

“Me, and not the sun?”

You didn’t know why he insisted on coming with you in the daytime, even when the sun hurt his eyes so. Nevermind that he forwent the time he had to sleep entirely to be here. The summer wind tousled the sterling of his hair. He pushed it back into place.

“Mm. What’s the difference?”

This plot of land belonged to Sylus. It was somewhere on the outskirts of Linkon city – you never could quite get a handle on the location, because the roll of the drive always put you almost to sleep. If you stepped through the swathe of trees, still bitten with the fresh green of summer, you’d reach a large lake. Sylus came here to fish sometimes, but he hadn’t brought the pole on this occasion. You had mentioned wanting to get away from the city – both Linkon and the N109 – and he had offered this solution. Sylus always had a solution.

The lake opened a great blue maw of lapis before you, and the highness of the midday sun cascaded shining reflections of its light off of the surface. It was virtually untouched by man – well, all save for Sylus. But you could hardly lump him in with other men. He stood silently next to you, looking out over the water with his hands free by his sides. Coming here allowed you to see another side to Sylus that you were certain had only been revealed to your eyes. Or at least, you hoped. He had on a white button up, the first few buttons of which were undone, revealing the kiss the sun had given him that summer. He had a silver chain around his neck – a humble gift from you, courtesy of your Hunter’s salary. It wasn’t anything expensive, and it certainly paled in comparison to the other things he owned. Still, he wore it so frequently that he had worn out the clasp and had to replace it with a sturdier one. He wore a pair of blue jeans, which hugged him in all the right places, and a pair of tailored leather boots. He almost could have passed for a cowboy, if cowboys came from other worlds. 

There was sweat gathering underneath your breast, running down your ribcage, soaking your clothes. This summer had been unreasonably hot, the sun punishing with its heat. The calmness of the water was calling to you. Your clothes stuck to you, feeling like they were trying to become one with your skin. Not wanting to merge with them, you began to peel off your shirt and shorts. While you had the former over your head, covering your eyes, Sylus spoke.

“What are you up to?”

He sounded pleased. Soft, like the wind could carry away his voice if it had chosen to. Sylus had seen you like this many times before. Though you harbored a sense of embarrassment in your nakedness around him still, you knew it didn’t matter to him.

“Getting in the water. It’s hot.”

You waded in, taking in the sight before you. The sun drove its horses over the open span of the prairie, casting it in a bright golden haze. You were up to your ankles in the cool water, the pebbles underneath pressing against the soles of your feet. They were smooth and round, not painful to the touch. You turned at the sound of a shuffling of fabrics. Sylus was unbuttoning his shirt with practiced ease. He tossed it aside carelessly on the bank. His pants and shoes came similarly. The sound of the zipper seemed strangely loud, out here in the wilderness. He was left only in his boxers. You had seen him this naked before – but it was never something that you quite got used to. You knew that he must have felt your eyes on him, but he never showed any signs of being bothered, nor did he mention it. The powerful animal of his body rippled towards you with singular purpose. Just underneath the lowered waistband of his boxers, you could see his tanline. The skin underneath was pale. As he walked towards you, you walked backwards into the water, silently beckoning him to follow. He obliged, his lips parting into a curious smile. You stopped when the chill of the water had reached your clavicle. Your heart fluttered with a soft quickness in the water.

The water parted for Sylus’s body as he approached you, sending ripples outward away from him. He came closer, closer, until you were nearly chest to chest. You desperately wanted to feel the contrast of the heat of his body under the water. He would have to reach for you first. The sun had turned his pupils into pinpoints in a crimson sea as he looked down at you. You pushed a gentle wave towards him with your palm.

“I thought you didn’t like the water.”

Sylus’s hand found your upper arm under the water in response, and traveled up until it was on your shoulder. The flat of his thumb stroked your collarbone. The wet traces it left felt cool against the open air.

“You’re in the water.”

His palm touched the side of your neck, fingers brushing your nape. The blunt of his nails scratched your scalp, there. You showed him your empty palms under the clear water.

“I don’t have a sword to offer you, or anything like that. I don’t have anything to give.”

Sylus laughed, a sound that was like the fire of light over the prairie. He closed the last distance between you, and his lips were suddenly speaking against the skin of your neck, his fingers maneuvering your head to the side to expose more of it to his mouth. It wasn’t a kiss at all – more like a touch, so chaste it burned. His other hand snaked around your waist, pressing your abdomen to his under the water. You could feel all of him against you. Somewhere in the distance, a whippoorwill called.

“Do you think I can only take? Haven’t I always given you everything you’ve wanted?”

A wry expression that he couldn’t see faced the sky on your face. The only thing you truly wanted was the one thing he couldn’t give. Everything else could have returned to ash, could he have given it. You had begun to understand that shame and passion were the same creature wearing different faces. To love was to be humiliated. To roll over and show your soft belly. Everything else he consumed, and there was not the blue of the water nor that of the sky. There was only a red sea left behind.

Your feet ached underneath you, keeping you steady on the treadmill. They no longer pounded the machine as they once had – you had learned to make your steps light, your breathing quiet. Even after a day like today, which had required you to push your body to its utmost limit to dispose of wanderers, you did not forgo the gym. You could exert control in this way. When nothing else could be tightly in your grip, your body could be controlled. Movements that punished kept your mind at bay. Without the pain, without the control, the thoughts would return. You had developed minute control over each muscle – knew how to isolate it, how to activate it independently over the others. You knew each connection point, each tendon. Your body was the most familiar stranger to you, collared with a choke chain. 

Sylus had recommended this gym to you. It was always strangely empty, which suited you just fine. The gym itself was of an unusual sort – it looked to you more like something that should have existed in the N109 zone than Linkon City. Its internals were all deep shades of blacks, the space wide and dark. You never wanted for amenities. Some of the machinery you lacked names for – and you avoided using them. They appeared just a touch too close to torture tools for your liking. The woman at the front desk, a svelte, mink like creature with a pointed face, had developed a silent camaraderie with you. She greeted you by name when you came, and offered you the occasional compliment on your physique. You had forgotten to get her name – and it was long past too late to ask, now. 

In your periphery, you saw your phone’s screen light up in your hand, and slowed your pace to a walk on the treadmill to check it. Even after all this time, seeing his name still gave you the same fluttering of wings in your stomach. The numbers on the treadmill let you know that you had been running on and off for around two hours. They blurred in your vision, and you stopped trying to focus on them.

Sy:

Your heart rate has been fast for a while now. Still working out?

