#literally like. word for word of dreams had words

[linoxpudding]

Intern (Pt 2)- Lee Know

summary: he's back to sending mixed signals, and you figured he was just playing hard to get — until you overhear something that breaks your heart

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 3940 words

a/n: the drama just started 😈

Intern Series: Part One Part Three

~°~

You walked into the dressing room the next morning humming under your breath, arms full of accessories and heart full of joy. Last night felt like something shifted. Minho wasn’t just polite—he’d been soft. Protective. The kind of soft that lingered in your head long after the car door shut behind you.

You still hadn’t stopped thinking about the way he told you to text when you got inside. The way he opened your door without a word. The way his voice went quiet when he said “You shouldn’t have to.” And okay, fine, maybe you replayed the moment a few too many times while brushing your teeth last night. Whatever.

But when you walked into the dressing room, all giddy and warm, you looked around to spot Minho, and you found him already there. Sitting on the couch. Hoodie up. Headphones in.

But he didn’t notice you yet. 

You approached him. “Morning,” you said, trying not to sound too chipper.

No reply.

You blinked. Okay, maybe he didn’t hear you. That had to be it. You moved past him, setting the jewelry boxes down on the counter, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Ten minutes later, the boys trickled in one by one. The usual chaos returned: Han trying to convince someone to go get coffee, Jeongin dramatically flopping onto the floor like he hadn’t slept in three days, and Felix complimenting your earrings like the angel he was.

But Minho was still silent. 

Your stomach dipped a little. Maybe he didn’t sleep well. Maybe he was tired.

You tried to shake it off. You had racks to sort, accessories to label, a schedule to follow. But every time you glanced over—hoping for one of those almost-smiles, or even a sarcastic jab—there was nothing.

No teasing. No eye contact. No trace of the soft-spoken boy who opened your door last night like it meant something.

Just silence. Cold, distant, silence.

And it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You were mid-lint rolling Hyunjin’s jacket when he raised a perfectly arched brow at you. “You’re weirdly quiet today,” he said, cocking his head. “Usually you don’t shut up.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He smirked. “It’s Minho hyung, isn’t it?”

You froze. Busted. “…No?”

“Oh my god,” Hyunjin gasped suddenly, “you’re upset because Minho hyung went back to being an emotionally constipated statue today, aren’t you?”

You made a face, but didn’t deny it. “He was just… nice last night. And now it’s like I dreamed the whole thing.”

Hyunjin’s grin softened into something gentler. “He’s like that. You know, weird about feelings. But he’s so into you.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

“No, really. You didn’t see the way he looked at you last night. He gave you literal heart eyes.”

“Hyunjin.”

“Heart. Eyes.” He mimicked exaggerated blinking, batting his lashes dramatically. “It’s disgusting, honestly.”

You blushed, swatting at his arm. “Shut up.”

“Nope.” He leaned in closer, whispering with a devilish smirk. “He acts all cool but the second you’re not looking? He turns into a blushing schoolboy.”

You laughed despite yourself. “You’re delusional.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Hyunjin said smugly.

What neither of you noticed was the way Minho’s eyes flicked up from behind his phone just then. He hadn’t really been listening to music. Not the whole time. He watched the way Hyunjin leaned close to you. Watched how you blushed, how you smiled and his jaw clenched.

He wasn’t mad. Not really.

But something burned beneath his skin. Something he didn’t want to name. Because Hyunjin had no business making you laugh like that. And you had no business smiling like that when it wasn’t at him.

He stood up abruptly, pulling down his hoodie and tossing his phone onto the couch.

“Hyunjin,” he said coolly. “Go bother someone else.”

You both turned. Hyunjin raised a brow. “Jealous, hyung?”

Minho didn’t reply. Just shot him a look so sharp it could cut glass. Then he turned to you. His voice was quieter. More clipped, “I need someone to check the hem on my pants. Now.”

Your brows rose. “You could’ve said please.”

Minho didn’t say anything as he turned and walked toward the fitting area, not waiting to see if you’d follow.

Hyunjin gave you a look, mouthing: “Told you.”

*******************

Over the next few days, it became a rhythm — you and Hyunjin, laughing and teasing like you’d been friends for years. He was your anchor, your safe space, your daily source of sanity in the whirlwind of tight schedules and wardrobe emergencies.

And Minho was the ghost in the background.

Always there. Never speaking. But watching.

Like the fire behind frosted glass — hidden, but hot enough to burn.

One evening, you and Hyunjin were messing around in the dressing room. You were trying to braid his hair and failing spectacularly, fingers tangled in his strands as he made dramatic noises of suffering.

“I’m telling you,” he said through fake gritted teeth, “if I end up looking like a medieval knight, I’m blaming you.”

You giggled. “You’re the one who said ‘make me look cool.’”

“I meant ‘K-pop cool,’ not ‘Game of Thrones!’”

You were both laughing so hard you didn’t hear Minho come in — not until you looked up and saw him standing by the mirror, silent.

His eyes weren’t on you. Not quite.

But they weren’t not on you either.

And when they flicked to Hyunjin’s head in your lap, something darkened in them. Just for a split second. So quick you almost thought you imagined it.

Then, as if nothing happened, he turned away and busied himself with tying his shoelaces.

Later that night, Hyunjin caught you in the hallway outside the rehearsal room.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” he said, eyes glinting.

You hesitated, voice low. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, voice dropping. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

He gave you a little half-smile. “The way he watches us.”

You sighed. “He doesn’t care, Jinnie. If he did, he’d—say something. Or look at me. Or literally anything other than act like I’m invisible”

“He’s not ignoring you,” Hyunjin said, voice quiet but firm. “He’s jealous.”

You stared at him. “No, he’s not.”

Hyunjin nodded once. “Yes. He. Is.”

You scoffed. “He barely looks at me.”

“Exactly,” Hyunjin said. “He doesn’t look at you. He looks at us.”

You fell silent.

Because now that you thought about it… there were moments.

The way Minho’s jaw clenched whenever Hyunjin slung an arm around your shoulder. The way he always seemed to pass behind you both during breaks, never saying a word — but never not hovering. The way his eyes flicked to your hand when you high-fived Hyunjin during a particularly challenging fitting day.

It was subtle. So subtle that if Hyunjin hadn’t pointed it out, you might’ve missed it.

But now you can't unsee it. Maybe…he was just playing hard to get?

It didn’t make sense. The attention was there, sure. But so was the silence. And it was driving you insane. You’d run through every possible reason in your head. Maybe he was shy. Maybe he didn’t know how to talk to you. Maybe he thought you weren’t interested. Or maybe—just maybe—Minho was the kind of person who liked to watch from the sidelines. The kind who observed before acting. The kind who kept his cards pressed so tightly to his chest, you’d never even know he was playing the same game.

Still, it was hard not to feel a little stupid. How were you supposed to respond to someone who barely acknowledged your existence, but also managed to show up in every moment you looked back on? He didn’t talk to you. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t even smile. 

But he looked.

And sometimes a look can say everything. Or nothing at all.

And you were stuck in the space between.

*******************

A few days later, you were rushing through the studio hallway, arms full of borrowed garments, when the floor betrayed you. Your foot caught on a loose shoelace, the tile beneath you slick enough to tip the odds. You lost your balance—but before you could fall, a hand caught you.

Minho’s arm caught you at the waist, pulling you upright in one smooth motion. Your hands landed on his chest instinctively, and for a second—just a second—your entire world narrowed to that single point of contact.

His hoodie was soft. His grip was firm. And you could feel his heart beating against your palm.

“Careful,” he muttered, voice low.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “I—uh—thanks.”

He didn’t let go right away. You didn’t move either.

His gaze flicked to your lips, just once, before snapping back to your eyes. His arm slowly dropped from your waist like he was pulling away from something dangerous.

And then, like always—he took a step back. Closed himself off.

“You should double-knot your laces,” he said. Cool. Detached.

But his ears were red.

You stood frozen for a moment after he walked away, still clutching the jacket to your chest like it could steady your heartbeat.

And you couldn’t help but think: What the hell was that?

That night, you told Hyunjin everything.

The hallway. The catch. The look. The voice.

“…and he said I should double-knot my laces,” you finished, flopping dramatically on the couch in the corner of the lounge.

Hyunjin raised a brow. “He caught you like a K-drama lead and all you took from that was advice about shoelaces?”

You groaned. “That’s the thing! He was so soft. And then he wasn’t. It’s like—he lets me in for half a second, then walls slam back up.”

Hyunjin grinned. “He’s not playing hard to get. He is hard to get.”

“But why?” you whispered.

Hyunjin tilted his head. “Maybe you scare him.”

You looked at him, startled. “Me?”

“Yeah. You got under his skin, Y/Nie. And he doesn’t know what to do with that.”

You didn’t say anything.

But that night, when you lay in bed, you couldn’t stop replaying the way Minho’s hand felt around your waist. The way he looked at you like the moment was slipping between his fingers and he didn’t know whether to let it go—or hold on tighter.

You were starting to wonder—

If he truly cared then why was he keeping you at a distance? Why was he leaving you standing in the middle, breathless and unsure.

*******************

The next morning, you showed up to the studio a little earlier than usual, a box of cupcakes balanced in your arms. Just a small gesture—something lighthearted to brighten the mood for the team.

You’d gotten everyone’s favorite, or tried to. Hyunjin liked anything with strawberry. The stylists preferred classic vanilla. And Han, bless his sugar addiction, would eat anything with frosting.

You remember that Han had mentioned once casually, in the backseat of a van after a long schedule, Minho liked coffee-flavored desserts. “Bittersweet. Just like him,” Han had joked.

So you bought that one for him.

When you found him backstage, adjusting his in-ears, you smiled and held out the small cupcake box.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Brought these for everyone. Got you coffee—figured you might like—”

Before you could finish, he glanced at the box, then at you. And just… walked past.

No thank you. No smile. Not even a word.

Your hand slowly lowered. The box felt heavier now, like it was filled with something far more delicate than frosting.

You stood there for a second, trying not to let it sting too much. But it did. It really did.

“Hey,” a voice said gently behind you.

You turned to find Han, eyes soft with concern. “You okay?”

You gave him a too-quick smile. “Yeah. Totally. It’s just… cupcakes.”

Han tilted his head. “You’re doing that thing.”

You blinked. “What thing?”

“That thing where you pretend you’re okay but your eyes look like you’re seconds away from crying or committing crimes.”

You let out a watery laugh.

“I don’t get it,” you whispered. “You were there that night. In the car. After dinner. He was so… soft. And sweet. I thought we had a moment.”

Han nodded. “You did.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t know what happened after that,” you sighed.

Han sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Minho hyung isn’t good at… feelings. He gets all tangled up.”

“I think he just doesn’t care..” You say softly.

Han’s voice softened. “He cares, Y/N. That’s obvious. But he’s scared of something. Or maybe someone. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not you. He’s just being immature.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to.

Instead, you looked down at the cupcake in your hand. Bittersweet. Just like him.

*******************

A few more days passed. You kept your distance. He kept his.

Until one day, you were sitting on the floor of the practice room, your back resting against the mirror, scrolling through your camera roll to find a look reference for Seungmin’s next fitting. Your phone slipped from your fingers and landed just out of reach, face-down on the floor.

Before you could reach for it, a hand picked it up.

You looked up.

Minho. 

He didn’t say anything as he handed it back, but his fingers brushed yours a second too long. And when your eyes met—just for a heartbeat—he didn’t look away.

Instead, he said, “You always sit in weird spots.”

You blinked. “You always sneak up like a cat.”

A faint smirk curved his lips. “Not my fault you don’t pay attention.”

“You’re literally wearing black head to toe,” you pointed out.

“So?”

“So you’re blending in with the floor.”

That made him huff a quiet laugh, the smallest one, the kind that slipped past his defenses before he could stop it.

He stood up again, brushing off his sweats. “Tell Seungmin not to wear the green pants again. They make him look like broccoli.”

You blinked, surprised.

“…You looked at my fitting sketches?”

He paused, just briefly.

Then, without turning around, he said, “Maybe.”

And walked off. Leaving you there. Your heart stuttered again. You shook your head, shutting your eyes for a second:

No. No, don’t do this again.

You were overthinking. He was just being kind. A little snarky, a little soft—just like he was with everyone else when he felt like it.

You swallowed the feeling, shoved it deep down like you planned to do from now on because you had an internship to do.

*******************

The morning started off chaotic—as usual. Wardrobe racks rolled across the studio like stampedes, stylists barked directions over the hum of hairdryers, and members of Stray Kids floated in and out like it was their second home. You were stationed near the fitting mirrors, adjusting a lineup of outfit pieces for their next music video shoot.

“Jinnie,” you called, scanning the list, “You’re supposed to be in the deep red set first.”

Hyunjin peeked from behind a clothing rack, his freshly styled hair falling into his eyes. “Bestieee,” he whined playfully, “Can’t I do the black one first? It makes my collarbones look expensive.”

You grinned. “Everything on you looks expensive.”

“See? That’s why you’re my favorite.” He leaned in, wrapping his arms around you from behind in an overly dramatic hug.

You laughed, gently swatting his hands off. “Get changed before I make you wear crocs on set.”

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of dark eyes were watching.

Minho stood across the room, sipping from a coffee cup, his expression stoic. His gaze lingered far longer than he meant it to—on the easy way you smiled with Hyunjin, the way you adjusted his lapel with delicate fingers, and how Hyunjin whispered something in your ear that made you cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

“You’re glaring,” Seungmin said beside him, startling him.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

Seungmin turned to him, raising a brow. “Hyung, you literally flinched when she touched Hyunjin’s wrist.”

“I didn’t flinch.”

“You sipped your coffee so aggressively it sounded like a threat.”

Minho huffed and turned away, but not before taking one last look—only to find you already looking at him.

Your eyes met. A flicker passed between you. But this time you looked away first.

*******************

There was a cozy get-together at the director’s place to mark the successful release of the latest album. The director’s house was a lot bigger than you’d expected.

Wide hallways, glowing sconces, too many rooms to count. It was the kind of place where even the chaos of an afterparty looked sophisticated. Staff mingled with band members, producers lounged by the kitchen island, and someone was already halfway through a bottle of wine they didn’t remember bringing.

You walked in with Hyunjin who was dressed in casual jeans and a satin shirt he stole from the last concept shoot. You’d changed into a casual-but-cute outfit before coming—a ribbed sweater, jeans that hugged you just right, and your favorite earrings because why not? Tonight wasn’t about work. Tonight was about breathing.

You’d barely stepped through the threshold before Han was pulling you toward the backyard with a grin, Jeongin trailing behind with a bag of chips.

“You’re late,” Han teased, pulling you to a proper hug. “We almost started a search party for you.”

“Oh please,” you said, hugging him back. “You would’ve forgotten I existed the second the snack table called your name.”

Jeongin gasped. “She knows you too well, hyung.”

“I feel attacked,” Han pouted dramatically. 

Hyunjin chuckled before asking you, “Drink?”

“Please,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “Something strong enough to erase the madness of this week.”

“Relatable,” Hyunjin said with a sigh, already making his way toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen.

The rest of the three of you found a spot near the patio lights, the night cool but comfortable. Laughter bubbled from the kitchen and music hummed low from the living room speakers. You leaned against the railing, soaking in the rare chance to just be.

“Where’s the rest of the chaos crew?” you asked.

“Oh, you mean Mr. Lee Minho?” Han said, raising his brows, voice laced with mischief.

You blinked. “I didn’t say that—”

“Don’t lie,” Jeongin chimed in. “We’ve all seen the looks.”

Han gave you a knowing smirk. “She’s blushing.”

“I’m not!” You covered your face with your hands, heat blooming in your cheeks. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he sing-songed.

You groaned, covering your face. “Shut up, both of you.”

“Hey, I’m your wingman, let me work,” Han laughed. “Operation MinY/N is in progress.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “You guys are the worst,” you mumbled, laughing despite your embarrassment. “I need a second, I’ll be right back.”

You headed up the stairs to catch your breath, maybe splash some cold water on your face, heart still fluttering from the teasing. The hallway upstairs was quieter. As you passed the hallway toward the bathroom, you paused—voices were coming from the slightly ajar game room door. You recognized them instantly.

Minho. Changbin. Chan. Seungmin.