7:27 PM

A text that from anyone else would have been disturbing in its implications – but from Sylus, it merely made your insides twist with delight. He was checking in on your wellbeing. You had long known he had kept tabs on your vitals, likely through your hunter’s watch, which hardly ever left your wrist. Of course, you had similar tabs on him. Sylus had purposefully chained himself to you with that necklace he wore – it had a GPS tag in it. You never doubted where he was – though you tried not to check too often. You frequently failed in that regard, though. You walked on as you typed out your reply. 

Me:

Yeah. I’m almost done tho. What’s up?

7:28 PM

Sy:

Im coming to pick you up. Don’t argue

7:28 PM

The prospect of seeing him made your heart rate speed up all over again. It quickened even more when you remembered he could see its pace.

Me:

I’m drenched and smell bad. You don’t want to see me lol I’ll get your car dirty

7:29 PM

Sy:

You’re arguing. Im on my way

7:29 PM

This threw a wrench in your plans. A beautiful, towering wrench of a man. You wanted to scowl at your phone, to be annoyed with his persistence – but your chest glowed with warmth at his insistence, instead. Although Sylus maintained a severe boundary of friendship with you, you knew you must have monopolized most (if not all) of his free time. Your heart, ever possessive, purred with pleasure. You quelled the feeling to focus on the task at hand. Sylus had seen you sweaty before – covered in dirt, blood, all manner of other horrible things. He had held your hair for you while you had emptied your guts onto bloodied grounds, dry heaving until nothing but stomach acid remained. Still, you wanted to avoid it if it was possible. You were usually adverse to using public facilities to shower after working out, but it would have to do just this once. You pulled the clutch of the treadmill, killing its internal workings, and gathered your belongings, making your way to the showers. 

Fortunately for you, this gym boasted high quality amenities. Clean towels, a working hair dryer – even the shampoo and conditioner seemed of higher quality than what you kept at home. You squinted at the labeless bottles, examining them. You didn’t know much about this place, other than that Sylus had adamantly insisted on paying for your membership, despite your protests. Another recurring payment of yours that was on his card. It had very nearly caused an argument between the two of you. He had insisted that if you were going to punish yourself in the gym, you should at least use his gym. This had disarmed you, for it felt like he was exerting some sort of claim on you, in his own roundabout way. He frequented the gym with you, when he had the time. Getting to watch him lift weights was its own kind of pleasure. Sparring with him was a ritual that allowed you to touch him in a way you couldn’t allow yourself otherwise.

Even the showers here were black, wide, ominous and empty. They were tiled from floor to ceiling with sleek obsidian, and the showerheads were of the waterfall type. You scrubbed yourself furiously in the heat of the water, trying to speed the process along as quickly as possible. You hadn’t the foggiest as to where exactly Sylus was coming from, but you didn’t want to keep him waiting. 

You inspected your face in the mirror, flushed from the heat of your shower. A face looked back at you with a crease in its brow. You picked up the blow dryer, clicking it on. It pushed hot air through your hair, and threatened to make you sweat all over again. You raked your fingers through it, a makeshift brush. Thankfully, you had brought a clean pair of street clothes along with you. Your years as a hunter had drilled a sense of preparedness in you, even when completing the most mundane of tasks. You changed swiftly in the locker room, with only the sound of the overheads to keep you company. Yours was the only combination lock that had a permanent place here, hanging there by its lonesome. You no longer bothered to bring it home with you – no one had ever tampered with it. You took one last glance at yourself in the full body mirror of the locker room, adjusting your clothes. It didn’t matter, you knew. Sylus didn’t care what you looked like, for better or worse. You cast your eyes from the image, and made your way from the gym. The woman at the front desk gave you a friendly wave on your way out, which you returned.

Outside, you stood under the eaves, waiting for the appearance of Sylus’s vehicle. The last vestiges of the sun were disappearing behind the towering buildings of Linkon City. You weren’t waiting for long, however, as Sylus pulled up nearly as soon as you stepped outside. Whether it was fortuitous or a plan on his part, you could never be quite sure. He was always punctual with you. Endlessly reliable. He honked the horn, as if you wouldn’t recognize the body of his black sports car from miles away. You jogged towards him, unable to stop the laugh that forced its way out of your chest. For someone who lived so deeply in the shadows, he loved to make his presence known to you.

You slipped wordlessly into the familiar passenger seat, and were met with Sylus’s raise of an eyebrow. He had a habit of always raising his left one – the same side as his dominant hand. You weren’t sure he was even capable of raising the other side. You denied the compulsion to ask him to try.

“I seem to recall a promise that someone would get my car dirty. But you’re looking suspiciously clean.”

Sylus’s voice, no matter how familiar it became, was always like stepping into hot, dark waters. You nudged him with your elbow over the console. 

“You want me to dirty up your nice ass car?”

He grinned in response to your question, revealing to you the canines that you had imagined sinking into the flesh of your neck so many times. He nudged you back, elbowing you for room on the console.

“Sure, it might be fun.”

You prepared to ask him what exactly would be fun about getting his car dirty, but Sylus leaned in, reaching over you to buckle you in. His hands drifted over the belt as he pulled, just shy of touching your breast and stomach. As he lifted himself away, you pushed at his shoulder gently. 

“I’m not a kid, Sy. I can get my own seatbelt.”

“I know. But you’re still my…”

He trailed off, sitting back in the driver's seat. His left hand had a confident grip on the steering wheel, his right on the gear shift. He kicked the car into gear, and led it onto the road to your apartment. It was a short drive. 

“My responsibility.”

What you had done to earn the title of responsibility, you were unsure. It sounded uncomfortably close to burden. You felt yourself shrink into your seat. Your hands hung onto your knees, holding them together in front of you. There was something nauseating about the awareness of being a chosen burden. You had long since accepted the place Sylus had chosen in your life as your closest friend, but it was ever a struggle to accept the place he chose for you. He discarded anyone else who came even remotely close to earning a similar title without a second thought.

My responsibility.

“Do you think you owe me or something? Because–”

Sylus cut you off.

“No. I’m here right now of my own free will. Do you think I’d do anything I didn’t want to do? Surely you know my intentions by now.”

There was a sort of boyish impetuousness hidden just underneath his usual tone. Being a chosen burden was better than being one that was forced upon him. He needed something to care for, maybe. That something just so happened to be you. You were the wrong person for him, at the right time. Still, you clung to his choice, claws deep in his skin. Kitten, he had dubbed you. Something that purred in his presence, that swiped at him and drew his blood. You stole a glance at him. His hard lines and dark colors. You saw the way the last of the daylight made him squint his eyes as he looked out the windshield, the dark sweep of his eyelashes trying to keep the offending stabs of sun out. His eyes, devoid of melanin to protect him from the sun. His hair always shone a little whiter in its light. You wondered what sort of childhood must have formed the man sitting beside you. One full of suffering and strife –  of that much you were certain. An image of a young boy with pale hair, his right eye sliced open with a scalpel held by hands so much larger than his own appeared in your mind's eye. You heard the squelch of the implantation, saw the struggle of his too-thin body against metallic restraints. There was no anesthesia. Only pain.