You were about to walk past until your name caught your attention.

“Y/N flirts too much,” Minho said. “It’s kind of… annoying.”

Your heart stopped. You froze.

“What?” Changbin asked, sounding confused.

Inside, the soft clack of billiard balls echoed between words—they were in the middle of a pool game.

“She does it with everyone,” Minho continued, his voice laced with annoyance. “Me, Hyunjin… always with the teasing and touches and little comments. It’s kinda exhausting.”

They were talking about you.

“She’s just being friendly,” Changbin added quietly. “Y/N’s like that with everyone— kind and nice.”

There was a pause, another faint clack of billiard balls. Then Minho again, his tone sharper now.

“I get it, she’s nice, but it’s like—God—she’s always laughing too loud, always trying to be near me. I just want some peace but she’s everywhere. It's like she doesn’t know when to back off?” A low, frustrated sigh followed. “She’s constantly hovering around me, it’s suffocating.”

“She’s not—” Seungmin started, but Minho cut him off.

“I don’t know how many times I have to make it clear,” Minho said with a huff. “Can’t she take the hint? I’m not interested. She’s just too much.”

Your breath hitched.

“That’s enough, Minho.” Chan’s voice warned, firmly.

“I’m just being honest,” Minho muttered, softer now. Defensive.

You didn’t hear the rest.

Your fingers were trembling as you pushed the door open.

Four heads snapped toward you. Minho’s face went pale in an instant. Seungmin’s mouth parted in shock. Changbin winced, shoulders tense.

Chan looked straight at you—regret already etched into his features.

“I…” Your throat was dry. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just looking for the bathroom.”

You looked at Minho, who wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You took a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” you said, voice even, though you could feel the crack forming beneath it. “I didn’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable. I must’ve crossed a line. It won’t happen again.”

The silence was unbearable.

You turned and walked away before anyone could say anything else.

You weren’t even sure how you got from the hallway to the staircase — only that you needed out.

Your legs moved on autopilot, shoes clacking against marble, breath catching in your throat as you blinked up at the ceiling to keep tears from spilling.

But just as you rounded the corner, out of view, the voices inside the room shifted.

“Bro, what the hell was that?” Chan’s tone was sharp, a rare edge to it.

“You didn’t have to say it like that,” Changbin added, voice lower. “You know she doesn’t flirt with everyone. She’s been into you since day one, and you know it.”

There was a pause, like even Minho didn’t have an answer for that.

“She’s not fake, Minho hyung. You just don’t know how to handle when someone actually gives a shit,” Seungmin muttered.

*******************

Outside the hallway, you gripped the railing of the dimly lit staircase, trying to suck in a breath without falling apart.

And that’s when you heard someone’s footsteps behind you.

“Y/N?”

You turned slightly — and there was Felix, his brows immediately pinching in concern when he saw your eyes.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice gentle, hand reaching out as if to comfort you.

But you shook your head quickly, forcing a small, broken smile.

“I’m okay,” you lied. “I… I just need to leave. I’m sorry.”

You brushed past him, blinking furiously.

“Y/N?” Hyunjin’s voice echoed.

You froze.

He was rushing down the steps, expression worried and confused, scanning your face — and when he saw your eyes shimmering with unshed tears, his jaw clenched.

“What happened?” he asked, softer this time, eyes darting behind you like he was trying to find the cause.

You couldn’t speak. You shook your head again, more desperate this time.

“I’m driving you,” he declared immediately, already pulling out his keys.

“No,” you whispered. “Please, Hyunjin… I just want to be alone, I’ll just…go home.”

That cracked something in him.

You’d never refused him like that. Not once.

“But you’re—” He stopped himself. “You’re crying. Just let me—”

You stepped back.

“Please,” you said, your voice barely a breath now. “I don’t want to talk. Not now.”

He didn’t chase you, even though he desperately wanted to. So, he watched you go, heart pounding, throat tight — a thousand questions and a single truth ringing in his head:

You weren’t okay.

And someone dared to break your heart tonight.

--------------

Permanent Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos @silly250 @notmedina127 @thecutiepieme @stay-tiny-things @inlovewithstraykids @skz-ot8-stay @emilyywhyy @havenwithleeknow @hungryhobbit815 @seungminnieinthebuilding

Intern Series Taglist:

@ka0ila @captainchrisstan @curlyhairedotaku @casperlynn23 @bluebellsringinghereandthere @diekleinesuesse @mrsminseochoi @eridanuswave @brbwritingfanfic @melanctton @kttb @jisungooner @hansmic @cowboylikemalika @tsunderelino

[oceanicfishies]

Mom, I'm Chasing a Ghost

CW: death, grief, funerals, in general just very angsty Caleb!mc headcanons about how she handled grief

Caleb!mc who woke up the next day after the explosion and forgot that Caleb died so she literally called him a thousand times, what if it was a bad dream? It wasn't, and when she realized she cried for hours straight until she fell asleep.

Caleb!mc who sat in complete silence during the funeral reception. Everyone came to her and told her how sorry they were, as if she was his wife or something, and she was so shocked she could not even react to their words. She just stared at them in complete silence and nodded.

Caleb!mc who was supposed to give a speech during his funeral and she wrote it, but when she actually had to read it she could literally not see the words in paper because of the amount of tears that fell through her eyes.

Caleb!mc that had to be held when his body was being buried because she was going to go full hamlet and throw herself after the casket.

Caleb!mc that arrived home after the funeral and ignored everyone for a week to the point in which Tara had to force the entry and she simply found mc sitting in the dark staring to a wall.

Caleb!mc that could not sleep because her dreams were plagued with Caleb. She closed her eyes? He was there, his laugh echoed through the goddamned room and his smile was practically tattoed in her brain. She was forced to begin taking sleeping pills because sleeping by her own was torture and she was physically impossible from falling asleep.

Caleb!mc who could not travel, hear shit about airplanes because it would remind her of him so she would break down and literally cry as a small kid.

Caleb!mc that was sent to pack Caleb's things and found a box full of memories of them, pictures of them as children, candid pictures of her he took that had notes saying things like "Pipsqueak enjoying icecream", or the letters they exchanged while he was at the academy.

Caleb!mc that can not forget herself from leaving the house without Caleb and her grandma, so she spirals into a self-guilt overthinking mess of what if. In her brain, she was the only one to blame.

[calebrity]

fuck me like i’m famous

popstar! rafayel x female reader

in theory, attending your favorite popstar’s after party seems a dream come true. for you, it certainly is. in reality, though? it doesn’t live up to it- at least not innocently.

content popstar! rafayel, nsfw, smut, dubcon, fingering, disillusion, mc learns why idolizing celebrities isn’t wise (by being banged by one during his afterparty), yandere & obsessive undertones, 18+ characters

sidenote hrm… was supposed to be a lil drabble but it snowballed into almost 5k words. hopefully the fishie girlies will like this lil meal tho since he’s kinda a rare sight on the blog 💔 rafayel is freaked the fuck out in this deadass... also i literally had nothing better to name this but i believe chase atlantic kinda fits raf’s vibes here so :,] OH & THANK U FOR 600 FOLLOWERS I LOVE YALL ♡♡♡

Lights glitter on his face in the after party.

You don’t know what you did to earn God’s favor in this life, but whatever the reason, you’re thankful for scoring yourself that ticket. He’s all you listen to; a staple to each of your playlists. And so for what Thomas did- gifting you a special pass he had as an extra to your favorite popstar’s show- you’re ever in his debt.

He might be his publicist; that spare ticket may mean nothing to him. Alright, but-

It might as well mean the whole world to you.

Girls crowd his spot on the couch. It’s decadent: the room bathed in dim, yellow lights as the drinks, generously taken from, sparkle on the table before it. He kicks his long legs out on it and stretches an arm behind the woman at his side. She’s beautiful, scantily clad, all of them are- some curled up to his shoulder, others drunkenly twirling around the room- and because of it, you feel a little out of place.

In jeans and a band tee, you weren’t prepared.

Not for this.

One part of you is positively gushing at the scene that unfolds around you, deciding you could die in peace now that you’d finally experienced one of his concerts, especially in such an exclusive way. Still, another part of you, dwelling low in your belly, twisting like a bad gut feeling, quietly thinks, Has Thomas mistaken me for a whore? Perhaps it’s wrong to think that of those girls... But you also don’t believe they’d take any real offense to that if they were to hear your internal back-and-forth, because they seem delighted to put on their shows for him.

They can’t be blamed, right? I mean… It’s him. Rafayel. Everybody and their mom would trip over their own two feet trying to get an audience with him.

Still.

You ball your fists in your lap.

A-Are you even meant to be here?

Rafayel was always bold on camera, yes; flirtatious to a fault. Sure, he was a playboy and you were aware of that, the whole community was. Really, it was integral to his charm.

But this—

One of the girls giggles when she stumbles over her high heels and into Rafayel’s lap. It’s convenient. Too convenient: even if she’s only half aware of her surroundings, in for a bad hangover tomorrow morning, she still manages to go flying right towards him. You know the purple-haired man must be aware of it too, her frolicking stunts.

Nonetheless, he catches her in his arms before she topples, and he laughs, too.

It’s a pretty sound. Then again, everything about him is. With his dyed, lavender curls and the softness to his otherwise coy face, the little moles dusting it and his glossy, pink lips— he’s beautiful. All the more in that outfit. Cheeky but not enough as to be scandalous. His stylist and his designer have your applause. Clearly, they know what they’re doing.

On stage, he’d seemed playful, but was able to keep his gallivanting at bay. With a wink, though, all that sex appeal just oozes out, and—

It’s weird. How you can spend so much weeks and months and years idolizing somebody, and then suddenly have all that worshipful intent collapsing in a breath. Within the span of not even an hour, you’ve become so disillusioned with this celebrity- your all time favorite- that you can hardly bear to look at him and his wanton display.

Sat on the armchair opposite of it all as it takes place, deathly quiet, you begin to feel sick.

Is this really him?

You knew he was a flirt, yes, but- but what the hell is even this? Is this what he demeans himself to after each show? Just some cheap manwhore with his hand-selected throng of groupies, sipping away at an expensive wine just moments after he set the mic aside after a love song you’d thought to be heartfelt—

Your glass, the one a suited man offered on a tray and you took only to mimic the others, remains untouched before you.

This is startling. And far from your preferred scene.

M-Maybe you ought to go home. And soon. Is what you’ve been thinking for closer to thirty minutes now, and yet you’re too nervous to speak on it. I mean, maybe if you just stood up and left, nobody would notice your slipping out— the room is far from bright and everybody’s buzzed on something, anyway—

Marbled, coral-blue eyes stare at you over the rim of his glass, and they glint with something you think is mirth.

Curiosity, alongside it.

It makes you second guess yourself. Taking your leave.

He’s been watching you for a while now. Even when the stunning women gather in a flurry around him, tugging on his hair and teasing with whispering breaths in his ear, his attention doesn’t remain on them for long. It drags back to you and, for all the distractions occuring around you (the stereo playing an all too familiar song, the drunken chatter, the unease in your chest), he’s impressively focused.

It’s unnerving. It’s divine. He’s all you listen to in the car and in the shower and in your bedroom when you’re dancing to his newest album in an oversized sleep shirt and panties. You’ve cried to him and laughed to him and now he’s here, in shocking clarity, and you were so so excited, rambling about it to your girlfriends for months, but now you’re not so sure of what you’re seeing. If you like it.

He seems less god to you, now; oh, still heavenly, still angelic, for sure, but he toes more along the line of something wicked— like a cherub fallen.

And you can’t find it in you to get up and scurry out even when that’s all you can picture yourself doing in your head, escaping.

When you catch his eye again, you dip your chin (not out of reverence, no longer, but rather unease) and bite on your lip until you taste blood.

So when he lifts his hand with a snap then, the girls pouting as they crawl off him, dissipating no different than fog- you’re ever thankful for the opportunity to finally get up and leave, too—

A voice chimes over itself, layering over the familiar song playing in the background.

“Hey- wait up, cutie.”

You pause when you belatedly realize it’s calling for you.

As if your legs are stilts, you turn around hesitantly (strange: because really, shouldn’t you be happy he’s noticed you?) and try to lessen the shock on your face- even though his amused little smile tells you it’s as clear as day.

He laughs pleasantly, playful to a fault.

“What’s that silly face for? Oh, IIIIIII see, you’re feeling a lil left out, is my guess. Here,” he pats the cushion beside him and you actually blanche. For a moment you think your heart has stopped beating and those thumps you hear are the drum beats in his song as it drifts through the now empty room.

Save for you and Rafayel, it’s completely barren; the better part of its energy has left with the dancing girls but whatever remains of it, he holds.

You eye the spot beside him, unmoving.

An excuse, you realize right then— you can still spit out an excuse.

“I-I’m not one of the girls,” you stammer with a wince before clearing your throat, “I- I don’t even think I’m really supposed to be here.”

Another laugh, and a dismissive wave of his hand. You try to make yourself laugh too if only to appease him, your idol- endlessly nervous.

“Oh, well that’s just untrue,” he teases. “C’mon, don’t be shy~! I was just playing around with the others. It’s just you and me now, so no need to feel all nervous,” he assures, the image of harmless as he crosses his leg over the other and waits.

You blink rapidly. “I—“

You’re about to spew out a feeble rejection and that’s when his face drops.

You’re not sure, for all the records and posters and billboards you’ve seen of his face, if he’s ever made that expression. Not on camera, at least.

He lowly murmurs, “Aren’t you a fan?”

“I-…. Well-….”

A fan? For years now! His number one! A stupid girlish voice in the corner of your mind shrieks, and you almost dredge some joy out of this whole thing.

Letting out a shaky sigh, defeated, you creep over to him on equally shaky legs and take the spot beside him— all with great hesitance, though.

His pretty face alights again. Some of the pressure loosens up, even if only by a little, and your shoulders relax by a smidge.

Maybe it’s fine. Maybe you’re crazy and this is how he interacts with all his listeners no, no it’s not. Or maybe this is just a normal, celebrity thing and you’re blowing this way out of proportion here.

Just like he did with that other woman- that other likeminded fan or plaything or- or you don’t know- he loops an arm around the back of the couch behind you.

…What’s different, though, is that, unlike with her, he rests his hand on your shoulder and hugs you closer to his side. Clinging.

Rafayel smiles. Charming. Frivolous. With a glint in his eye, intense and engrossed, that’s weirdly sober when taking the half empty drink he sets down on the table into consideration.

“There. Good girl. So tell me, pretty,” he starts thoughtfully, fingertips twirling your hair as he leans into you. For the popstar that takes very little seriously, you think he appears awfully interested in some no-name girl who happened to score herself a limited-time lanyard to see him sing.

You swallow thickly. In the back of your mind, thoughts race. So does your heart. You might explode.

H-He didn’t act like this with the others— did you somehow present yourself in a way that made him think he could take more than what the others let him? More than what the others practically begged him to, but for some fucking reason he wouldn’t—

“Did you like the show?”

“Y-Yeah.” You don’t mean to whisper, but a certain, resigned silence is what you’ve been reduced to. His other hand stretches across his body to rest on your thigh.

Rafayel hums. But before he can speak, you- rudely, might he add- cut in. “I- I have to go home soon, so-“

Amused, he snorts. “Relax, alright? Tonight, you’re a very important person, aren’t you? Home can wait,” he muses, so close he’s near nuzzling your cheek.

A very important person? Funny. You’re just another fool bouncing around amongst the nosebleeds- a face he’ll be hard-pressed to catch and certain to forget. Honestly? This whole facade of his is as cruel as it is unbelievable.

Gradually, he’s letting you down.

Your throat bobs. Almost a bit bitterly, you remind, “I- I know you’re a popstar, but we’re still strangers. You don’t have to feel like you need to entertain me or be nice to me.”

“Huh. You’re one smart cookie,” he wryly comments before giving his head a tiny shake, almost more to himself than to you. “Um, look, cutie, you’re definitely no stranger to me,” his words leave you dazed because they sound genuine. You snap your head up to look at him, needing to gauge his expression and fish for deceit. You… find none.

He smoothly continues. “But I guess I’m no stranger to you either, huh? And tonight, you’ll be like, extra acquainted with me.”

✦

It’s difficult.