 Sylus avoided the subject, often giving vague and cryptic answers when you had tried to pry in the past. You didn’t press him anymore. There were things you couldn’t tell him, either. How you wanted more from him. More than the chaste touch of a friend. You wanted the consumption of a lover, for him to take you in his mouth and sink his teeth in. To not let go. The only thing that bit you was guilt at your heels. Being slowly devoured alive was a small price to pay to keep him in your life. A selfish price.

Sylus stopped the car at a red light. He titled his head towards you, eyes sliding in your direction. His hand drifted to your knee, displacing your own from it, and gave it a playful squeeze. 

“What are you thinking about?”

His thumb idly stroked the bony junction just below your outer kneecap. Even in the summer heat, his skin still burned your own with its touch. Shameful heat boiled in your stomach. You brushed your index finger over the bony protrusion at the outside of his wrist, and watched as his arm raised gooseflesh in response to your touch. Sylus exhaled through his nose. You liked the sound of his breathing. It was somehow tinged with his voice – you could have recognized the sound of his breath anywhere. Occasionally, you considered telling him the whole truth of your musings on him, but the thought of Sylus’s disgust towards you stopped you. You felt your mouth fill with excess saliva. The desire to shower again came over you, as if he could sense how dirtied you were by your own thoughts of him. You told him half of the truth, instead.

“What you were like as a kid.”

Sylus was quiet for a time, driving the car onward through the green light. His hand didn’t leave its place – but the forward movement of the car made it drift down onto your thigh from your knee. Seemingly unbothered by its new position, he didn’t adjust his grip. His disregard for the implications of his touch were a continual reminder of his lack of romantic feelings for you. You stared at the place where he touched you, his large hand enveloping the taut flesh of your thigh. There wasn’t anyone else who touched you like this. Even by accident. And there probably never would be.

“If you’re thinking of feeling sorry for me – don’t. Everything that happened led me here. Exactly where I want to be.”

You didn’t bother to formulate a response, feeling the finality of his statement hang heavily in the air between you. The rest of the drive was comfortably silent, the only sound the soft classical music Sylus had playing from the radio. It rose and fell in stabs, sometimes sounding triumphant, at others despondent. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, keeping time.

Sylus pulled the car into its familiar spot at your apartment complex. It was here so often that this spot remained empty even when it was bereft of his bike or one of his many cars – like it was waiting to be filled with him. Once, Sylus had gone radio silent for a week. No texts, no calls. You found yourself sitting in the empty parking space. Strange looks from passers-by had rolled off of you, meaningless in his absence. Everything was. Sylus had found you there soon after, and crushed you up into his arms so hard you thought you might snap in half. You would have accepted it gladly. 

He exited the car, and came around to open the door for you on the passenger side. He never let you get out on your own, and today was no exception. When you stepped out, you were standing nearly flush with his broad chest. He ran a hand through your hair, still just slightly damp from your hurry to get clean before you saw him. You spoke to his chest rather than his face.

“Are you spending the night?”

You fiddled with two of his belt loops, hooking them in your index fingers,  tugging him towards you. Sylus took a little step, though he could hardly get any closer without pushing you up against the car. You leaned against the vehicle, and he leaned into you. 

“If you’ll have me, of course.”

His hands enveloped your forearms. Not stopping you. Just holding you, letting you play with his clothes. His thumbs rubbed the aching muscles in your wrists.

“Do you even have to ask, anymore?”

Slipping out from his grip, you walked towards the direction of your apartment door, knowing he would follow. His response came from behind you.

“I’ll always ask, sweetheart.”

This was how you ended up in your bed with Sylus, laying across the expanse of his body. The closeness of the flesh was always a sharp contrast to the distance of your feelings from his. He was idly stroking his fingertips up and down your spine, head propped up on one of the plushies he had won you at the arcade, a makeshift pillow. By now, the room was completely dark. Sylus, ever the nocturnal animal, seemed to have no trouble seeing in the lightless space. You wanted to relax, to sink into the beckoning peace of his heartbeat, but something held you back from fully letting go. You needed things that were cold and hard to keep you from losing yourself to his entirety. 

Without the pain, without the control, the thoughts would return. Rumination spirals. Thoughts that plagued you when your body was unoccupied, when your hands weren’t around your gun, when your feet didn’t pound the earth. Had you really unplugged that heating element? What if you had forgotten, and the apartment had burned down in your absence? Was that ingredient label really correct? What if they were lying about the contents? Was there something inside of your body now that you hadn’t properly vetted? Had something dirty touched you, making you need to shower again and again and again? Shadows flitted in the corners of your vision, escaping just when you tried to look. You continued to try to follow them with your eyes, unsuccessfully. Sylus had been quiet. You heard his head turn against the fabric of the plushie. The backs of his fingers brushed your cheek.

“What are you looking at?”

You shook your head, knowing he could feel the movement from where you laid on his chest.

“Nothing.”

Sylus hummed, sounding unconvinced by your lie. A big, warm palm came up to cover your eyelids. Suddenly, you were cast into red darkness under his touch. You could smell your hand soap on his palm, for it nearly eclipsed your face in its entirety for its size. His voice lowered to a whisper.

“Don’t look. Just focus on me.”

You knew you could trust Sylus’s senses more than your own. In that regard, he was something like a walking pillar of truth when you were unsure of reality. He never begrudged you for sometimes being unable to tell the difference between dream and the waking world, for being suspicious of your own mind, suspicious of others. Suspicious of inanimate objects, of anything that existed in your vicinity, of anything that entered your body. He chased the shades away with his gentle touch. Stripped of your sight, you did as he commanded. His warmth sank into you in all the places your skin connected. There was the sound of his breath, coming deep and easy through his nose. The rise and fall of his chest. His scent, a linger of vetiver and a hint of his cigarettes. Between all of these sensations was something else; the swell of love for him was like a return to the womb, cast into the warm wet of the darkness, his footsteps, his heartbeat, becoming as a child, these things are all you hear. His sensations were your reality, even without the need for a resonance. 

“Better?”

His voice, a deep and familiar anchor. You nodded against his palm. Your lips brushed his skin with the movement, a pale imitation of a kiss. A thought occurred to you, then. If he moved his hand down just a little further, it could wrap silently around your neck, and quietly squeeze your life away. It would be easy for him – as easy as taking a breath. Sylus was so strong. You had seen him take the lives of men twice your size without even using his evol, the breath of life snuffed out of them. You curled your fingertips around his hand, and guided it to the soft flesh of your neck, so it wrapped around there. He turned to you on the bed, supporting himself on his other elbow. Though you weren’t looking at him, you could hear the undercurrent of confusion in his voice. 

“Kitten?”

Just for a moment, you felt an increased pressure from him, the twitch of his fingers against your skin, against the place where he could crush your windpipe, cut off the flow of blood to your brain, send you into an endless sleep, let you pass away from this world by his hand. You pressed down on it, encouraging him to squeeze, to let you go, to finally free you from this. You couldn’t do it on your own – but if it was him, it was easy. You wanted it from him. You swallowed under his palm, feeling yourself sink into acceptance. This could be your final sprint, because if you finally stopped running, his absence would come to meet you with open arms.

But no such mercy was to be at his hands, because you were being lifted, then, your eyes snapping open, lifted not by his arms but by his evol. Sylus was sitting up in bed, and his evol deposited you in his lap, straddling his strong legs. And then your gun was inexplicably in your hands, and you couldn’t drop it – it was chained there with the black and red mist, the barrel pressing against Sylus’s chest, your finger on the trigger against your will. You struggled against the iron grip of the ephemeral spirit that chained you to no avail. His eyes were narrowed at you in the dark, slits the color of violence.

“Sylus,” you choked out, wanting to say stop, what are you doing, stop, I can’t do this again, please, please, please, please, but nothing came. The back of your tongue felt swollen with the asphyxiation of fear, the replaying of events you so hated, of your greatest terror. Your body shuddered with the rapid coursing of adrenaline.

His free hand stroked the barrel of the gun, pressing it harder into his chest. He tilted his head to the side, voice a thoughtful whisper.

“This is my hand around your neck. Can you do it?”

You shook your head fervently, bile rising in your throat. You didn’t have Sylus’s death in you for a second time. Once was already too many times. The trembling of your hand was making your finger click against the trigger. You heard the sound, and fought the jagged heaving of your chest, breaths coming uneven and hot. Again, you shook your head. Each movement took more and more effort, for you were outside of yourself, no longer your body, merely the embodiment of fear.

And suddenly the mist was gone, the gun cast aside, landing with a heavy thud onto the carpet of your bedroom. You slumped forward into Sylus’s chest, and he caught you in his arms, wrapping them around you in a grip that crushed. Your mind was exhausted, emptied of everything but him. Your body was limp, supported only by his boundless strength. Loss, in a sense, filled everything, and nothing filled everything. Only the beating desperations of your intertwined lives remained, thumping with the red of a base existence.

“Your death would mean mine. You won’t leave me. Not this time.”

tags: @xxfaithlynxx @cutestnursingstudent @crowskitten22

[mcu-coworkers]

Exploring The Prince

Summary: Seeing Aegon again brought something new out of you.

Pairing: Aegon ii Targaryen X Targaryen reader

A/N: This is a part 2 to A Weeks Time which can be read here I plan to continue this series as season 2 goes on so I will tag those parts as I go. I hope you like them and enjoy. :)

(As always I do not own the gif or the characters involved :))

You had traveled from Dragonstone to Kingslanding countless times before this.

But back then it was different, back then you were going to visit your grandfather and cousins nervous for what would break out in a fight first.

Between your cousins and brothers there was always something.

You were lucky to have Helaena in all of this. If not for her they would have driven you to insanity.

”Are you ready my dearest sister?” Lucerys asked as he crept up behind you.

The three of you decided to ride on a dragon back to Kingslanding while your mother and Daemon rode with your younger siblings.

This only meant you would arrive some time earlier than your mother and Daemon, luckily you have your brothers by your side.

” I am as ready as I can be brother.” You answered with a soft smile.

”My sister, do you want this? This marriage to Aegon?” He asked.

Turning to him I noticed his look of confusion.

”It was not an idea of mine, but it is my duty if it is requested by the king.” You answered as you walked closer to him. “Does it bother you Luke?” You asked, looking at his face for an answer.

Although a blind man could have seen it from miles away.

”They aren’t very fond of us, they never have been. I just don’t want him or his brother to take it out on you, I worry for you my sister.” He said taking your hand in his.

”Luke, you are an angel sent from the gods themselves.” You exclaimed as you hugged him tightly.

Moments like this made your eyes tear up, Rhaena was lucky to be his betrothed.

“ I promise you, If I need your rescue I will fly back to Dragonstone at once.” You said smiling at him hoping to ease his conscience.

Before he could say anything else Jacaerys interrupted you both by joining in on your hug.

”Will the two of you wrap this up? We must get on with it if we want to deliver our sister to the wolves by the end of day Luke.” He said attitude dripping from every word.

Deadpanning and looking at Jace he ruined your efforts to ease Lukes mind.

”Jacaerys! I am not being fed to the wolves and if I were I have my dragon I can come back at anytime.” You responded annoyed with your brothers sour mood.

”Besides, Aegon has yet to cause me any discomfort.” You said as a matter of fact.

”That’s because out of us four,” he said pointing at us, “You are the only one who resembles them.” He said, swirling a strand of your white hair in his finger.

”That is not my fault Jacaerys. I wish it were different.” You said feeling a sense of guilt.

You didn’t know why things happened the way that they did but they did and you had no choice in the color of your hair.

Only the gods know why you did.

Sighing, Jacaerys knew he let his mouth go too far.

”My apologies my sister, I did not mean to upset you.” He said this time with a genuine tone in his voice.

Grabbing both of their hands you made them look at you.

”This moment in my life is meant to bring peace between our families, promise me you won’t do or say anything to ruin that? Please.” You begged.

You couldn’t live in a world where you had to choose between your brothers and your betrothed.

You wouldn’t.

Looking at each other your brothers sighed as a form of acceptance.

”You have our word sister, we will not start anything, we will only defend ourselves should they start it first.” Jacaerys finished.

You couldn’t win with these two but you’d take anything at this point.

”Thank you,” You said as you hugged them both, “Now shall we get going? We have a long day of travel ahead of us.” You said as you led them to your dragons.

——

While you rode through the sky with your brothers Kingslanding prepared for your arrival.

Among them was Aegon.

Last he saw you, your brothers had taken Aemonds eye and your mother married Daemon.

All of these years and just now he wondered what you might look like now.

He wondered if you were still and kind and gentle as he remembered.

If your hair was still as soft as it felt when he’d play with it while he told you stories of all the dragon riders he read about.

He knew one day you’d grow to be a beautiful young woman and any man would be lucky to have you at his side.

Little did he know that when that day came he was to be that man for you.

And he only hoped to be enough.

”Lost in thought my brother? I don’t believe I have ever seen you this silent.” A voice said behind him.

Turning to reveal Aemond as the voice to startle his thoughts he turns back to his view of the city.

”That’s because I ’ve never been my dearest brother.” He said, admitting to his change.