-When he’s hovering over you and gently pushing you onto the plush cushions into a half-lying position, to not only push him off but find the strength to.

Physically, Rafayel’s no hulking display of power, but he’s intimidating all the same. Mentally, he’s more or less your idol and although he may not hold too much weight in stature (still, he’s stronger than you), he still holds enough golden trophies to decorate a shelf— and too much influence for you to really comprehend.

Or try to toy with.

…You should want this. Should want to lie down and offer yourself up to him with eagerness— it should be like a blessing and yet you’re hesitating.

…Why are you hesitating? A voice in the back of your head, the one that had raved endlessly to her friends about the upcoming concert, asks perplexedly. You’ve no answer. But the man atop you seems to wonder much of the same, too; his brow twitching just slightly with what you think to be dejection before he tilts your chin with long, slim fingers to kiss you and it’s gone.

He moans into that first kiss. Prettily and soft.

Heat flutters in the core of you, your body involuntarily responding to him even as your eyes snap open and shift to where the door is- or where you think it is (have the lights gotten dimmer? or is he just all you see?)- his palm tugging at your hair softly to lie you down.

His lips are plump, pink, just as gentle as they look as they meld against yours— definitely aroused, there’s no doubt there, his warm breaths tinged with needy whines- but there’s an odd affection in them, too. Something personal and doting.

When he tries to slip in tongue, you reel away but there’s nowhere to go. Not really. Not when your head finally touches the cushion and he lets out a small, disapproving sound before giving up on that goal- for now- and attacking your neck instead.

It’s good. Delicious; that perfect mouth knows its way around a mic and a lover, you suppose- suckling and kissing and nipping with the barest amount of teeth as if he’s intent on leaving a mark.

You can’t hold back on it anymore— you drop your hands that had been hovering awkwardly on his broad shoulders, mewling in response, and he shivers.

“Yeah, cutie, make some noise,” he chuckles mildly. You think back to the auditorium. The roaring cheers and shrieks, the phone lights waving in the air and the mist rolling beneath his feet as he sang.

His hand descends down your belly, and you’re brought back to now.

It’s more instinct than anything that has you clamping your legs shut as soon as his fingers reach the denim. He tuts at you, and yet the glimmer in his eye is… endeared, almost.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t shut me away now,” Rafayel scolds, thought it lacks any real bite. Still, your lashes flutter and you stare agog at him.

Like this, he’s positively gorgeous as he props himself up mere inches away- albeit his little grin can almost be considered vulpine. “Didn’t I put on a great show for you out there? Don’t tell me I get nothing in return,” he pouts, tone light but what lies under it is a layer of desire. Opaque and thick.

Hesitantly, you mull over his words. I mean, you just really want this to be over- so to hell to with it, maybe you should just submit yourself. The sooner you appease the playboy with what he wants— that is, some nameless girl he perceives as cheap enough to get on her back for him— the sooner you can leave and pretend Thomas never gave you his special ticket.

The popstar’s words turn comforting as he watches you carefully. “If you’re shy, don’t worry. I’ve seen it plenty’a times before, you know.”

Bigheaded, you think then. Bigheaded but he has every right to be.

Maybe if it was any other guy bragging about the chicks he fucked and scrutinized, you’d throw up in your mouth— and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t cringe a little on the inside— but it’s embarrassment for yourself above all that stirs in your stomach. It joins the butterflies as your cheeks warm over.

“Now,” he continues, his familiar lilt flattening into heavy, breathy lust, “All I want is to see yours. I’m sure your pussy is pretty, cutie- really,” he convinces.

A tremble. “So pretty.”

Oh, you’re erupting on the inside— heart snapping like a snare drum in your chest, overpowering the faint music and drowning it out- your hand shaking where it weakly closes over the back of his own, now only half trying to drag it away.

He hammers the last nail into your coffin. With a ragged, but gentle breath and- as he leans in- a surprisingly chaste peck to your lips, appreciative of what he has before him.

“Won’t you show me it?”

But jaw slack, you hesitate. And- Of course you hesitate. The reasons for your deliberation, that weird gut feeling, become clearer and clearer as seconds progress:

Firstly, he’s the image of fame- and if you were to deny him, if he said the smallest word over it, your whole entire social life as you knew it would backfire on you. The possibility of his saying mean things on the internet hangs in your mind. Rumors circulating, as untrue as they are vivid, coming to bite you in the ass. For as many hours as you’ve spent watching and listening to Rafayel, you don’t know his true colors (as evidenced by right now); that includes what a wounded ego would look like if you rejected him.

Secondly, you hesitate because—

Because he’s perfect. Much like an idol on a pedestal, carefully set there with a singular light overhead to define him and him alone.

In a dark room, all look to him.

Once- an hour ago- you did, too.

Maybe you still do. You don’t know. There’s a whole bunch of feelings (confusion, awe, a betrayal that makes you question just how parasocial your relationship with him was) swirling inside you, none able to be grazed or grasped, and it shakes a part within.

“Please?” He breathes, ever headstrong.

…Your rationale is headlong, falling into the abyss with a word.

“O-Okay,” you all but squeak out. It’s the best you can manage. Rafayel’s breath hitches at that, though, your given assent, no matter how feeble, planting satisfaction deep in his chest.

And so with that he’s swiftly undoing your jeans and rucking them down your thighs.

It’s less out of good will that you help him shimmy them off you, to a bunch above your shoes, and more so eagerness to be done with this whole thing.

When he tucks his knuckles beneath the waistband of your panties- cutesy cotton put on full display for him, perched above pretty thighs- he curses under his breath.

His hands are as big as a man’s but as soft as a woman’s. His fingertips are dutiful as they brush along your folds, as singleminded, hungry, as the former.

…But when they nudge between your pussy lips and at your tight hole, his thumb prodding expertly at your clit, it’s like he has all the awareness of the latter.

“Ah, you’re so wet…” he muses aloud. Very pleased with his discovery.

His eyelids, dazzling with some glittery shade his makeup artist applied prior to his show, droop and don’t meet your flustered stare as he focuses on the space between your legs. And he takes it upon himself to rid you of your panties, too: for as adorable as they are, Rafayel knows it’ll be ten times better for you both if he can just-

Finally fucking see for himself what you’ve got goin’ on down there—

Undies midway down your leg, he comments, “you’re really hyped up after the show, huh?” His exhale is a shaky sound. His gaze is utterly fascinated (and perhaps a touch unnerving, what with its intensity) when it bounces back to that soft dip below your belly.

You’ll give him this much credit— for as wild as that glint in his unblinking stare becomes, he’s fortunately gentle with you.

He wets his lip absently. “Yeah… it gets me going, too. All the lights and cheering faces... Feeling the bass vibrate up from the floor. Can I be honest, though, cutie? When Thomas- oh, shit-“ he shivers when he inserts a digit in- his pointer one- and your hole instinctively clamps down around it, juices glistening to the base of his knuckle as you try not to squirm.

Y-You can’t believe this is happening. Your clothes are all in a disarray- the only piece intact, actually, is your tee that just so happens to be merchandise of the popstar that hovers over you now with his hand between your legs—

You blink back to real life when he sharply inhales.

“…When Thomas told me you were comin’, I made absolute sure to know your standing. That way, I could find you easily in the crowd. I was gettin’ so worked up just looking at you. Could you hear it-? My voice began to shake.” he chuckles, voice euphony to your ears. Familiar in its lilt but not in its timber.

His words stun you. They don’t make sense- is this is all some cruel, sick game after all-? Or- Or maybe he’s mistaking you for someone else? or he’s just choosing a really weird, admittedly screwed up way to let off some steam. God knows, what with his recent album built on the back of unrequited love, he needs the stress relief—

But no. He continues on like nothing is amiss, like your heart doesn’t plummet to the tips of your toes at his offhanded admission, and you forget how to breathe.

“When our eyes met- you looked like you were doubting yourself, but I really was staring at you, you silly girl.” Again, he’s fucking laughing, albeit this time, it takes on a more self-deprecating tone. You witness, almost unseeing, as his facade crumbles in increments. More and more he undoes it by the seams- much like he is with you.

“I was… Hm. I was even singing about you. All those stupid pining love songs— who do you think they’re for, princess?”

A gasp punches out from your lungs. You don’t know what it’s for- his nonsensical confessions, or his handling as he stuffs in another finger (you could’ve used some more working up to it, sure, he knows, but he’s a little impatient tonight) and scissors you open.

Wet shlicks ring in between guitar riffs. Your essence flows all over his knuckles and the numerous- horrifically expensive, you realize- jewels lining them. Rafayel doesn’t seem nearly as appalled as you do, though... If anything, aroused.

It feels so good. He’s hitting that spongey spot inside you just right. It’s a surreal experience, so much so you almost feel like you’ll coalesce into a dream at any moment. The melody playing in the background, the opulent couch as it groans beneath you with every piston of his arm, the twinkling, but dim lights and his face. That picturesque, idol face.

“Here, I’ll tell you the answer…” he leans over you to whisper in your ear, subjecting you to all the charm of a siren. You’re helpless to it ‘cause you’re just a girl.

“You. Always you.”

You’re dizzy. Your head is light but your lower half is heavy, the inner portion of your thighs numbed and sticky. Your limbs tingle but all you can feel is his lips tenderly suckling at your neck and your gushing walls as they constrict around their intruder.

Though they, too, ease up on him. He’s good at disarming you. That’s how you were walking in here, anyway, disarmed and beyond yourself with excitement.

Rafayel moans over you, finding a great amount of pleasure in the whole ordeal.

“You gonna cum? yeah?” He’s sweet, purring in your ear, making sounds as pretty as a girl- maybe even more so. His voice has won awards for a reason. You recall binging musical ceremonies on the internet and shrieking as soon as his name was called to stage, his seeming nonchalance as he accepted an accolade…

Yet you saw his ears, too, the tips of them red under the resounding applause, and wondered just what or who it was that had him bowing his head to the camera—

“A-Ah, mmph- Rafayel, please—!” You choke, fingers curling into his shoulder. In response, he lets out a pleasured, breathy sound, all encouragement and delight in his eyes.

“Mhm. Go ahead. Cum. Cum, pretty girl, all over my fingers. Oh- I really wanna taste you- will y’let me taste you afterwards?” He’s moaning unabashed as you come undone at warp speed. It’s shameful and your cheeks toast over but you clamp your eyes shut and choose to bask in the feeling of it all as it overwhelms you.

He’s good. So good. Masterful with it, really. Not like any of the bungling guys who courted you for all of one date (the more patient: two) before ripping your pants off and sticking their fingers inside without prompting or even half the skill to back their confidence.

No- he’s every bit qualified and then some.

Your nails dig into his clavicle. Rafayel doesn’t care- if that pinch of pleasure between his brow is the least bit credible, maybe he even likes the sting.

“Good girl. There, good girl.”

It’s building inside you. He works you up progressively, rapidly, and it shows in the little gasps you make that fall back to back, the L shape you make with either of your legs as they hitch up around his hips and quake, the ball in your gut that suddenly hardens before—

“Ngh— Rafayel-!”

You scream. Louder than the music. Louder than his words of encouragement, sugar-sweet, hungry, susurrating as they spill in your ear. He sensually nibbles on it and wraps his free hand around your head- with a misplaced affection, you think- to anchor you throughout your climax. He manages to keep you grounded there on the couch but only barely.

Your mind does slip off to another place, though, floating in white oblivion for a number of seconds as your limbs offer small trembles.

Rafayal takes close to nothing serious. So the light, but bubbly laugh that draws you back to consciousness with a sigh is fairly appropriate.

What isn’t is his touchiness as he drags you to sit on his lap— boneless; your skin damp with heat, your damned pants still cuffed awkwardly around your ankles— and croons into your neck. Holding you close like a lover would in the after glow. But this isn’t the after glow, this is the after show. But then again, if his earlier words were true- the ones that barrel back into you with clarity, the haze dissipating- then…

But no. No, how could that be? Those songs aren’t about you— and when you met his eye during the opening, and all the times afterward, you were sure it was just your imagination, especially after the fan beside you threw up her arms and cheered as if his stare was for her instead—

You might know Thomas (very vaguely- more of a friend of a friend you’ve seen at a few get-togethers; you follow him on insta), but that doesn’t mean Rafayel, the man he works for, should know you... I mean, you doubt they hang out often, anyway. Especially not since Thomas would more or less be viewed as the king of no-fun in the popstar’s eyes.

His whole job is to assure that Rafayel keeps his lips sealed tight: you can’t imagine that he’d be loose with his own by chatting with him about you, a girl he’s not all too familiar with but knows just enough to throw a spare ticket at.

So there’s just no way any of this is true.

Half of you expects Rafayel to shove you off his lap at any second, snap back to the reality that you’re not the woman he mistook you for, and flusteredly point you to the door. The other half of you is like it’s waiting for him to pull out his cock (it stirs underneath your ass, hard and by the feel of it, very excited) and take all that’s left to.

He moves your hair aside your shoulder and rubs along your back, instead.

And he whispers in your ear (or into your neck, really), his warm breath fanning there as he says like it’s a vow:

“Wanna see you at my next show. Better be there.”

Your throat bobs. As he speaks, you try not to focus too much on the fluid that oozes from your pussy lips and onto his expensive, designer slacks- but that’s no easy task when he seems to want for that, slightly lifting his hips up.

“No. Before that, even—“ he pauses for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before smiling, resolved. “Oh, I know- I’ll have Thomas help get you settled in with the tour bus. That way, you can just be on the road with me.”

You gawk. Whatever he’s saying doesn’t reach you; you’re only receiving that garbled bits of it, like a radio interpolated by static between voices. Your palms lift to his chest and push there softly.

Smoothly, he takes them in his own and kisses the knuckles, peering up at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky, giggling.

“Doesn’t that sound just great, cutie?”

“I- wait, you-?”

“I’ll name my next song after you- my next album, even!- and then we can go public immediately.” You can recognize it for what it is, even coming from someone as frivolous as him.

A promise.

“The fans will love you,” he says excitedly before leaning in and smushing a kiss to your damp hairline, murmuring there with a fiery tinge of what you think is devotion. “But not as much as I already do.”

He fishes into his pocket, then, one hand still securing your waist.

“Lemme give Thomas a call… I guess he kinda deserves my ‘thank you’, too, huh?”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[writingsofwesteros]

Hello dear. I want to send you a request. If you don't want to write, you can ignore it.

Dark Robert Baratheon and Targaryen chubby Princess. Reader can be Rhaegar's twin or younger sister. She is the most beautiful girl in the realm. She is a very sweet, intelligent motherly character. Robert kidnaps reader and impregnates her. There is a rebellion and the Targaryens are overthrown. Robert becomes King. The first thing Robert does is go to reader he has hidden in the Arryn house. He opens the door to the room and sees the Princess sitting on the bed with a baby in her arms. Baby Mya. She has literally inherited her father's black hair and Baratheon facial features. She has inherited her mother's violet eyes and pale skin. They get married in a magnificent wedding. Robert starts working to get his precious Queen pregnant again without wasting any time.

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

“Shhh, my love,” Your voice, a tender murmur, drifted through the chambers like a lullaby, barely louder than the rain that pattered against the stained-glass windows of the room that had been your home for so many moons now. A room to be your sanctuary, Robert had promised but sometimes in the night; you began to question his words.

The storm outside cracked the sky open with another angry roar, the sound only causing your babe to whine and cry out. Out of instinct, you brought her impossibly closer to your chest. Still, she continued to squirm in your hold, if only for a moment before your touch calmed her. Your delicate fingers brushed over those dark locks of hers - her father’s colouring shining proudly. So dark, so fierce in contrast to the ghost-pale skin she inherited from you, and those eyes—those ancient, otherworldly violet eyes—watching you through tears. A sense of pride came over you at the sight of them, in these many moments alone; her eyes gave you something familiar.

The soft crackling of the fire gave you some moment of comfort. Gently you brought the blanket you had stitched yourself to your little girl’s chin. Her tiny hands gripping the soft material closer as she finally began to calm. A little stag, no larger than your thumb, was embroidered at the corner—it's thread already worn slightly from where she would chew in sleepy contentment.