”And what’s brought this out of you?” Aemond pushes, although he already knew the answer.

The truth is Aemond had known for years, no one calmed Aegon the way your presence did. It surprised him that Aegon didn’t realize this in the years you two lived under the same roof.

He questioned if Aegon himself even knew it now. How could one be so blind yet have both eyes?

He’d never understand.

“Just saving my energies for Jacaerys and Luke, you know they can come in quite strong sometimes.” He said absentmindedly.

Aegon didn’t want to let Aemond in on his thoughts.

They were of you, and you were pure, he would not let his brothers hatred for yours damage that image.

Chuckling at Aegon Aemond smirks, “And there he is.”

”Now that I see you are well and intact, I should have you know that she arrived quite some time ago.” Aemond said, unable to hold back his amusement at the way his brother's head whipped in his direction.

“What? How long ? I didn’t expect them so soon.” He said standing to walk past his brother.

”They rode on dragon back, seems its only her and her brothers.” Aemond said with mischief in his tone.

Aegon stopped in his tracks upon hearing it.

”Listen to me brother, any ideas you may have, rid yourself of them. If not for her sake then mine. She deserves none of it.” Aegon said, “Give me your word Aemond.” He finished forcing his brother to look him in the eyes.

”Fine, you have my word. But do not waste your time looking for her now, the queen has taken it upon herself to receive them. You won't see her until dinner tonight.” Aemond said, walking past his brother.

Damn my mother and her ways.

——

Dinner could not have arrived soon enough for the both of you.

The Queen managed to keep you quite “busy” for all those hours with her rant of her new found religion.

Aegon on the other hand was forced to pace in his quarters, too annoyed to deal with anyone yet too impatient to sit still and read one of his books.

He wondered if you’d still like to listen to the stories he read like before.

Or if your brothers had poisoned your mind with whatever distasteful thoughts that came out of their mouths.

The thought angered Aegon.

Before he could indulge in such poisonous thoughts a maid knocked on his door.

”Dinner is ready to be served my lord.” She said quickly before turning away.

Finally, Aegon thought.

Aegon all but barged in into the dining room expecting to see everyone but finding no one.

”Dammit.” He cursed as he grabbed a cup and served himself a large amount of wine.

Sitting himself in his assigned seat he waited for the rest to follow.

After your afternoon with the queen you had only a few moments to ready yourself for dinner before your brothers came in to walk you down.

As the three of you walked down the halls you began to fiddle with your fingers.

What if he changed? What if he really was all that you heard and worse?

Standing at the doors of the dining room you took a deep breath and prepared yourself.

Whatever he was now, he was to be your husband and only that could you be sure of.

As the doors opened you put on your gentlest smile and prepared yourself for whatever greeting you’d be given.

”There they are, come my grandchildren.” Viserys said as he waved for you all to join his side.

Quickly you did as he asked joyfully to hear his voice.

”Hello grandfather.” You said as you bowed to his grace.

“My dear y/n how beautiful you’ve come to be, come sit next to your betrothed.” He said, turning to Aegon.

You could feel your brothers stare at the back of your head as you turned yourself to face Aegon.

Walking towards him you bowed your head slightly, “My prince.”

“My betrothed.” He answered with a quiet smile.

Offering his hand to you, taking his hand you walked with him and sat by his side.

Sitting down you began to feel how different things would be.

Your brothers across from you instead of next to you and you next to Aegon.

“Lost in thought?” You heard from next to you.

Turning you came face to face with Aegon.

“My apologies, This is the first I have a second to do so.” You said, taking in his features.

Blue eyes, soft skin. His hair was shorter.

His shoulders more broad, jawline sharper. It was no surprise to you that Aegon aged well.

“Tell me.” He requested softly.

“May I be honest, my prince?” You asked.

My prince, Aegon thought. In that you were right. From the moment he saw you walk in those doors he was devotedly yours.

“ If I am to be your husband, we must learn to trust each other so please, be honest.” He said, watching your eyes soften sensing your relief brought him happiness.

Smiling, you talked to him about your day with the queen and how little interest you truly had in the faith of the seven but listened to her out of respect to your queen.

It wasn’t until you began to talk about your ride here that he finally saw your features light up.

The way you spoke of your dragon, the smile you carried, the glimmer in your eyes.

He only hoped you’d glow like this at the mention of his name some day.

Eventually dinner came to an end and your brothers stood to walk you back to your room.

“ I can walk her back to her room, Jacaerys.” Aegon insisted on wanting to have more time with you.

“Don’t be mad, it is not custom for you to be alone until you wed, come sister.” Jacaerys demanded for your hand.

Wanting to avoid a fight, you took your brother's hand and bid Aegon goodnight.

You enjoyed your time with him and could only wish it lasted longer but for now you’d wait until tomorrow.

Aegon watched as your brothers whisked you away to your chambers only wishing he could follow.

Instead he found the nearest bottle of wine and his glass and took himself to his chambers to await for the next day full of you to come.

After some while of not being able to find sleep you debated finding a maid to bring you tea or just simply taking a stroll in the garden to bring you peace.

Deciding for the ladder you grabbed your robe and made your way to the door.

Opening your door you stopped in your tracks when you came to face with Aegon back facing you.

“Aegon.” you said gently.

Turning to face you Aegon tries to make up an excuse as to why he was at your door late in the night.

Not finding any he decides to allow his mind to speak freely.

“ I couldn’t sleep, I needed someone to talk to. Is that alright?” He said, taking steps towards you.

“ I am your betrothed Aegon, it is my duty to tend to you now.” You said as you looked into his eyes a dark blue you had yet to witness from him.

A look you didn’t recognize just yet, but you would soon.

“May I come in my dearest?” Aegon asked looking down at you too close for temptation.

Giving it no second thought you stepped aside allowing him the space to come in.

Smiling at your invitation he walked in and settled for a couch at the foot of your bed.

Only then as you walked towards him did he notice your attire.

A silk gown covered with a silk robe, your hair brushed out and beautiful.

You made it difficult for him to respect your virtue and you didn’t even know it.

Sitting beside him you waited for him to speak.

Too distracted in his own thoughts you decided to interrupt.

“So what was it?” You asked breaking the silence.

“Hmm? What was what?” Aegon asked being brought back to reality.

You smiled amused at his ability to get lost in his thoughts just as easy as you did.

Realizing what you meant he quickly worked to find the words.

“Right well,” he paused turning to look at you unsure of how you would feel by his question, “What is the craziest thing you’ve done?” He asked.

Slightly taken aback by his question you took a second to think.

“ I - I am not sure by what you mean, the craziest?” You asked hoping he’d clarify.

Turning his full body to you he clarified, “When your mother was younger I heard of the stories where she’d sneak past the walls of the castle and sneak off. Have you ever done such a thing?” He asked curious to know how much you resembled your mother.