The action only brought a soft smile to your face as you leaned close and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Such a good girl, there you go,” you cooed as your little girl only giggled up and reached for a lock of your bright hair. She was such a sparkling light in your world; all your happiness coming from the small being. Gracefully, you moved to stand; the movement only kept your sweet babe calm - for now. The shift of movement—fluid, practiced, motherly—only lulled her further into calm. Your attention moved towards the window; your only outlet of the world these past moons that had passed. Everything seemed so far out of reach, including the one that held her heart so firmly. Your bare feet barely made a sound against the woven rugs strewn across the cold stone floors. The many blankets thrown over the cushioned chairs you fed and rocked your babe to sleep were made by your hand as was the large, winter blanket in Robert’s colours that draped over the bed.

It seemed the Gods were listening to your prayers as the sound of stead, firm footsteps echoed just outside the door of what had been your existence it seemed. The kind of footsteps that knew where they were going. A sliver of fear ran down your spine as you only brought your babe impossibly closer against your chest as she hummed without care. The familiar large shadow stepped forward; and this time it was not armour that encased him. “Robert…” his name fell from your soft lips like a prayer. One you had whispered in the cold nights for so many moons now. At that moment, you forgot how to breathe. The fear of it all being a dream settled in.

Those bright eyes of yours moved over him; etching him into memory. The soft, cotton shirt clung to his muscles; those dark curls of his soaked with the rain. His blue eyes found you instantly; the rawness of his emotions shining clearly through as a soft gulp escaped from you. His name fell from your lips once more as his gaze dropped to the sleeping babe in your arms. It seemed as if she knew her father’s presence as the small girl did not flinch in her mother’s hold. The silence began to stretch before his large strides closed the distance between the two of you.

Still, there was only silence as Robert stared at the sight before him. A smirk threatened to come over his face as realised he had finally won. Rhaegar was dead. The Targaryen Princess was now his as was the babe in her arms. “She’s ours,” you whispered out as your own stare returned to the sleeping girl. "She’s... smaller than I imagined," Robert finally spoke and relief flooded you upon hearing his voice after so long. Sometimes you were worried that you would begin to forget. Your only reply was a soft smile as your eyes locked with him once more.

Robert finally stepped into the candlelight as he stepped closer; close enough that his scent wrapped around you. Close enough to see the new scar on his brow as your fingers itched to touch. His larger hand slowly cupped your face; his thumb brushing over your soft, plump bottom lip. “I have missed you,” the now King whispered and watched as your face broke out into the smile he remembered. Gently, he leaned over your babe to press a soft, but no less passionate kiss, which you ever so eagerly deepened. The soft moans begin to fall from your lips.

And at that moment, as if she had been waiting—your daughter stirred. She began to stretch and coo; completely oblivious to the situation around her as Robert could only watch with softness that hardly graced his features. The softness did not fall away even as her eyes fluttered open to show off her mother’s gaze. Her little hand reached up without any hint of fear; grabbing at his nose. "She… she has your eyes," he murmured, and you could not tell the emotion in his tone as you replied, "And your hair.”

~

Cloaked in gold and black, you were every inch the Queen—and Robert made sure of it. No matter the gossip and talk that had followed you as you returned to the capitol. It was in these moments that you missed that small space that had been your home, as well as the now toddling daughter. Even with Tywin Lannister’s disapproval, Robert spared no expense for the wedding that if you were honest - had gone in a blink of an eye. All that mattered was the three of you together; you thought to yourself as his larger hand rested on your thigh. He gently rubbed with his thumb to calm your nerves from the eyes moving towards the high table.

"You’ll give me another," he murmured against your throat, his beard scraping gently across your skin as he kissed you there, reverent. “A little prince. Or another girl just like her, gods help me.” He chuckled against your shoulder. “I’d take a dozen, if they all had your eyes.” A blush moved over your neck as he pressed another kiss to your neck. “Robert…” You were breathless now as you pressed your hand to his chest as if you had the strength to push him away. “Hmm, tonight, my love.” Robert whispered his promise to you. A promise that had you shivering in anticipation.

[moran-with-a-g]

And sometimes you think "well they managed to function this far without X, why do they need it now?"

Well there are three possible reasons:

They always needed it, and you couldn't see how often they crashed/burnt out from trying to push through, and how they only managed to act "functioning" because they focused all their energy on a specific aspects of functioning.

They pushed themself so hard without it that it caused irreversible damage and now they no longer can go without it.

They really didn't need it before, but something changed and now they do.

You don't ask why a person who broke their leg needs a cast. You know something happened, their leg is broken now but it wasn't before, and now they need that cast.

Now imagine if that person kept walking on that broken leg like normal. Woh oh! Now it healed wrong and it's going to be painful for the rest of their life. "But they didn't have that pain before!" well because it wasn't broken before! And now maybe they're able to still walk on it "normally" while they're around you, because they push through the pain. You don't know what it's like when they're home, unable to sleep at night because it's so painful they can't rest.

I can tell you before I was diagnosed with Idiopathic Hypersomnia I was working for 2.5 years from 9 to 6 every day sometimes including weekends, I was rarely late to work. But that's because I kept crashing at work around noon and fell asleep (oftentimes on the keyboard while working) and my teammates covered for me, I slept on the bus both on the way to work and on the way back, I would often skip meals because I didn't have the energy to cook for myself so I settled for a snack or just went straight to bed. I would finish all my tasks for the day, I would be on time for shifts, and my boss trusted me, but I was pushing myself to the limits every day trying to function.

Then I got medication and I kept following the exact same routine, but suddenly I didn't fall asleep on the keyboard during the day, and I had energy to make food for myself, I got my work done even faster and made less mistakes, I stopped falling asleep on the bus back too (not on the way because I always took my meds when I was already at work, because I like napping on the bus ngl). And some people around me were confused, because in my mind I was able to function just fine, but they weren't around on the weekends where I would sleep more than I was awake (I think 24 hours of continuous sleep is my record), they didn't notice me trying to work while I was literally seeing double from exhaustion and had to concentrate so hard it gave me terrible headaches just to piece together words on the screen, they didn't know about the hallucinations I would get in the middle of the day when my mind decided to start dreaming even though I wasn't asleep. They would think "Yeah, Morgan is just a bit lazy sometimes".

And my disability isn't that severe! I could work without meds! I know that for a fact! I forgot them today and I'm doing pretty much fine! But I did fall asleep for like an hour already. I'm probably going to go back home and pass out on my bed until tomorrow. But a lot of disabled people don't have that luxury of being able to skip a day of meds and be fine. And medication isn't the only type of support disabled people need.

Even if you don't see the disability doesn't mean it's not there.

I hate how often some (typically abled) people will go “well, if you can’t [get a specific support], then what?” when it comes to disabilities. As if it’s a “gotcha” moment. And then act like you’re exaggerating when you answer that question honestly.

Disabled people often die from a lack of support. A lot of disability aids are not a luxury, but a basic need in order to live.

“Well what happens if—” people die. People hurt themselves. People hurt others. Disabled people don’t magically become abled if our needs aren’t met.

If a bedbound quadriplegic is caught in a housefire, and there’s nobody there to save them, they’ll probably die. They won’t magically become able-bodied out of sheer will.

If a nonspeaking/nonverbal autistic is denied access to alternative methods of communication, they’ll suffer in silence. They won’t spontaneously become capable of speech.

Disabled people are disabled all the time. Our disabilities don’t go away just because they’re inconvenient, or if we’re in danger.

[zlut4rina]

Stress Reliever

Storyline: Your day was exhausting, and what better to help relax? A nice bath.

Pairings: Toxicgf!Giselle x Femreader

Warnings: smut in the tub, that's literally it.

Note: Giselle, lwk a bad gf fr (js how I like it 🥀) I had a dream abt this.

Word count: 1k short kinds to the point.

___________________________________________

It was around 6 or 7 o’clock, you don’t remember. Nor did you bother to check.

Your morning was stressful, waking up with a headache, missing your alarm, causing you to be late for work. You had to make a late call out, not wanting to go in your current state. Though it upset your boss, you couldn’t find it in you to go back and forth with her about it. You mentally accepted your future punishment.

Spilling coffee on yourself, forgetting to take the laundry out, your room being a mess, and your girlfriend hasn’t texted you back since you wished each other goodnight. You weren’t going to text her anyway.

As time passed, you felt so burned out, everything was going wrong and just stressing you out. You decided it’d be time to relax. How could that go wrong? You ran yourself a bath, occasionally checking the time, it was 8:50. All day, your patience was tested, finally having alone time and being able to relax fully. You ran yourself a bath, the room fogged up almost immediately. The heat of the atmosphere soothing your tense muscles.

It was around 9:15 when you gathered all your things to bathe. Slowly stripping yourself, loving the feel of the heat in the atmosphere and the way it hugged your skin. A sigh leaves your lips as you fully undress. You slowly stepped out from your clothes beneath you. Dipping your foot in slowly, passing the barrier of bubbles into heated water. Finally, setting your entire body, shoulder deep into the hot water, the sound of bubbles popping and sizzling echoed in your ears.

After relaxing for a few seconds, you heard your phone go off with a buzz that vibrated the tub. You reached your hand put, shaking the pink tinted soap from your palm. You saw a notification from your girlfriend.

She only liked your message from a few hours ago. You bottled up some courage to respond to her, even if you were last to text.

-Hey

You stared at the screen, waiting, hoping.

-Hi

A small smile rose and fell in the corner of your lips. So dry, as if she was forced to speak to you. Before you could complete a sentence (you were just going to delete later). She sent another message.

-I miss you, wyd?

The first three words made your heart skip a beat. It was the bare minimum, but it still made you feel loved.

-I’m in the tub rn.

You responded, she took a while to reply. Her chat bubble coming and going repeatedly.

-Oh, that sounds relaxing. How was your day?

Giselle never really acted like your girlfriend, even though she asked you out in the beginning. She was like this even before you dated. Something about her was keeping you attached. Even if she doesn’t speak to you for days, you can move on.

-Hard

Was all you replied with. She hearted the message a few seconds later. This might’ve been your longest chat all week.

-Wanna show me?

This confused you, show you? Show her what? You stared at the screen for a while, guessing she sensed your confusion through the screen she spoke again.

-What you look like rn. I wanna see.

You should be mad right now. You really should. Her dismissing your stress and only focusing on her needs right now, disgusting. But then again, who knows the next time she’ll speak to you like this, you don’t even remember the last time you kissed each other. After a while, and the silence mixed with the sound of bubbles from your bath, you complied. You opened the camera and stared at yourself for a while, then panned it low and angled at your chest. Your breast covered in soap, silk and shiny, you placed your arm under the two of them, perking them up. You snapped a few, sending them all to her immediately after. She opened them, and she didn’t respond for about three minutes.

-You look good, baby

You smiled, that feeling of validation corrupting you. Hearting her message, you replied with a thank you. She then hearted your message again. Her chat bubbled went and came at its own pace.

-Can I join you?

This message came as a surprise. She hasn’t been over to your apartment in so long.

-I’ll be a raisin by the time you get here, silly.

Chuckling at your own response, the water moving around your legs, still hot.

-Sounds like I’ll need to plump you back up huh.

The time was 9:43. You weren’t in there for long, but you still felt the need to add more hot water, maybe to please her, most likely. She was coming. You couldn’t talk her out of it even if you tried. You wanted her to come, you really did, it’s been so long.

She arrived at 9:57, her she lived almost an hour away, made you think she was waiting for this opportunity, or she was out somewhere she shouldn’t be, who knows. She knocked on the door before entering with the key you landed her. She didn’t text you that she was here, not cause she wanted to surprise you. She just didn’t do it. She didn’t knock on the bathroom door, she opened it slowly, peaking her head through, she smiled at you, that same smile you missed.

You sunk beneath the bubbles, you wet hair sticking to your shoulders and face. You looked at her with rosy cheeks. From the heat of the bath or her? You don’t even know. You never knew with her. “Room for another?” she asked, fully stepping into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. You nodded, your face flushed with a sheepish toothy smile.

She found you so cute in that moment, so vulnerable, so needy. She began to strip herself, slow, sensually locking eyes with you. You couldn’t look away, no matter how embarrassed you were. She drove you crazy, and she knew it. In the worst way, sometimes, in the best. Times like that were now. Fully stripping, she walked to you, pushing you by your shoulders as you scooted up to give her room. She placed herself behind you, pulling your back against her warm naked breast. You sat in between her legs, her arms wrapped around you waist under the water.

Giselle’s fingers dances across your skin, slow and skillfully. Exploring your curves and sensitive spots. She leaned closer to you, her breath warm against your ear, adding to the heat of the atmosphere. Kissing your ear and down to your cheek, her grip on you tightens, pulling you as close as possible. “I missed you.” You admitted. You didn’t mean to say that, out loud. You could feel the grin on her the side of your cheek. “Yeah?” she asked in a slow, husky tone. Her hands squeeze your hips, then slowly rise to your breast, pinching and twisting your nipples. You lean back into her embrace, and the back of your head rests on her shoulder. She took the opportunity to kiss and attack your neck, leaving marks and hickeys from your jawline to tour Adam’s apple.

She squeezes your soapy breast, fondling them in her hands, igniting a flame in your core. You closed your legs together, holding onto her thighs. “You like that, don’t you?” she whispered against your wet skin. Her tongue was trailing a line from your Adam’s apple to your jawline till she reached your warm plump lips. Overtaking you into a dominating wet kiss. Her hands squeezed and pinched your breast harder, making you moan into her kiss. “I wish could keep you like this forever” her tone teasing yet sincere, revealing her possessive affection she has for you. You open your eyes, locking with her. Wet and pleading, you spoke with your eyes, spit stuck to your bottom lip from her kiss. Your look drove her mad, she missed this, she knew it was her fault, that’s just how she is.

She slides her hand up you’re your neck, holding you in place as her other went down to your core. She leans in and whispers in your ear, “Your mine now.” Her voice laced with the drug of possession. Giselle let’s go of you, rising from the water and stepping out. “I’ll be right back” she said to you before leaving the bathroom. You stated at her figure for a split second, that’s all the time she gave you anyway. With a playfully glint in her eyes, she returns, her arm wrapped behind her back. Setting back down behind you, aligning you between her legs perfectly. She lifted your legs up to your chest and lifted them over hers. “What are you-“ Your words were cut off when she used one of her hands to spread your folds and push a vibrator in. Your mouth hung open as you gasped, the vibrator begins it’s work inside you.

Her hands rise back up to your breast, playing with them like a child would toys. Giselle ensured the pleasure on you builds with every passing moment. The combination of Giselle's skillful hands and the vibrations of the toy pushing you closer to the edge. Giselle’s small low chuckles as she watches your body’s cute reaction to her echoed through the room. A mix of joy and mischief as she leans in and kisses your neck, whispering sweet nothings to heighten your pleasure.

The toy intensifies inside you, Giselle kissing and marking you, she slowly dragged her hand from your breast to your clit, circling it slowly. You held onto her arm, and your other hand dug into her thigh. Your moans and whines mixing into the heat of the moment. “That’s it baby.” She kisses and bites your somehow empty unmarked spaces on your neck. “I wanna hear you scream for me.” You gasp softly, your body trembling with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. You turn your head slightly, your breath hitching in your throat as you lean and sink into Giselle’s warm and possessive embrace. You pull her into a kiss, whispering against her warm sweet lips how close you were to your climax. She smiled, her fingers moved faster in your clit, her other hand pinching and tugging at your nipple. You moaned against her jawline, panting heavily as you clenched around the toy, feeling the knot in your stomach fight back.

“Cum for me baby” Her voice soft and reassuring. You did, on command, so good for her. You came hard, but It felt so relaxing, so free, you needed this, you needed her. You pants and gasp filled the room. She planted soft kisses on your forehead and temple. “Your amazing, you know that?” her speech was genuine, sorry, and caring. You smiled weakly at her, pulling her into a kiss. “I love you, you know that?” she spoke against your lips. You nodded, stating her in the eyes. “I know.” Kissing her again, her hands roamed your sides again, slow and loving. “I love you too”

___________________________________________

[whore4mattsturniolo]

A Tripouts Family Funeral

In loving memory of @submattenthusiast Sunrise: August 27, 2024 Sunset: April 16, 2025

The drive to the wake was unusual, the silence deafening. Rylee’s Jeep—once full of life, music, and joy—was now saturated in grief. The air inside the white car was thick, literally and figuratively. There were too many of you crammed into the tight space. Limbs tangle, purses jab into ribs, and someone's dress keeps riding up no matter how much adjusting gets done. Everyone is trying to get comfortable, trying to ignore the grief that’s wedged itself into every crevice.