This statement made you timid toward the prince.

You’d never even thought to do such a thing. Maybe he’d find you too innocent for his liking at the revelation.

Sensing your answer in your silence Aegon reassured you by putting a hand on your lap.

“It’s alright if you’ve done nothing of the sort, we'll soon have our chance to do all sorts of things. The castle will be yours to do as you please.” He said rubbing his hand on your thigh not realizing the touch as innocent as it was left you feeling hot.

This was new to you.

The thoughts that ran through your mind as he continued to lay his hand upon you so gently.

“All sorts of things?” You asked barely above a whisper as you inched yourself closer to Aegon.

Any kind of sense leaving your mind.

“Yes, we can start exploring tonight if you’d like. Is there something you would like to see?” He asked, noticing your sudden closeness again reminding himself of his need for restraint.

“Anything?” You asked, a look of innocence in your eyes.

“Anything.” He whispered, kissing your hand.

Observing the act you pondered your next move.

On one hand you knew this was wrong on so many levels on the other hand you were losing sight of that mentality the longer his hand stayed in place.

Letting temptation win you take a hold of his hand as you look into his eyes and move his hand to the place where you need him to explore.

You know he’ll be able to help you with this temptation, after all he was to be your husband.

Looking down at the new location of his hand he clenched his jaw fighting for what little restraint he had left.

“My dearest-“ he tried but it only brought you closer to him as he began to lose what little control he had over himself.

Close enough to close the gap with a kiss. But Aegon knew it wouldn’t end with that if you allowed him.

“We are to be wed. Why not explore me?” You asked looking down at his lips wondering how it would feel to be kissed.

His breath hitched in his throat at your words.

“Why must you make it so hard to respect your virtue?” He asked, feeling your hand on his face.

“Then don’t my prince.” You said pulling him to you and closing the gap with a soft gentle kiss.

Pulling away to look into his eyes you saw the darkness behind them now understanding what it was.

For you felt it for him too.

Pulling you back to him this time Aegon grabbed you by the waist and put you on top of him as he kissed you deeply with passion as you tangled your hands into his hair.

Groaning at the sensation Aegon pulled your hips down to meet his, your heat only growing at the sensation of his cock.

Gasping as he moved your hips together, “Aegon,” you moaned into his ear needing more.

Quickly Aegon picked you up and moved you both to your bed.

“This is what you desire?” He asked, looking into your eyes and seeing them filled with lust.

“You are what I desire.” You said breathless and eager.

Those words were all Aegon needed before taking off what was left of the clothing you two had.

kissing your stomach he gently made his way up to you breast massaging your nipple gently whilst peppering kisses on the other sucking lightly on your nipple.

His touch brought quiet moans out of you as you indulge in the pleasure he gave you.

“Aegon please.” You moaned, pulling his face up to meet with yours.

Hoisting your leg onto his waist he lowered himself to kiss your lips.

“You’ll tell me if it's too much?” He asked wanting to hear your reassurance.

“Yes.” You whispered as you kissed the surface of his face not being able to get enough of him.

Kissing your lips once more this time he gently pushed himself in groaning at the sensation of your tightness.

Gasping at his size you looked down as you saw him slowly entering you, stretching your walls the deeper he went.

“Just a little more y/n, that’s it.” He said trying to focus on keeping it slow for you.

Once he was fully inside he gave you a moment to adjust before pulling himself out entirely and thrusting back in gently this time forming a pace you could grow used to.

Slowly the pain of the stretch began to turn into pleasure and your gasps turned into moans needing more

“Aegon,” you moaned into his ear, “Faster please.” You said as you wrapped your other leg around him.

“Fuck,” he said as he tried to hold on to what control he had from releasing into you too soon but your words only brought him closer.

Quickening his thrusts he grabbed a hold of your hip with one hand and held himself up with the other.

Looking down at your face almost brought him overboard as he saw the look of pleasure in your eyes.

His innocent betrothed lying beneath him as he plunged his cock deep into her soaking wet pussy.

And it was soaking wet for him.

“Aegon I - I’m-“ you tried to say but you were cut off by another moan yet he knew what you meant.

“ I know my darling, together.” He said as he rested his forehead on hers closing his eyes as he felt her tightening around him.

“Aegon!” She moaned, getting louder by the second.

Quickly Aegon kissed her to cover the sound of their climax until she came back down.

Kissing her forehead one last time before pulling out of y/n and falling to her side to catch his breath he thought about what just took place.

As did she.

Until this day she had never even had such impure thoughts.

She’d never understood what it was that came over her but the look in Aegon's eyes in that moment told her she wouldn’t need to.

Turning to face him she met him face to face with her innocent smile once again.

“For someone who said they needed someone to talk to, you didn’t do much talking,” you said, smiling.

“ I will have you all of daylight to listen to me talk tomorrow will I not?” He asked moving the few stray hairs from your face.

“You will, my prince.” You whispered as slumber began to consume your body.

Pulling you to his side Aegon kissed your head one last time before closing his eyes as well.

“Then until then my dearest.” He said as he joined you in slumber feeling a sense of fullness with you in his arms.

At Least until morning came.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 10

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9

• ··········· • ············ •

Two weeks have passed since the last time you saw Viktor. You had thought better than to go back to the Academy. Your mother had told you something was happening at Hextech. Something big. She had to stop you from making your way there and figure out why.

“It’s about the attack. Please stay as far from that investigation as possible.”

You made a note of the timeline from your world and this one. Rocket attack, memorial attack, Zaun’s incursion by Caitlyn, Caitlyn’s return sans Vi, Piltover under martial law.

Right now, only the attack on the Council room had happened.

“By saving Viktor, you might have disrupted everything else.” Your mother suggested while looking at your little board of timelines.

You had been using the office that was adjacent to your room at the penthouse for anything that needed secrecy. Viktor's notes, theories, and a chalkboard of the runes you knew. You hadn’t told your mother what they were, just told her ‘other dimension things,’ and she accepted it. 

“The timeline fits... the events don’t... and I can’t see the endgame for that. Ambessa should have made her move by now…She needs Zaun and Piltover to butt heads. Viktor's demise doesn't change that.”

Your mother rolled her eyes at the general’s name. She met the woman once and had become very impressed by her until she mentioned that losing her family is the best motivation for bettering oneself. After that, your mother had just veered away from the general.

“Something might be holding her back.” Your mother cut a little piece of red string you were using and made a little bow with it.

“Or maybe she is just adding fuel to the fire she’s going to set.”

Someone knocked on the door of your room, and you both looked at each other, shrugging, not knowing who it could be.

“Yes?” you called, peeking your head through the door, and a familiar voice called your name.