Despite the vehicle being packed with warm bodies, two were still missing.

“Where the hell are Onna and Chris?” Genesis asks from the passenger seat, their voice slicing through the silence. They glance around, taking count. “They know Jules’ wake is today?”

Genevieve speaks up, her breath shallow from being squished from every direction. “Maybe they crashed,” she says, making you smirk. “You know neither of them can drive.”

In an instant, the Jeep erupts into a fit of familiar laughter. The car practically shook from the chaos. Cackles bounced off the windows and back into your faces, warmth and comfort momentarily returning to the group. If you weren’t all dressed in black—aside from Nick, who just had to be different—it would’ve almost felt like a normal car ride.

Besides Onna and Chris, there was still one more person missing.

Jules.

And unlike the couple, Jules wouldn’t be making a fashionably late entrance. She was gone. Forever.

The laughter dies down fast, swallowed by the hum of the engine. Music plays softly through the speakers, curteousy of Matt. He queues songs with shaky hands, trying to focus while Rory’s silent judgment burns into his neck. As the Role Model song fades, another song clicks into place.

2009 by Mac Miller.

There’s a collective breath. Shoulders stiffen. Heads nod slowly, almost reverently. Matt’s eyes glass over immediately. He tries to sing along, but his voice cracks halfway through the first line. You glance at the others just as he crumbles, burying his face in Rory’s shoulder, clinging for dear life. Rory, with the most affection she can muster, gently pats his back, groaning as her dress get soaked in his tears.

“He’s cried eight times and we haven’t even made it to the funeral,” Ilsa mumbles. You fish yet another tissue from your purse and toss it toward the backseat, not even bothering to see if it makes it to the crying figure.

“Shut up, Ilsa,” Matt snaps, his voice muffled and wet as he dabs at his face with the soft fabric. “You don’t know what this song means to me. To us.”

Everyone groans in unison—half exhausted, half affectionate. He's said this exact sentence at least ten times.

“This was the song we played… the last time we…” His words trail off, broken by a sob that doesn’t quite make it out. Just a soft wheeze. The lump in his throat was too big, the grief too loud.

You’re all halfway through comforting him, yet again, when the car pulls up outside the funeral home. As everyone's gaze turns to face the building, time seems to slow. The building looms ahead like a dream you can’t wake from. Because it wasn't a dream. It was real life.

This is it. The last time you’d see your best friend.

You glance at yourself in the visor mirror, blinking fast to keep the tears from smudging your eyeliner. If you cry now, your whole face will be ruined. Jules would never forgive you for showing up looking busted.

The cold air slaps you as you step outside, raising goosebumps up your arms. Inside, the funeral home smells of fake flowers and lemon cleaner, like the room is trying to disguise itself as welcoming. The overhead lights buzz faintly, as if they were in mourning too.

Everyone looks… off. Dimmer than usual.

Rylee looks the most out of place. She’s always so pink, so delicate, like the human version of a Valentine’s card. But today, she’s a shadow, wearing all black. A silky black bow she’s swapped in for her usual white one rests in her freshly bleached hair, the ends curling neatly around her collarbone.

Matt looks wrecked. His curls are still frizzed at the edges from you half-ass detangling them this morning, your fingers still smelling faintly of conditioner. His blue eyes are dull, buried behind purple bags that no amount of concealer could cover. Still, he’s trying. He’s clean-shaven, dressed in a sharp black suit, wearing his favorite Dior tie. The same one Jules used to tie around his wrists.

Rory is the quietest. She stands like a statue next to Matt, one hand gripping his sleeve like she’s anchoring him to the ground. Her makeup is perfect, liquid eyeliner winged so sharp it could cut, but her eyes were blank, her lips, painted in a berry color, in a subtle pout. She’s been staring at the same corner of the room for ten straight minutes, still trying to come to terms with the whole idea. She blinked a few times, convinced that she would wake up to Jules laying in between her and Matt, and everything would go back normal. But, it doesn't happen.

She keeps staring at that same corner, Matt's rough yet delicate fingers gently, carefully, intertwining with hers.

You file in quietly with the rest of the group, movements small, tight. No one really knows what to say, how to console one another. You all move in sync like a school of fish, with some holding hands and others holding back tears. There's something sacred about the silence, how heavy and intimate it is.

Just as the room settles into that weird hush again—the kind that only happens in funeral homes and waiting rooms—the front doors burst open. Heads turn toward the entrance. A couple of old ladies clutch their purses. Every head in the room jerks toward the entrance. A hush falls like a dropped curtain. Somewhere in the back, Genesis mutters, "Fix it, Jesus."

Here she go. You think to yourself, exhanging glances with the rest of the group. You know who it is before you even look

Onna stumbles in first, stilettos clicking violently against the tile like a Fashion Nova model. She’s wearing a tight, black dress with a slit so high it should be illegal, a pair of oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes. She brushes her hair out of her face, straightened to perfection, as she enters the room. Her calm, almost joyful demeanor starkly contrasts the depressing feeling of the wake.

Behind her, Chris fumbles in with a wrinked button-up shirt, obviously ironed out with his hands right before he left. His socks were mismatched, one gray and the other navy blue, while the belt on his pants holds on for dear life. He’s juggling Onna's purse, his keys, and a phone with 3% battery. He's chewing gum like its oxygen as Onna holds onto his arm, the pair approaching the group, surrounding the soft, gray couch near the entrance.

“We made it,” Onna announces, like this is a family reunion and not your best friend’s funeral. “Y’all didn’t start without us, right?”

Genesis looks at her, unblinking. "You're an hour late," they say, holding back the smirk that always managed to creep across their face whenever Onna was near.

“Chris' dumbass missed the exit.” Onna gestures toward Chris like she’s giving a courtroom testimony. "You know they be handing out driver's licenses like Halloween candy," she mutters.

Chris shrugs, still chewing on his gum. “I was emotionally distracted.”

“You were listening to Future.”

“Grief hits different for everyone, damn.”

Onna and Chris make their rounds, greeting and everyone they saw with hugs and words of sympathy, before reaching you. Chris reeks of weed, barely covered by the heavy Dior Sauvage he always drenched himself in.

"S'good to see you," you hum, wrapping your arms over Onna's shoulders. Despite their lateness, you were still happy to see her. She always lit up every room she entered, always cracking her jokes with a booming, infectious laugh.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Matt lets out a choked laugh that turns into a hiccup-sob. Ilsa covers her face, giggling through her fingers. The moment breaks the tension like glass, and weirdly, it helps. Like their ridiculous entrance was the only thing that could crack open the emotional pressure in the room.

After some more minutes of small talk, exchanging stories, and repeating inside jokes, you each make your way into the main room. Rylee goes in first, then Rory, then Matt, who immediately fumbles for a tissue and dabs under his eyes. You slide in next to them. Nick follows, still managing to look like he doesn’t care even though you know better. Ilsa and Genevive linger a moment, before sitting beside Nick. Genesis is the last to enter, before Onna shimmies close next to them, the two murmuring to one another, holding back their combined laughter that always reminded you of two hyenas. Chris follows and plops down beside Onna.

The group settles again, now complete. Almost. Jules’ absence is still loud, but for a second, the ache softens. The pew creaks beneath the weight of your grief. Everyone sits shoulder to shoulder, knees knocking, heads bowed. A quiet settles over the group—quiet, but not peaceful. It's the kind of quiet that screams. No one looks at the casket. Not yet. But it's there, just barely in your peripheral. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Slowly, anxiously, you look up, seeing pictures of Jules surrounded in flowers. Her friends, her life, her family. Everything about her was now confined to stills. Pictures that could hardly illustrate the light that Jules was.

"Now why they got Jules in that big ass casket?" You hear Genesis whisper to Onna, barely stifling giggles as the rest of the guests fill out the room.

Onna lets out a hum, breathing hard and trying not to bust out laughing during her best friend's wake. "You know I woulda been pissed. Got her lookin' big as a house." The pair shares a silent fit of laughter, holding onto each other for dear life. The sounds of nostalgia warm your heart just enough for a smile to creep across your face as you're reminded of simplier times.

The rest of the wake goes by painfully slow. Someone sings All for Me by John Legend as an opener, sending your entire row into hushed cackles, each of you begging the others to quit before you were formally excused. Family members share stories from Jules' childhood, up until her untimely death.

Out of all your friends, Matt decides to speak first. Well. He tries.

You all walk up together, you're shielding him from the weight of the moment. Matt's clutching Rylee and Rory like human crutches, his legs already jelly, his breathing shallow. He’s trying to be brave, but you can feel the unraveling.

Then he sees her.

Jules. Lying there in that form fighting, bubblegum-pink Juicy Couture tracksuits. Her hair is laid, her lashes curled, and her lip gloss still fire. She looks like she’s asleep. Like any minute she’ll sit up and start laughing at everyone in the room.

And that’s what breaks him.

Matt lets out a guttural, animal-like sob, collapsing to his knees with a loud, wet thud. His arms fling over the casket like he’s about to climb in with her. “JULES! NO! PLEASE!” he wails, shaking so hard Rylee stumbles in her heels, trying to keep her balance.

Everyone gasps. The entire room stills. A baby starts crying in the back.

“Oh, my God,” Ilsa mutters under her breath, hiding behind her program.

“Get him up,” Genesis hisses. “Before Jules’ mama get us out.”

But it’s too late. Matt’s thrashing now, clinging to the edge of the casket, shoulders heaving like he's been shot in the chest. “Take me with you!” he sobs. “She was my everything—”

"Matt, get the FUCK UP," Rory snaps, yanking at his arms, trying to save the little dignity they still had left. "You're embarrassing yourself—"

But then she looks at Jules.

And she freezes.

Her hand drops from Matt's sleeve, her bottom lip quivering. “Fuck—Jules...” she chokes, and suddenly she’s crying too, stumbling backward like she’s been slapped.

“Not you too,” Rylee mumbles, catching Rory before she hits the floor. "Get up, girl. Have some class."

Matt is still screaming into the casket like he’s auditioning for a Tubi movie. Rory’s gasping for air, fanning herself dramatically with the program that’s now crumpled in her fist.

Genesis pulls out a vape, and Genieveve slaps it out of their hand. “I thought you were quitting?"

"Funerals stress me out."

The rest of you are left standing there—stiff and horrified—trying so hard to be respectful, while your friends are fighting the casket like it personally offended them. Nick is rubbing his temples like he’s got a migraine. Onna takes off her sunglasses and just stares at the ceiling like she's begging God for patience, holding back a laugh as she watches Chris desperately attempt to get his brother under control. A joint rolls out of his pocket amongst all the chaos, and she subtly slides it under her foot, stuffing it in her purse.

The funeral director clears her throat gently, obviously trying to move things along. A distant cousin clutches their pearls. A woman in the second pew says, “Who invited them?”

"JULES DID!" You say in unison.

You all try to lift Matt up again, but goes limp like a toddler having a meltdown. “I can't! I CAN’T! She was the love of my life!” he shrieks, snot flying.

“She was gay, Matt,” Rory sobs through her own tears, barely standing now.

“SHE LOVED ME!” he cries.

Someone behind you audibly gasps. Genesis lets out a choked laugh and immediately covers their mouth.

"Jules played with everybody's butt. Don't feel so special."

Eventually, it takes three of you to pull Matt off the floor. Rylee smooths down her dress and wipes his face with a napkin from her purse. Rory composes herself with deep, shaky breaths, her makeup miraculously surviving through the chaos. And somehow, the group gathers in front of Jules’ casket, trying to remember what the hell you even came up to say in the first place.

The silence is heavy. Snotty. Emotional.

Then Onna steps forward, her voice calm, controlled, and just a little too loud. “Um. So. Jules always said she wanted a dramatic funeral.”

Genesis continues their friend's statement. "Guess she kinda manifested that one," they let out a soft laugh, straightening out their dress and glaring at the mess that was Matthew Sturniolo, now being pushed to the back as he tried to pull himself together.

There's an awkward, hushed laughter as you all stand in front of the casket, crowding the podium that was clearly meant for only one person. But here y'all were, ten of you packed tight, each of you with unique memories of the girl in the casket. You were a mess, but above all, you were Jules' mess.

rest in peace to the baddest, the realest, the freakiest, @submattenthusiast </3 gone but never forgotten. guest starring: @sosasturns @snoopychris @mattscoquette @cvnntagious @chrattho1

[rosy-crow]

The most fucked up shit this chapter was the illusionary stuff.

The first one was:

Angeal being manipulated over his dad’s death. First the illusions tried to make it seem like his dad was alive and everything was peachy. But they got more complex when Angeal broke out of the happy illusion stuff and reminded himself of his father’s death + how he blamed himself for it. The illusions tried to make it seem like his mother had yelled all those words at him at his father’s funeral, but that wasn’t true either. Angeal just FEELS that way and he snapped out of it the second time.

Now if we contrast this with Sephiroth’s visions/dreams, I think we got a similar issue. He had a vision of returning to Shinra after his first mission and it was delivered like a flashback, but it was so fucking off. Seph got promoted almost immediately (which doesn’t make sense because he’s already 1st, and he’s been reduced to Angeal’s squad-mate instead of a team leader), and then he celebrated with Team Glenn in the lab cell room (?), with food and drinks like everything was fine. Glenn was even cheering him on and calling him a great team leader again.

Then Team Glenn are properly detained to await judgement and Seph is left with Refu. Literally none of this adds up. The background context doesn’t match. I think that was just the illusion’s way of trying to explain Team Glenn’s absence while also using them as incentive, because in the “memory”, they suggested exploring Robio.

Angeal says something about clinging to comforting words at the end. He questions who could be in Sephiroth’s head and tugging at his heartstrings literally right before Seph gets that vision of his team where everything is a little too neat.

So basically, Angeal broke out of both attempts from….Jenova or whatever, to fuck with his mind. Both the comforting stuff and the dark visions that preyed on his regret. Seph has barely scratched the surface. He’s still in La La Land where he’s having dreams about Team Glenn being okay with him and he’s hearing Glenn’s voice apologizing about throwing out his necklace/hitting him.

He’s also dreaming of his mother as always, which is a whole ass other layer, and this time, she rushed in to protect him from Hojo…..which….yeah, never happened.

-_-

Hold up, I need a minute

[markkiatocafe]

scattering petals

a short story with jisung of nct dream

⚘ warnings: jisung calls the reader “baby,” reader calls jisung “pretty boy” (you will see this nn in every jisung work i do it’s jst inevitable), they kiss but it’s very very fluffy and cute, nothing suggestive imo ><

⚘ synop: quite literally flying kiss but in a story!!!!!! im obsessed with this song pls go listen to it </3

⚘ pairing: gn!reader x sweetiepie!jisung

⚘ w.c: 366

⚘ a/n: SOMEONE pls notice the flying kiss references 🙏🙏 i literally love this song sm omfl…… haechan you lyrical MASTERMIND……. also emosung in the mv 🤤 ANYWAYS i hope you guys enjoy this cute little story!!!! i have been on a sungie kick lately so i decided to make something for a little easter gift to you all ig!!! if you don’t celebrate easter, that’s fine to ofc, jst take it as a spring gift :3

love with jisung was safe. it was gentle. it was tender and warm in a kind of way words couldn’t explain to the fullest extent. being with him everyday was something you couldn’t be more grateful for. especially right now.

you were lying in your backyard, though your back wasn’t on the grass, which was still dewy from a rainstorm last night. you were laying in the love of your life’s arms, the very one and only, park jisung. his hands were carefully braiding a flower crown, made of the recently bloomed cherry blossoms he picked up his last walk in the park and some green wire he bought off of amazon for this specific idea he had. was it perfect? not exactly. it was a bit pokey at some parts and wasn’t the perfect size for your head, but it was made with love. it was made by the very hands of your darling, and that’s all that really mattered to you.

“baby, i’m done, try it on.” he said softly, placing the flower crown atop your head like it was a coronation or something. you turned your head over your shoulder, looking at him with a soft smile, which he payed back with his bright, gummy smile, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, eyes flickering between the crown and your eyes. “is it comfortable? i hope it’s not too bad, i didn’t really know what to buy to make a flower crown.”

you nodded, turning to fully face him, sitting up on the dewy grass, cupping his cheeks in your hands and placing a kiss on his lips. “it’s perfect. everything you do is perfect to me, pretty boy.”

you swore you saw the lightest hint of pink on his cheeks as you started to pepper them with kisses, letting out warm giggles. “alright, alright, you’re just being sappy.” he remarked, raising an eyebrow and booping your nose.

“yeah, well, i’m sappy for you, okay? sue me.”

of course you always knew you loved jisung, but in that moment, it felt like your love for him was exploding. no matter how much time passed, your love for him only grew bigger.

[yena-enha]

𝐈𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 - 𝐏𝐉𝐒

« Seoulfound Masterlist »

Warning - None, Angst

Note - SFW, Angst

Genre - Soulmate AU, Angst, First Love, Strangers To Lovers

Pairing - Non!Idol!Jay x Non!Idol!Femreader

Song Inspiration - I Found By AMBER RUN

Word Count - 2k

Seoulfound Special Presents Iris Resonance For Park Jay.

★ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡⋆　Seoulfound You　⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡⋆ ★

Jay was tired of waiting.

Everyone made it sound beautiful—the stories of first meetings, the flicker of fate in the eyes, the warmth of a universe folding in on itself just to bring two people together.

But Jay only knew the silence that followed.

The silence after every stolen glance, every first date, every stupid second of hope.

His friends’ eyes had bloomed into colors like storm blue, lilac, even silver. Their smiles were brighter, their voices lighter.

Jay’s? Still brown. Still blank. Still waiting.

By the time he turned twenty-three, he stopped trying to meet anyone’s gaze.

What was the point?

---

He lived efficiently—mechanically. Woke up early. Ran five miles. Worked. Ate. Slept.

Rinse. Repeat.

There were cracks in the routine—lonely Friday nights, forced smiles at family dinners, the pit in his stomach whenever someone asked, “Still no soulmate?”

His father never asked.

His mother never stopped.

"Your eyes are just... still,” she said once, brushing his hair behind his ear. “Maybe she’s waiting too.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he was done waiting.

---

Until that morning.

It was raining. Of course it was.

Everything was grey.

Jay had just finished his coffee, earbuds in, face down as he stepped off the train. He didn’t notice the girl running the opposite direction—until you collided with him full force, knocking your bag to the ground and nearly spilling your iced Americano down your coat.

“Shit—I’m so sorry,” you gasped, breathless, embarrassed, winded.

He blinked in surprise and looked up.

And you looked up.

And the moment your eyes met—

The world broke.

Jay stumbled. Literally. His knees almost gave out.

A strange heat burned behind his eyes, like someone lit a match in the center of his skull. His pupils contracted, then dilated. His heartbeat slowed.

And then—

Color.

Molten amber bled through his irises. Deep, golden warmth that shimmered like sunlight through whiskey. His chest filled with something he’d never felt before—

Peace.

But when he looked closer—so did yours.

The same exact shade.

Golden. Gentle. Alive.

---

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A woman on her phone muttered “oh my god.” Someone else whispered, “soulmates…” like it was sacred.

Jay didn’t notice.

He couldn’t.

You were all he saw.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Your brows furrowed, not with confusion—but pain. He saw it.

You looked at him like he was everything you never thought you’d deserve.

Then you ran.

---

He stood there for a full minute after you disappeared.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

His coffee dripped down his wrist, and he didn’t even feel it.

Because for the first time in his life, Jay's eyes weren’t empty.

They were full. Of you. Of fate. Of something he didn’t understand.

But he needed to.

---

Two days passed.

He didn’t tell anyone. Not his parents. Not his friends.

He barely slept. Barely breathed.

All he could think about was your face—your eyes, the tremble in your voice, the way you looked like you wanted to say something before your feet moved faster than your heart.

He knew you were real. Knew it wasn’t a dream.

But it still felt like one.

Until he walked past a narrow bookstore tucked between a bakery and a flower shop.

He wasn’t planning to go in. He just saw the open door—and then he heard your voice.

Low. Warm. Nervous.

He followed it inside.

---

You were behind the counter, arranging a pile of poetry books, hair pulled into a soft bun, thumb brushing the worn spines like they were fragile.

You didn’t see him at first.

But when you looked up—

You froze.

He stepped forward. Silent. Measured. Carefully not to scare you.

In his hands was a copy of “The Sun and Her Flowers.”

He laid it on the counter.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Not for a full ten seconds.

Then:

“Why did you run?”

His voice was hoarse. Quiet. Not angry. Just—aching.

You swallowed.

Looked down.

Then looked at him again. Straight into the eyes he’d never let anyone see fully—until you.

“Because no one’s ever looked at me like that before,” you whispered.

“And it scared the hell out of me.”

---

Something cracked inside Jay.

Not broken—just open.

Like the walls he’d spent years fortifying were suddenly irrelevant.

He didn’t know how to respond. Not at first.

So he didn’t.

He reached forward, gently, and placed his hand over the book—then over yours.

Warm. Steady.

You didn’t pull away.

---

You spent hours together that day.

Talking. Breathing. Being.

Jay confessed things he never told anyone. About how he used to sit in front of his mirror as a kid, wondering if his eyes would glow like the stories said. About how he pretended he didn’t care when they never changed.

You told him how you were always afraid love would feel like a trap—something you'd owe someone, something you had to earn.

Neither of you had the right answers.

But sitting on the floor of your bookstore, eyes glowing like sunrise, hands intertwined between forgotten pages and cold coffee—

It didn’t matter.

Because you finally knew what it meant to be seen.

---

And from that day on, Jay didn’t look away anymore.

Not from mirrors.

Not from you.

Not from the love that had always been waiting just beyond the fear.

★ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡⋆　Seoulfound You　⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡⋆ ★

«Masterlist || Introduction»

Taglist» @strxwbloody

[honorhearted]

Benjamin hummed, smug amusement dancing across his eyes. "Well, am I allowed to know what I did right, so I can ensure this winning streak?" he asked. "Or am I to remain at the mercy of your hot-and-cold mood swings?"

The idea of a police buggy being romantic made him grin, his nose scrunching in disbelief. "You like my malice, do you? I wasn't aware I was falling under the spell of an absolute masochist."

“What better way to ‘keep the romance alive’ than by insulting one another?" she fired back. "Father says Mama used to tease his relentlessly until he asked her to marry him.”

Unbidden, Benjamin's pulse quickened. Idly stroking along her arm, he asked, "And is that what you want? To marry me?"

Mere days ago -- hell, arguably mere minutes ago -- Emma had hissed and sniped at him, insisting that the idea of marriage would be nothing short of the greatest of tortures, and now she was very well possibly demanding it? He could scarcely keep up... And, admittedly, he delighted in the thrill of it all.

When the silence persisted a little too long for his liking, Benjamin was quick to tease, "Well, perhaps you only wish to marry me to 'put that silver tongue of yours to use,' as you so claim. Call me old-fashioned, but the first woman I intend to take to bed will be my wife." Nudging his forehead into hers, he murmured, "Though I'm not opposed to extramarital kissing."

Emma's voice grew soft and dream-like, and for one moment, it felt so attainable, so real, that Benjamin could scarcely breathe. But then she shifted, and the dream went with her, reminding him that this could not be -- not unless she accepted him and his politics, and how his entire soul was devoted to the American Cause.

The charming furrow returned to Emma's brow, and she muttered, “My father and I went to Connecticut once for a small business summit, but I spent the entire day in a bookstore... in exile. Women, of course, do not have the constitution for business deals."

Benjamin grinned. "Clearly, that is a falsehood," he replied. "You've certainly sold me on the idea of you as a wife, and if you can make me view you as anything more than a shrew, that is quite the feat."

Emma rolled her eyes, but continued on to explain how she'd been quite literally thrown from the negotiations.

Benjamin snorted. "And what, pray tell, did you say to deserve a literal boot? But be careful with your phrasing: there's no sense in setting my loins aflame anymore than they already are."

Despite the words (mostly) being said in jest, he flushed and was careful to tilt his hips away from her, lest she try and tease him further.

“Aye, it worked with me, but I would argue you did quite a bit more to gain my attention in the following weeks." When they had first met, Emma never would've imagined such a relationship would sprout between the two of them. If anything, Emma thought she might have to tolerate his presence for a bit while he and her father did business. But she never would've expected this.

“That depends on how romantic you’d want it to be. Ending up in a police buggy, defending my honor would be quite chivalrous, don’t you think? Then again, I think I prefer your malice directed towards me.” Scrunching her nose, Emma teased. “What better way to ‘keep the romance alive’ than by insulting one another? Father says Mama used to tease his relentlessly until he asked her to marry him.”

It wasn't often she spoke of her mother, but, in moments like this, it was hard not to imagine what the late Claire Dunster would've thought of the situation. The memories of her mother was vague and only habilitated by stories from her father. The truth was that Emma knew very little of her Mama, but she couldn't help but think Claire would have taken a liking to John. Or perhaps, she would've seen something Emma was too infatuated to see.

“What a pity indeed.” She echoed, her tone dripping in sarcasm. “Here I was, thinking my silver tongue might be put to good use.” Realizing her wording, Emma cleared her throat and tried to curb the onset of a furious blush. “In convincing you, I mean. With words. Not… other things.”

The seaside. Two words and images of Emma's future with John Bolton unraveled before her in rose-colored hues. She could wake up every morning to the smell of brine in the air and sun on her cheeks. She would wake up to the sound of gulls on the horizon as she laid nestled in the arms of her lover.

“I do like the sea,” She amended with a smile, closing her eyes to fully immerse herself in the vision. After a moment, Emma broke her fantasy and brought herself back to the present. “And I’ve never been to New York. My father and I went to Connecticut once for a small business summit, but I spent the entire day in a bookstore... in exile. Women, of course, do not have the constitution for business deals." Rolling her eyes, she felt a flush of annoyance rise in her chest, but she sighed and allowed the warmth of his body to ground her. "The owner had to kick me out when the sun began to set. And Father swore to never leave me out of a business meeting again. Apparently I'm quite skilled at making men listen."

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 23: Seven Wonders - Part 1

You touched my hand, I played it cool - Sara

There was something about arriving at a party with your best friend that made you feel like the main character in a coming-of-age film—minus the high school drama, plus better shoes.

Sara adjusted the strap of her metallic silver heels as they stepped through the wrought-iron gate and into the courtyard of the infamous London villa where Stevie Nicks had organized her party. She had to admit, even for someone with an active imagination and a taste for spectacle, this place was ridiculous—in the best possible way.

“Okay, I get it, I won’t talk shit about your new job ever again,” she whispered to Vic, glancing up at the stained-glass windows and wild tangle of ivy that wrapped around the stone facade like the set of a haunted musical. “If I don’t end up drunk in that fountain by midnight, I’ve failed us both.”

Vic snorted, linking her arm with Sara’s. “I believe in you. Aim for grace, land in chaos.”

The place looked like the lovechild of a gothic cathedral and a glam rock fever dream. Velvet curtains billowed from second-floor windows. Chandeliers twinkled behind open doors. Somewhere inside, a harpist was playing a rendition of Dreams, but with enough distortion to make it feel like a witch was about to hex the entire guest list. It was perfect.

Sara took a deep breath, already scanning the crowd. She loved parties—not just the music and dancing and free booze, but the electricity in the air. All those lives colliding, intersecting, rewriting their stories in real time. It was intoxicating.

“God, I needed this,” she said, leaning into Vic. “I’ve been stuck in callbacks all week with guys named Chadwick. One of them told me I had ‘a very Irish energy’ and I’m not even sure what the fuck that means.”

Vic burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that made Sara proud of herself.

“That’s probably racist,” Vic offered, sipping from her tiny can of gin and tonic they’d picked up on the walk over.

“Oh, definitely,” Sara agreed. “But it was also the most interesting thing anyone’s said to me in a casting room all month, so I kind of respect it.”

They stepped into the foyer, which was dimly lit and somehow smelled like rose incense and very old money. The crowd was already thick—people in floor-length velvet, crushed sequins, feathered collars. One guy walked past wearing nothing but a gold mesh jumpsuit and a tambourine. Sara gave him a respectful nod.

“I’m obsessed,” she whispered. “He’s either a genius or dangerously unwell.”

“Why not both?” Vic offered.

For a second, everything felt easy. Golden. Like maybe being in your late twenties and broke and uncertain was worth it if you could have nights like this—dressed to kill, shoulder to shoulder with someone who got you down to your bones.

Sara turned toward her, a mock-serious expression on her face. “Hey. Thanks for making me come tonight. It’s my favorite part of the year already.”

Vic rolled her eyes but blushed anyway. “Shut up.”

“No you shut up. I’m having an emotionally honest moment.”

“You’re literally wearing glitter eyeliner.”

“And I meant every word of it,” Sara said, bowing dramatically.

They were mid-cackle when a voice interrupted.

“There you are.”

Allen, Vic’s manager. To be fair he was also Stevie Nicks’ manager. Tall, polished, and as serious as ever. He looked like someone who kept a to-do list for his holidays.

Vic barely managed not to sigh out loud. “Well, good evening.”

“I need to steal you for a second,” he said. “I wanted to introduce you to a friend.”

Vic’s eyebrows lifted. “Stevie Nicks?” she said, hopeful and giddy, on the verge of exploding.

Allen laughed. “She’s not here yet, but come with me anyway.”

She glanced at Sara with a quick sorry babe, duty calls shrug.

Sara waved her off. “Go. Charm them into oblivion.”

“I intend to.”

Vic leaned in, kissed Sara on the cheek, and whispered, “If I come back and you’re dancing on a table, I’ll be so proud.”

And just like that, she disappeared into the sea of silk and champagne.

And that’s when Sara saw him: Aemond Targaryen, dressed head-to-toe in black, as boring as ever, standing alone at the bar on the far side of the room with the expression of someone who’d just watched the last sausage roll at Greggs get swiped from under his nose.

That little unsettled score came rushing back to her—and the lecture she’d been meaning to give him for days. It took her exactly one second to cross the room.

“Well, now that you’re here, the party can finally begin,” she commented dryly, ordering a glass of prosecco from the bartender without looking at him.

She obviously noticed Aemond roll his eyes. Aries. No—Scorpio, maybe. He’d always given her that cold, calculated vibe, but the kind of guy who probably cried alone in a corner where no one could see him.

“Unlike some cheeky plus ones,” he began, tossing her a sideways glance full of disdain, “I’m here for work. And it’s hard to enjoy anything when you’re surrounded by your family.”

He nodded subtly toward what looked like the lizard man himself in a designer suit—Viserys Targaryen, deep in animated conversation with the same blonde girl Sara had seen a few days ago. His daughter. Aemond and Aegon’s sister. She was wearing a stunning forest-green dress with dramatic batwing sleeves and a face dusted in glitter. What a vibe, Sara thought, immediately wanting to know who did her makeup.

“Should we go rescue her?” Sara asked, tilting her head, noting the girl's expression—that familiar mix of please kill me and I will set you on fire levels of boredom.

“Helaena? Nah. She’s probably not even listening,” Aemond replied with a shrug.

Sara let her gaze linger a moment longer on the weird father-daughter scene before turning her full attention back to Aemond.

“Listen. I don’t like what you’re doing with Vic.”

Her voice was steady, anchored in the kind of authority that came from knowing she was right. She fully expected Aemond to take her seriously. Instead, he glanced at her and raised an eyebrow.

“You guys are all over her. She’s overwhelmed, she can’t even see Aegon lately—”

He cut her off with a sarcastic scoff, and something about that noise made Sara’s skin crawl.

“I think you should mind your own fucking business,” he said coldly, his tone sharp and distant, but laced with something deeper—an irritation she couldn’t quite trace.

Excuse me?

“I’ll decide what my business is,” she snapped, straightening her posture. “And I see what you’re trying to do.”

Another eyebrow raise. That infuriating, silent little gesture. Like she was just background noise to him.

Sara crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes.

“You think no one’s noticed?” she said, voice low and sure. “You’re not exactly subtle, Aemond.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. Just slightly. But she caught it.