You glanced at your mother, who was hurriedly getting up from the little loveseat and quickly walking to the door. You went back to the room and tidied up, pinning your mother's red ribbon to the corner of the corkboard.

“Essie, you have to leave the kid alone. They need to breathe.” You heard as you were locking up the room. You smiled at the sound and walked out to the bright corridor outside your bedroom.

“You should be aware that mother’s love language is closeness, Wylla.” You gave the visitor a one-shoulder shrug. “Well, I don’t mind, but you might.” Wyllah grinned, her sharp canines visible.

A beautiful, tall, and slender Vastaya woman stood, one hand placed on your mother’s shoulders. Her black cat-like ears were adorned with beautiful flowery jewelry matching the headband she had in her perfectly cut bob. She had freckled dark skin and the brightest green eyes you’d ever seen. 

When you arrived here, she had been away on business. The day her airship landed on the hexgate, your mother had immediately asked her to come and meet you. Once she walked through the door, you wiggled your eyebrows at your mom suggestively, earning you a playful slap on the arm. 

“Nah, it’s encouraged.” You chuckled. “Oh…that reminds me.” Wylla looked at you grinning. “A young gentleman is waiting for you in the living room.” “A young man?” Your mother asked, eyes widening. You just looked confused. “Do we know him?” “I’ll give you a hint. He is currently melting in the chair in front of the veranda.” You looked back at your mother. Was that supposed to mean anything? She smiled. “Viktor.”

The three of you walked to the living room, where Viktor was in fact sitting on one of the armchairs in the veranda. You looked back at Wyllah, and she shrugged.

“He seemed rather... off... in the elevator.” She said, and you nodded while walking to him.

“Vik?” He jumped slightly at his name being called and then turned back to you.

You gasped at his appearance. It was him, from your world, after his disease progressed. His eyes rimmed with dark circles, the bright amber color now dull, he didn’t just look tired. He looked exhausted. Worse... he looked in pain. 

Oh, fuck it.

It took you two steps to stand next to him and crouch near him, your hands on the arm of the chair. You had to mentally stop yourself from taking his face in your hands. He looked worse up close. 

His skin was pale, and his cheeks seemed hollowed out; his uniform was crinkled, and his hair was a mess. He had been stressed or anxious, and he hadn’t been taking care of himself because of it. That's how Viktor operated. 

“Are you alright? Is it your lungs? Your leg? Is the bruise not healing?” You blurted out, knowing what happened last time he looked like that. “What?” He asked, his eyebrows twitching. He shook his head. “It's Hextech.”

You moved your head to look at his hand on his lap, human, and then looked at his legs, trying to formulate a plan to lift his pant leg to check the enhancement. Has it started to corrupt him?

“They found bits of a hex-core in the bomb fragment.” He sighed, placing a hand on his forehead, massaging his forehead. “They want Hextech’s control directly in the council. No more private investors or personal projects. Only the council will say what projects go forward.”

“That makes no sense.” You told him, trying to keep your voice neutral and calm. He already had plenty of anger and frustration. “Why would they take something from the hands of the competent people to give it to a bunch of merchant houses?”

“According to Salo, the Hex Project needs more than intelligent people at its helm. It needs security, and we are not providing that. Locking the hex core in a storage room is not secure…" He stopped, and the hand on his lap made a fist. "It’s been secure for the last four years, but all of a sudden it’s like we are keeping it in the atrium of the Academy.”

He was rambling, but you had zoned him out when he said Salo’s name. Was this Ambessa’s strategy? She always wanted the hextech to work in her favor. She knew Jayce and Viktor wouldn’t let the hex-core behind, so she needed to control them somehow. 

“Are they letting you two go?” You asked, not looking at him, almost sure of the answer. “They tried, but we did not budge. Hextech is our dream. They can try and control the tech, but it will not leave my hands.”

You nodded and looked back at your mother over your shoulder. She had an eyebrow raised and an angry look on her face.

“It’s not Salo…” you told her, and she nodded knowingly. “I know…” she agreed. “If she gets her hands on the cores…” you continued before she interrupted. “I know. Viktor dear, where can I find Jayce?”  “In the Lab. He refuses to leave. We fear they will try and take the cores.” Viktor frowned at the question but seemed too tired to ask why. “No one is taking anything from you, dear.” She turned to her partner. “Come, Wyllah, we have a lab to save.”

You watched as they both got their coats and their bags and zoomed off out the door. You heard a pained and tired sigh coming from the man in the chair. You stopped yourself from stroking his hair; instead, you got up and stretched.

“I need to go.” You heard Viktor say, but he made no mention of getting up.  “No, you don’t.”  “I don’t even know why I came here. I just... walked... “You walked here from the Academy?” He shook his head. “From the Manor district.” He corrected, and your brain stopped functioning for a second. “Manor District? Why did you go there?” He shrugged. “Don’t know. I just wandered into Piltover and got there and then here.”

No wonder he looked like he was about to faint. He had walked a good forty minutes to the manor and some twenty minutes to get here. Peeking at his torso, you noticed he wasn’t still wearing his back brace. You closed your eyes and looked at the sky, taking a deep breath. The pain this man must be in right now…

“Yeah... You aren’t leaving anytime soon, Vik.” You told him, and he looked up at you. “Not until you eat and rest.” “But…”

You placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at his face, a smile appearing on your lips. 

“Stay, and maybe I’ll even show you some magic.” Viktor’s dull and tired eyes sparked for a second as he looked at yours.  “May I stay in the armchair?” He almost pleaded, and you nodded. “Consider it yours.”

He turned to look back at the window, letting the warmth of the afternoon sun comfort him, and you made your way to the kitchen.

Your mother had made some pastry rings with little cubes of caramelized fruit in them, and while the water boiled, you heated it in the oven. Waiting for both things to finish, you leaned into the counter, your mind now connecting the dots.

Ambessa was waiting on the sidelines; she was smart enough to let the dust settle and see what would happen. There was no need for a violent takeover to get Piltover to fight Zaun and weaponize the cores; she could do it without having to push and pull puppets anywhere. It was far more efficient than trying to pit Zaun against Piltover. If the council took over, so would her puppets. Whether willingly or not.

The kettle boiled to a whistle, and the oven pinged, bringing you back to your senses, and you placed them on a small platter. You walked to the veranda, and for a moment you thought Viktor was asleep until he turned to the sound of your steps. 

Viktor’s smile as he looked at you was enough to make you falter a bit on your feet. It was a look you hadn’t seen in him in a while—a tired, honest, drowsy smile. 

• • • •

“Your back will get stiff and your lungs will disown you if you don’t warm up, V.” You said mischievously, embracing the slender man’s shoulders from behind, cocooning him in the blanket you had on your back. 