“There’s nothing to notice,” he replied, clipped.

“Oh, come on. I might be dramatic, but I’m not stupid. The way you’re using this—this weird protector act—as an excuse to stay close…”

Something flickered in his eyes. Just for a second. Then it was gone, replaced by that cool, condescending calm he wore like armor.

“And even if I were,” he said, voice cutting, “what exactly do you think you’re doing? Hovering around her like a stage mom with a vendetta. You think being loud makes you right?”

Sara scoffed. “This isn’t about me. This is about you being manipulative and not owning it.”

“You think you’re some kind of authority just because you can project your voice across a room?” Aemond leaned in slightly, his tone venom-soft now. “It’s not surprising, really—that no one’s casting you in anything.”

That landed. A clean hit. Sara froze, mid-retort, her mouth parting slightly, but no sound coming out.

“I mean,” Aemond continued, casually cruel now, that glint in his eye turning colder, “who’s going to cast someone who walks into every room like she’s already directing the show? Telling everyone else how to play their part?”

Sara blinked. Her spine stiffened, but it was too late—the wound had already split open inside her.

She hated how quiet she went. Hated that she felt it so deeply. Because he’d aimed perfectly. That voice in the back of her mind—the one that whispered she was too much, too intense, not leading lady material—he’d given it a name and a face.

Aemond didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked like he wanted to die himself for totally different reasons.

“Well,” she finally said, swallowing around the lump in her throat, “at least I don’t pretend to be some noble martyr while quietly sabotaging the people I care about.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at her, jaw tight again, that storm behind his eye brewing something she didn’t know how to name.

And then he disappeared, leaving her there.

Sara felt a flicker of discomfort, that heat in her chest that always came right after a gut-punch, but she forced herself to shake it off. She didn’t actually care what he thought of her. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that some part of her couldn’t help but agree.  

Projecting her voice across a room was her greatest strength—but maybe, just maybe, it didn’t quite fit with the image of meek collaboration that 90% of those cursed men sitting in directors’ chairs wanted to see.  

She wondered, just for a second, if she should play the game. If it was worth it to shrink herself just enough to make some asshole feel powerful.

But no.  

It wasn’t worth it. It had never been worth it. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to start now, just because one more entitled man had tried to make her feel small.  

Asshole.

She took another sip of wine and let her gaze sweep across the room.

Everywhere she looked, the night had gone slightly off-script—in the most theatrical way. One corner of the room was occupied by a trio of men in velvet capes and glitter eyeliner, arguing about tarot readings with the intensity of a televised debate. A woman with a shaved head and a floor-length tulle skirt was offering temporary tattoos out of a vintage suitcase, pausing only to sip champagne straight from the bottle. 

Near the fireplace, a tall man in a silver lamé suit and no shirt was playing the harp—very badly—but no one had the heart to tell him. Two people dressed as twin David Bowies (from two different eras) were deep in conversation with a drag queen styled as Marie Antoinette, powdered wig included, who held court from a peacock-shaped armchair like she was born to it.

Someone had brought a falcon. An actual falcon. It sat perfectly still on the arm of a man who looked like he’d stepped out of a Renaissance fair and simply never gone back. 

Sara blinked at the falcon. Then at the glitter. Then at the woman tap-dancing in the hallway wearing only body paint and a fur coat.

She grinned.

God, she loved weird parties.

Eventually, her eyes landed on Helaena—still trapped in the same conversation with her father. The girl looked back at her and stuck out her tongue in an exaggerated expression of disgust, confirming that yes, she’d rather be incinerated than continue pretending to listen.  

Sara smiled. And to her delight, Helaena seemed to take the look as a lifeline. In a blink, she was gracefully extracting herself and heading over, her wide skirt flowing with each stride, cowboy boots just visible beneath the hem, a trail of ethereal beauty practically following in her wake.

She stopped right in front of Sara, rummaged boldly into the neckline of her corset, pulled out what she’d been hunting for, and fixed Sara with a glinting, mischievous stare.

“Joint?”

---

Twenty minutes later, they were in the tent Stevie Nicks—madwoman, icon—had had set up in the garden. No chairs, just layers of rich rugs and plush pillows. The soft light of a thousand paper lanterns flickered through the leaves of a jungle’s worth of plants, which Helaena had inspected with curious reverence when they’d arrived.

“…And then that disgusting creep pretended to be a guest at the hotel just to sneak us in through the main entrance,” Sara finished, eyes red and glassy from the weed, as Helaena burst into laughter and nearly choked on the smoke.

“Jesus, he could have kidnapped you.” Helaena commented once able to speak.

Sara couldn’t help but laugh too, even at her own story—this absurd memory of a night when the so-called orchestra director from her small town had invited her and her friend to “talk about work” in the hotel pool at midnight. Of course, looking back, it was just a flimsy excuse to ogle them half-naked. And of course, Sara saw it clearly now.

But in that moment, with her head light from the high, sprawled on a thick carpet, her partner-in-chaos wheezing from laughter beside her—she couldn’t help but find the whole thing hilarious.  

Even with its very messed-up undertones.

Sara shifted on the cushions, her legs curled under her, wine glass balancing delicately on her knee. The carpet beneath her was impossibly plush, the kind of texture that begged you to lie back and spill secrets.

Helaena was still laughing, quietly now, her eyes shining and her voice raspy from the smoke. Her curls—messy and wild from the humidity—had taken on a haloed effect in the golden light. Her green velvet dress pooled around her like moss in motion, her silver glitter catching the lanterns just enough to make her look like she’d been sprinkled with stardust.

Sara leaned back on her elbows and looked at her. There was something about Helaena—like she’d wandered into the wrong century and decided to stay. A kind of gentle oddity that felt just easy to watch.

“You know,” Sara said, drawing out the vowels with mock seriousness, “if I ever go missing, this is the exact kind of place I’d want to be held hostage in. Slightly witchy, good rugs, and enough cushions to stage a very dramatic monologue about longing and betrayal.”

Helaena gave her a slow smile. “Would you want an audience?”

“Only if they bring snacks.”

Helaena’s laugh was lower this time, warm. “And a fog machine?”

Sara pointed at her, nodding. “You get it.”

Helaena laughed, shifting slightly to face her more, the folds of her dress sliding like water over the rugs. “You had me picturing that disgusting pool and that horrible man like it was a Greek tragedy.”

Sara smirked, but there was the faintest blush creeping up her cheeks. “Occupational hazard. I like the way people lean in when you spin something right.”

“You should do it more.”

Sara raised a brow. “What, tell stories?”

“Yes,” Helaena said, almost too quickly. Then she adjusted, casually, like it was nothing. “I mean. Tell them your way. I know you’re an actress, but ever thought about directing something?”

That caught her off guard. Sara blinked, sitting up a little straighter.

“I… actually—no one’s ever asked me that.”

Helaena tilted her head, curls falling to one side. “Well. I just did.”

The wine in Sara’s hand swirled, forgotten. She felt a sudden rush of something electric at the base of her spine, the way you do when someone you didn’t expect sees you a little too clearly.

She didn’t answer right away. But her smile turned thoughtful. Curious.

Maybe even a little unusually shy.

“Direct?” she repeated, brow furrowing. “Like… direct-direct? Yelling ‘action’ and wearing one of those obnoxious puffers on set and making people cry in the name of vision?”

Helaena grinned. “I mean, you could skip the puffer. But yeah. That kind of direct.”

Sara let out a puff of air, something between a scoff and a laugh. “God. That’s wild. I’ve spent years auditioning for men who think eyeliner is character development and who say things like ‘make it more… natural’ when what they really mean is ‘smaller, quieter, less.’”

“Yeah,” Helaena said, lighting another joint with quiet precision. “I’ve edited their work.”

Sara’s laugh was warm, too loud, then instantly muffled by her hand over her mouth. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I have a folder of the worst male voiceovers I’ve ever had to cut. I play them when I’m sad.”

Sara flopped back onto the cushions with a theatrical groan, one hand over her face. “You’re telling me I could’ve just walked in and said ‘I want to be the one calling the shots’ instead of begging to be Juliet number seven in a regional tour where the director thinks feminism is giving her a knife in act three?”

“I mean…” Helaena exhaled smoke and watched it curl up toward the tent’s ceiling. “You could. You still can.”

Sara peeked at her through her fingers. “It’s actually kind of insane,” she said, her voice slower now, more thoughtful, “how deeply the patriarchy doesn’t even want women to imagine themselves in positions of power.”

Helaena looked over at her, eyes glittering in the lantern light. “That’s what gets me,” she said softly. “The way it steals the question before you can even form it.”

Sara turned her head toward her on the rug. “Holy shit. That was profound.”

Helaena smiled without teeth, slow and secret. “Maybe it’s the weed.”

“True,” Sara said, quieter now. Then, almost without meaning to, “You’re kind of scary smart.”

“Of course, I’m an Aquarius” 

Sara lit up at the mention of her favorite girly topic. “Pisces moon, right? You said it the other day—I am too.”

Helaena covered her mouth with one hand in surprise and passed her the joint with the other. “Such a diva,” she said with the serene calm of someone who, in hindsight, was not at all surprised. “Makes sense why I like you.”

Sara nodded confidently, already convinced of the cosmic compatibility. She took a drag and exhaled slowly, before turning her full attention back to Helaena.

“Also,” she added, shifting onto one elbow and resting her chin in her palm, “I absolutely love your makeup.” She gestured with one finger to the glitter around Helaena’s eyes—maybe just a bit too close to her face.

Helaena didn’t flinch. She just watched her with that quiet stillness of hers, then smiled. “Aw, thanks, girl.”

“I love that clip,” Helaena said next, nodding toward the dragonfly barrette tucked into Sara’s red hair. It was a deep, forest green—the same shade as Helaena’s dress—and Sara had picked it for the contrast. Stylish. Intentional. She reached up and took it out without thinking.

She rolled it between her fingers, smile hazy, the joint still smoldering between the tips of the other hand. Smoke curled lazily between them, carrying her thoughts somewhere far off.

Then—still without much thought—Sara set the joint down, leaned in just slightly, and tried to keep her balance as she clipped the barrette into Helaena’s long, pale hair.

It looked better on her than it ever had on Sara. 

When she finished, she noticed Helaena’s eyes on her. She hadn’t even realized she’d been that close, distracted by the shimmer on her eyelids and how the light from a nearby lantern caught both the barrette and the fine strands of her blonde hair like it had been painted that way on purpose.

She also hadn’t realized her hand was still hovering there, somewhere near her cheek.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Helaena said softly. “Like… a little forest sprite.”

Sara swallowed. And for the first time—ever, maybe—she felt a kind of flutter that was entirely new. Soft. Strange. Warm in the wrong places.

Wet.

[elllisaaa]

STEAL THE SHOW - S. YUNA

SUMMARY : when yuna, one of the most viewed content creator of the site you're posting on, takes an interest in you, you're not about to waste your chance.

-> pairing : pornstar!yuna x camgirl!reader

-> words count :

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : wlw, sex work, dom!yuna x sub!reader, teasing, making out, choking, oral, nipple/breast play, marking, use of 'good girl', praising, body worship, begging, fingering, biting,

+ the way i'm depicting yuna does not represent her, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | itzy masterlist

You had always been lazy, be that when you were still at school or when it came to literally any chores in the house. You just wanted to lay back, spend your days doing either nothing or what you liked, and not be forced to do something you didn’t want to. So obviously, getting a job when you (barely) graduated from college wasn’t an option. That was when you started to get interested in the porn industry. It felt like you could make easy money from it, and from what you’ve heard, it seemed like the perfect job for you. 

You started with audio-only videos that you posted on a popular site. And as you gained popularity and confidence, you started to feel more comfortable in showing certain parts of your body, little by little uncovering yourself in the videos. You started doing lives, the money flooding in when you played along with your followers, touching yourself for them. You did private sessions sometimes too, the gains you got from these types of clients easily paying for two months of your rent. It was the perfect life for you. All you had to do was to pleasure yourself, stroke the ego of some lonely dudes, and boom - you were able to buy all the things you could only dream of a few months before. 

As time passed, you began to notice a regular viewer of your lives. A viewer that always gave you a lot, even when you weren’t doing anything in particular. Out of curiosity, you searched the pseudo on the internet, and you found out that for once, it wasn’t a guy but a girl. A girl who was also making this type of content. And she was a really pretty girl at that. Of course, you just had to message her, to personally thank her for all the money she gave you, for supporting your lives. That was how your “relationship” with Yuna started. 

At first, it was only innocent messages - praises of each other's contents, asking for advice from each other’s experience, and giving support to each other. Yuna mostly had a female audience, while yours was mostly masculine, and soon enough, it became evident that collaborating with each other could only benefit your two channels. You brought up the subject during one of your conversations, and Yuna casually accepted, leaving you both excited and nervous about your first meeting. 

You had settled on meeting up at a café in town, a public setting making it easier for any of you to step back if you felt uncomfortable. You sat at a table, your acrylic nails tapping repeatedly against the table as you anxiously waited for her. What if she wasn’t who she pretended to be ? What if she had bad intentions ? What if the vibes weren’t as good in person ? 

“- Y/N ?”

Your concerns were cut short by the familiar soft and sultry voice you had come to know all too well. You raised your head to look at her in the eyes, and you were immediately swept off your feets by how prettier she looked in real life. Her skin was pale, like that of a porcelain doll, her brown eyes were intense as she stared at you and her long, brown, silky hair framed her gorgeous face perfectly. 

“- Y-Yeah ! It’s me.”

She chuckled at your answer and leaned down to kiss your cheek, the contact making you slightly blush. It was stupid - you had done way worse things on camera - but the girl in front of you had such an effect on you that you hadn’t anticipated. Though, Yuna didn’t acknowledge your nervousness as she sat down in front of you with a smile on her face.

“- I’m happy to finally meet you. 

- Me too.”

Silence hung between the two of you for a few seconds - out of anxiousness on your part, while Yuna’s eyes were detailing you, a glint of something darker shining in her gaze as she didn’t hide the way she was checking you out. You cleared your throat as you looked down to the table. 

“- Do you… Uh, do you want to drink something ?” 

Yuna’s smile widened as she got rid of her coat and scarf, revealing the red crop top she was wearing. It was hard not to stare when she looked like she had walked out straight out of a magazine, and she seemed to enjoy it as she relaxed in her seat, crossing her legs as she looked at the menu. 

“- If you’re offering so nicely…”

The slight blush that had taken over your cheeks hadn’t left, even as a server came by to ask what the two of you would like to have. You both ordered a drink, and something to eat. Your heart was beating fast, and for the first time in a long while, you felt self conscious, too aware of your own existence and afraid of being awkward. For there was seemingly nothing to worry about since the conversation was always flooding easily. But seeing her in person was making you nervous, and you just had to sip on your latte to try and make it pass.

“- I didn’t think you’d be so different in person.”

Her comment made you raise your head to look at her directly, and her smile hadn’t left her lips as she stirred her matcha. She was right though, it wasn’t like you to be so quiet and nervous. 

“- What do you mean ?

- You’re always so bold and flirty when we talk usually… What happened to you baby ?”

Once again, she was right. You had no problem flirting with her, and making cheeky remarks usually. And you knew you had to relax, because Yuna wasn’t any different from her on-camera persona - she had that same lascivious tone of voice, that same mischievous glint in her eyes and these slow, deliberate gestures that had you hooked. 

“- Is it too cheesy if I say you’re what makes me nervous ?”

Yuna chuckled, and the sound ravished your ears as you cracked a smile too, slowly feeling more at ease with the situation, knowing that she hadn’t put on a show during all these conversations. She could have, and she could still be fooling you, acting to get what she wanted. But for some strange reasons, you believed her, you believed she hadn’t any bad intentions simply because this all felt so authentic - there was no way she was faking it. 

“- It could. But I’ll take it as a compliment. I make the all-mighty Y/N lose her composure after all…

- Let me just get used to seeing your pretty face in front of me.”

The slight smirk stretching out the corner of your lips accentuated the curious glimmer in her eyes, and Yuna felt like she could really get more than a hundred dollars and a new audience for her content. This was way more than just collaborating with you, it was meeting you in person and finally getting a taste of that pussy that had made her drool for the past few months. 