His hunched back straightened slightly at your contact, and you heard a chuckle from him. He looked at you from the corners of his dark-rimmed eyes and gave you a tired smile. His body relaxed in your warmth, and you stayed for a while until you felt his body temperature come up.

• • • •

“You’re staring.” He mumbled, and you shook your head, chuckling. “You remind me of someone.” “You’ve said…”

You placed the tray on the small table and pushed it towards him. Sitting on the other armchair next to him, he grabbed the pastry first, giving it a little bite. 

“Can I ask you something?” You leaned your elbows into your knees after a while. “Mmhmm...” he nodded, munching on the small sweet ring. “Was Ambessa in the lab this week?” 

Viktor frowned and chased the food with a slow gulp of tea.

“General Medarda accompanied Councilor Medarda and Salo once, yes.” His voice dripped with venom, making his accent deeper. “Why?”

You shrugged and shook your head.

“Just curious…That good?” You mentioned the pastry with your chin, trying to change the subject quickly, and he made an affirmative sound in his throat. “You want more?” “Maybe later.”  “How about some shut-eye? No offense, but you look like you haven’t slept in a week.” “It’s been 8 days and 6 hours, actually.” “Don’t you dare sound proud of that.” you warned, turning your face to the sun. “I’ve gone for longer…” he said, and you heard him bite a piece of caramelized fruit. “I remember…” you blurted out, snorting. “You do?” He asked, and it dawned on you what you said. “I remember when... I was in the music academy, the days... I mean nights... endless sleepless nights... studying music...” You cleared your throat and got up from the chair. “I’m going to fluff up the pillows in the guest bedroom.”

You didn’t really fluff up anything since the guest bedroom was always prepared for… well… guests… So you just went inside the bedroom and opened the curtains to help the sun warm the room. 

The distinguishable sound of Viktor’s cane came closer to the door, and you heard a low whistle, and that was enough to let you know that man was high on exhaustion and running on fumes alone.

“This bedroom is bigger than my whole apartment.” He leaned on the door and mentioned the room with his cane. “You’ve moved out of the dorm, heh?” You groaned once more; the familiarity of this whole thing was making you forget who you were in this timeline. “Eh...Jayce thought it was a good idea to put some distance between me and my work.” He limped inside the room and sat on the bed, his long legs stretched straight in front of him. He looked at you with a sleepy grin. ”I don’t think he understands the concept of taking the work home with me.”

He bounced a bit on the edge of the bed as you leaned a shoulder into the wall, raising an eyebrow at the exhausted man in front of you.

“Your mother does know how to pick cushiony things.” He mumbled after a few bounces, and you snorted at him. “What? It is true. Have you sat on the chairs in the conservatory? Cloud quality.”

You belly-laughed at him and saw his chest heaving in the same pattern. You nodded at his nonsensical, tired tirade and moved to open the bed sheets for him. 

“Are those technical, scientific terms, Mr. co-creator of Hextech?” You walked back to him and grabbed his cane, leaning it against the bedside table. “Very much so... I am utterly exhausted...” he babbled, as you pointed for him to take his shoes off. “Anything connected to my spine hurts…And that is everything, in case you didn’t know. Everything connects to the spine...”

“Viktor…shush…” you eventually told him, and he nodded apologetically.  "I blather when I'm tired." He shifted his weight to walk over to the side of the bed where the sheets were open, using the bed as his walking aid. 

Unlike your Viktor, who got overtly quieter as his tiredness grew.

“Come on, lie down and rest.” You told him gently, grabbing his elbow to help him.

And he did, his eyelids getting heavy. He sat on his jacket and winced as it pulled on him when he moved back to the head of the bed. He took it off immediately and unbuttoned his vest.

“You promised me magic.” He said once he was lying on a throne of pillows. “I did.” You pushed the sheet onto his legs. “I learned a new rune.”

His eyes widened a bit, and you chuckled. 

One of the nights in the week before, you had fallen asleep at the piano. 

The idea of staying at home doing nothing had started to become boring, so you had decided to try out for the Piltover Symphonic Orchestra. And that meant you had to compose and play a sonata. It was easier said than done, and much like the boys at Hextech, you could get lost in your work. Not to the point of whatever mind place Viktor was in at the moment, but enough that you would fall asleep in the music room sometimes. 

After a particularly bad dream, you had woken up in a panic in a dark new room. A rune had plucked the piano, the vibration from the sound visible against the moonlight shining from the window. Once the vibration hit the light, they formed a beautiful rune glowing white against the darkness.

“I have noted it down in your notebook, just like I did with the others you haven’t seen.”

Viktor gave you a drowsy smile and urged you on with a stare.

You took off the glove you wore like a second skin before pushing the thick curtains, making the room dark and shadowy. Making your way to the bed, you kicked your slippers off and sat on the bottom of the mattress.

With a few strokes in the air, the rune appeared in front of you and dissolved into a smoke-like texture at first and then started to dissolve into small shimmering white marbles of light. Very similar to the unlocking wisps, but these were white and floating gently.

You heard Viktor gasp and grin at him, holding up a finger, the universal sign of ‘that's cool, but check this out.’ With a flick of your wrist, the little sparkles of light rocketed toward the ceiling and just hovered there, like little stars in a sea of darkness.

“Gods.” It was all that escaped him, his face now illuminated by the shimmer of the soft white lights.

You looked from the lights to his face, and although he looked tired, the amazement he was feeling was written on his features. The tired curling of his lips and the flicker and light in his eyes. The way he gently placed his head on the pillows and watched the little marbles of smoke and light dance on the ceiling, his eyes focusing and unfocusing on a particular glow. 

The stars started to fade, and in the silent room, you could only hear him breathing calmly.

“Can you do it again?” He whispered, and you smiled.

You pulled yourself further into the bed and lay on your back, perpendicular to him, your knees bent over the edge. You made the rune again, and the stars reappeared.

“Is it infinite?” He mumbled, his brain starting to shut off, his accent becoming stronger. “The times you can speak the runes?” “I don’t know.” You answered, your brain starting to feel drowsy, lulled by the slow, floating magic. “Can I ask you something?”  “You already did…” You joked, and he snorted. “Yes, but… this you don’t have to answer.” “Go on.” “Have we met before?” “No.” You lied, still having the brain function to preserve your story. “It...is...weird...then.” He sighed deeply. “Every time you say my name, it’s like you’ve said it a thousand times before…”

He paused and sighed again, resting an arm on his forehead while the other rested on the bed next to him.

“And every time I hear it," he mumbled, his eyes already closed. "It’s like I’ve been hearing it all my life.”

When the only sound in the room was his light snoring and your even breathing, you shifted to lay on your side, stretching your arm and touching the tips of his fingers with yours.

• ············ • ············ •

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