“- Shameless… I like it.”

Her comment floated in the air as you took a sip of your latte and tasted the pastry you had ordered. The silence wasn’t awkward, and you didn’t feel the need to break it. The aura of confidence she exuded had transferred to you, and you no longer felt like you were on the verge of passing out from the stress. 

“- So… How do you want this to go ?”

The question seemed innocent, but in your defense, you hadn’t had the chance to do anything like this ever before. It was your first time meeting with someone who did the same type of content as you, let alone someone you were about to have sex with. Yuna’s smile didn’t flatter as she put down her matcha, licking her lips in a calculated motion to draw your attention before she answered. 

“- I don’t have any rules set up. I’d like us to do whatever we feel comfortable with. Unless there’s a limit you have to tell me about, I could be anything you’d like.”

Yuna’s response surprised you a bit. You had seen on her channel that she had already collaborated with other content creators - men and women - so you thought she had a clear method on how she went about all of this. But actually, the idea of letting things go as the mood suggested seemed like a pretty good idea. You nodded as you took another bite of the chocolate cake filled with vanilla cream, licking the crumbs off the spoon with intent. 

“- That sounds pretty good to me. I can’t really think of anything that would put me off right now… 

- Yeah ? Then I think we’ll have a lot of fun.”

Her eyes dropped down to your lips as you talked, making her intentions very clear. She wasn’t trying to be subtle, but again, why would she when you both knew why you were here and what would happen as soon as you’ll step into your apartment. You both finished your coffees while making small talk, occasionally throwing glances at each other, as if you couldn’t feel your heart beating fast in your chest from the anticipation. 

“- Should we go ?”

You nodded at her suggestion, standing up and slinging your purse over your shoulder. You walked to the door in silence, and as you followed the streets down to your apartment, it felt like words weren’t needed to explain how you were buzzing with excitement. Yuna didn’t seem as affected as you were though - she looked so calm, and put together, completely opposite of your current demeanor. And it was particularly odd for you to be like this. Usually, you had no problem being flirty, and unbothered by almost everything, but she made it harder to breathe and think.

Suddenly, you felt her arm wrapping itself around your waist, holding you closer to her and you couldn’t hide your surprise nor the way your breath hitched in your throat at the contact. You could feel the warmth of her body seeping into you through the fabric of both your clothes. Soon enough, you could also feel her lips brush against your ear, and her brown hair falling on your shoulder as she leaned in.

“- Relax sweetheart, I won’t eat you. Unless you ask me too.”

She chuckled under her breath as she saw your reaction - or rather, your lack of reaction. Your cheeks felt warmer again, but this time, you decided you had enough of feeling shy and anxious, the excitement of the situation finally taking over you as you looked at her in the eyes, your own  gaze intentionally dropping down to her cleavage before going back up to her lips.

“- Well… I definitely wouldn’t hate it, but I’d rather taste you first.”

A slow grin spread on Yuna’s lips as she squeezed your arm. 

“- I like this better.”

Before you knew it, you were in front of your building, and you were leading Yuna up to your apartment. She watched your every move as you unlocked the door, inviting her in. She fitted right in your living room, her eyes falling on each detail of the decoration as she dropped her purse and coat onto your armchair. The security of your own home made it easier to feel relaxed. 

“- It’s really cozy, you got great taste.

- That’s nothing new.”

Your eyes fell on her sitting position on the couch, tilting your head to the side to make it clear what you were implying. Yuna’s smile widened as she reached for your hand, pulling you to sit down on her lap. You let out a surprised gasp as you steadied yourself on her shoulders, but her smirk didn’t leave her lips as she reached up to cup your cheek, bringing your face closer to hers. 

“- Now, this is more like it. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time ? 

- Oh yeah ? Gotta make it worth it then…”

These were your last words before you leaned in to finally kiss her like you had been dying to ever since she pressed her lips against your cheeks. And they were even softer than you imagined. Your arms went to wrap around her neck as you got more comfortable in her lap, while her hands rested firmly on your waist, pushing you impossibly closer to her. And god, the way she was kissing you - slow and deliberate - was leaving you dizzy, unable to think anymore. 

You sighed in her mouth, feeling her clear, glittery gloss mixing with your pink one. And as she licked your lips, your eyes fluttered shut, letting her slowly devour you. Her warm tongue swiping expertidly against yours made you moan this time, not caring about coming off as desperate as your hips rocked against her, trying to get that bit of friction you needed to soothe the ache in between your thighs. And all of sudden, Yuna’s hand was wrapped around your throat and she was pulling you away from her lips. Her smirk was back, her eyes darker as she watched you lick off her gloss from your lips. 

“- I almost want to keep it all for myself now…”

You giggled as you climbed off of her lap, her hands lingering on your hips for a few more seconds before she let you go, still grinning. 

“- Come on, I already have everything set up in my room.

- After you, pretty girl.”

You led the way to your bedroom, revealing the just as cozy setting you had planned : a fuzzy blanket was laid out on your bed, your camera already set up to be able to film from the side of it. Your purple leds were on, as well as some fairy lights casting a glow over the scene. Yuna sat down in front of your camera, as if it was all natural to her. And frankly, it seemed like it was, looking at how at ease she had been all along. And right now, as you sat beside her, ready to start the live, all your nerves had disappeared, replaced by the buzzing excitement and the anticipation of what was going to happen. 

“- Ready ?”

Yuna only nodded at you with her signature sultry smile, and you reached your monitor to start the live, the commentary and viewers immediately flooding in as you sat down beside her on the bed. 

“- Hi, guys ! As you can see, today I’m not alone. Please, welcome Yuna warmly.”

She waved at the camera as she greeted your audience too. You started slowly to read out some commentaries and answering questions, the chemistry between the two of you evident even on screen. Yuna’s hand was resting high up on your thigh, her fingers slowly slipping underneath the hem of your skirt. 

“- Uhm… Someone asked if we were going to finally touch each other.”

You turned to look at her, your eyes flicking down to her lips once again as a slow smirk spreaded on your lips, mirroring her own devilish grin. 

“- Well, I guess we don’t have the choice then…”

Yuna was the one to kiss you first this time, one of her hands curling around the back of your neck and bringing you to her lips. It was much more intense than when you were on the couch, her tongue almost immediately parting your lips and mingling with yours. But you were not going to complain, especially not when she was sighing like that in your mouth, when she let her hands wander down to massage your breasts over the material of your top. 

You only broke the kiss so she could help you get rid of your shirt, leaving you only in your skirt and your lacy, dark red bra. Yuna bit down on her lips as she admired the sight in front of her, feeling the sudden urge to cover your perfect skin in her marks, to leave you a drooling mess. So that was exactly what she did. Yuna positioned herself behind you, her lips lashing against your neck and her hands returning to your boobs. You could feel her smile against your skin as you moaned out at the feeling. 

“- Such a pretty girl… You dressed up for me, right ? Put on my favourite colour just for me ?

- Yes… I bought it just for you.”

Yuna’s smile widened as she bit down on your neck, making you yelp. She was quick to soothe the ache with another kiss and with her fingers slipping inside your bra to flick your nipples. 

“- Good girl.”

You held back a moan at the praise, and even more so at the way Yuna was pinching your nipples in just the right way to make you squirm against her. But she only chuckled against your ear as she continued to tease you. She was staring directly into the camera, as if challenging your viewers, showing them what they could never have.

“- Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” 

Her honey-like voice seeped into you, definitely turning your brain to mush. One of her hands was still playing with your right nipple, while the other was slowly making its way down, until she reached the waistband of your skirt and stopped. You whined, bucking your hips up, because she knew exactly what you wanted, what you needed. Yuna’s smile grew wider as she grabbed your jaw, tilting your head back to force you to look at her in the eyes. 

“- I need words, pretty girl.”

Your own smile was daring as you took her hand in yours, bringing it down lower, and lower, until her manicured fingers laid up high on your inner thighs, your spread legs showing off your red panties as well as the wet patch on it. 

“- And I need your fingers, please.”

Yuna didn’t let you look away from her as she slowly ran up her hands higher and higher, until her fingers grazed the hem of your underwear. She was teasing, and you knew it, but it was too good to ask her to stop.

“- You’re even begging without being asked to… So fucking perfect.”

She didn’t even let you have any chance to respond as she pressed her fingers against your clothed clit, tearing a moan from you, your eyes fluttering shut when she started to draw circles. 

“- So wet and I haven’t even done anything yet, sweetheart.”

Her teasing was getting to your head, and the way she was touching you in the perfect way to give you some but not enough was driving you crazy. But Yuna didn’t want to play, at least, not too much. More than anything, she wanted to make you fall apart. So she pushed your underwear to the side, revealing your dripping cunt to the camera. She ran her fingers along the slit, collecting some of your wetness and bringing it up to her lips. She made a whole show out of licking it off, and you couldn’t detach your eyes from her as she did so.

“- Yuna… 

- Don’t be so impatient, you’re gonna have them.”

She tapped her fingers against your lips, and as if it was a second nature, you parted them and let her push them into your mouth. You diligently sucked around them, tasting yourself and her saliva on them. And you had to admit that the mix was pretty mind blowing. Before you could enjoy it some more, she took her fingers away from your mouth, returning to play with your cunt. But her teasing didn’t last much longer as she finally pushed one of her fingers inside of your pussy. Your back arched against her, your head resting against her shoulders, and a contented moan slipping past your lips. 

“- You’re so wet already… Doing so good for me Y/N.”

This didn’t even feel like it was just for the viewers, you weren’t even thinking about the live anymore except for the distant sound of the donation notification. But with the way Yuna was quick to push a second finger inside of you, and even quicker to find the perfect rhythm to make you whimper, this was completely out of your mind. Her other hand that was still resting around your jaw slid down just a bit, until she could wrap it around your throat. Your breathing hitched and your eyes snapped open for a few seconds, enough to take in the sinful view reflected in the camera, and to see how Yuna was looking at you - like an animal ready to devour its prey. 

“- You like that sweetheart ? You like having my hand around your throat ?

- Yes… Feels so good…”

Yuna smirked at the way your voice was shaking, at the way you were moaning and whimpering, at the way you were chasing her hand each time she slowed down the rhythm of her fingers. And as she buried them deep inside of you once again, she squeezed your neck tighter, and she relished in the desperate sounds you made, in how pliant you were in her hold, in how tight you were. Soon enough, your legs were shaking and you could already feel your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“- You’re close sweetheart ?

- Yes… So close…

- Mmh, yeah… I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Come on baby, let go for me, show me how beautiful you are when you cum.”

Yuna’s words pushed you closer to the edge, as well as her hand leaving your throat to come play with your clit again. She only needed to whisper some more praises against your ear to get you there, smiling at the way you loudly moaned out and grabbed her arm in an attempt to keep in touch with reality. Your orgasm crashed over you like a hurricane, more wetness seeping out of your hole and making the lewd sounds of Yuna’s fingers even dirtier. 

“- You did such a great job for me, sweetheart.”

You turned your head to the side against her shoulder to look at her in the eyes, still trying to catch your breath. But the pure lust and desire you could so clearly see inside of her gaze made your heart beat faster again. Without needing to say one word to each other, your lips were on hers, one of your hands tangled in her long brown hair while hers slid up to take a hold of your breasts again. When you finally parted your lips, a new determination had taken over you.

“- It’s my turn to have fun, now.”

You didn’t let Yuna protest or react before helping her out of her top, leaving her torso completely bare. The realisation that she hadn’t been wearing a bra all this time left you speechless for a few seconds. Yuna’s chuckles at your lack of reaction quickly died in her throat when you leaned down to catch one of her nipples in between your lips. She exhaled a shuddering breath at the action, letting you do as you pleased. 

So you didn’t hesitate to suck on her nipple, while you rolled the other one in between two of your fingers, attentive to every sigh and quiet moan Yuna let slip past her lips. She didn’t protest when you started to kiss your way down her body, finally stopping at the waistband of her jeans. She looked down at you - her lips parted and her eyes full of desire, of need - and you simply smirked, slowly undoing her button and zipper. You discarded her jeans somewhere in the room, your hands sliding up from her ankles to her thighs that you squeezed.

“- You’re enjoying this, aren’t you ?

- So much.”

Your answer made her bite down on her lip again, and you definitely liked that habit of hers a lot. Now that she was only wearing her panties, you kneeled down on the floor and tugged Yuna closer to the edge of the bed. Your lips quickly found their place against her right knee, slowly making your way up to her inner thigh with your kisses and occasional light bites. And by the time you started over your little game with her left leg, Yuna was breathless, her chest heaving rapidly and her fists curled around the sheets. 

“- Tell me what you want, baby.”

Your teasing didn’t go unnoticed, and Yuna couldn’t help but grin at the way you took her own words from her. But that didn’t stop her from tangling one of her hands in your hair, tugging on them and making you gasp in surprise. 

“- You better put that mouth to good use instead of running it sweetheart.”

The sudden shift in her demeanor made you want to be brat and to be good all at once. But the appealing view of her soaked panties just in front of your eyes led you to nod at her. Though she let you move on your own again, her hand was still resting against the back of your head, guiding you toward her cunt. You made a show of licking at her over the material of her underwear, and moaning under your breath at the feeling. But was it really acting when she tasted like the sweetest thing you had ever had the chance to try ?

You didn’t waste any more time as you pushed her black, lacy thong to the side, finally getting a real view of her cunt. But you didn’t stop on that for more than a second, immediately leaning forward to taste her for real. You both moaned in harmony at the feeling, Yuna’s fingers tightening around your strand of hair while yours rested firmly on her hips. 

“- That feels so good sweetheart, don’t stop…”

You hummed against her cunt as you took her clit in between your lips, restlessly sucking on it like your life depended on it. Yuna could see the sinful reflection of what was happening through the camera, your head moving in between her legs and her exposed body taking up the whole frame. She wanted to keep watching, to try and read some comments, but the way you were devouring her as if you were starving had her throwing her head back, rocking her hips against your face.

And you didn’t try to stop her, only encouraging her to keep grinding against you. Your nose was bumping against her clit with each thrust of her hips, and you kept licking at her, pushing your tongue into her clenching hole, collecting her slickness as much as you could. And Yuna didn’t try to hold back her sounds, her whines and moans echoing through the room and the live still going the last thing on her mind as she felt herself approaching her climax. 

“- Y/N…”

You hummed again, feeling how her thighs were starting to shake around your head, feeling how her whimpers were getting more and more high-pitched. So you doubled your efforts, not caring about not being able to breathe anymore as you buried your face as deep as you could in between her thighs. You looked up at her, and Yuna let out another whine as her gaze fell into your wide doe eyes, almost pleading her to cum in your mouth.

And that was exactly what she did, throwing her head back again and holding you in place with both her hands as she rode out her orgasm by riding your face. And you stayed still, moaning against her and licking her clean until she pushed you away. You didn’t let her catch her breath as you came up to kiss her, sharing her juices in a searing, hot and messy kiss that left you both wanting more. As if on cue, another donation notification rang up from your phone and brought you back to reality. Right. You were supposed to be working. You turned around, sitting in between Yuna’s still spread legs as your eyes bore into the camera. 

“- I hope you guys liked this, you can look up for more content on our channels very soon.”

Before you could say anything else to your viewers, or see how much you made from this one single live, Yuna reached over your shoulder to stop the live. And before you could protest, she grabbed your shoulder and pushed you to lay on the bed, knocking the air out of your lungs for a few seconds. She hovered over you, almost fully naked, and that dark glint in her eyes back.

“- The rest of what I’m gonna do to you doesn’t need to be shared, it’s only for you sweetheart.”

And you definitely weren’t mad about that.

-> i don't allow any reposts, copies or translations of my work.

fill in this to be added to my taglist !

[lacilashea]

I love Jesus more than all and all my posts belong to Jesus and he is my Lord and savior, the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews, the rest on the earth and that much being God's son. as my Lord and savior and this is not about me but about Jesus the Messiah, the Christ, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Jesus Christ the truth, Jesus King of the jews and the rest on the earth and that much being God's son with Mary, and Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost have feelings like you and others do that also exist because of God, and you can talk to Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost literally all the time and they do talk back to you and outside of prayer also and will be that close to you and talk to them and others that exist like you all day and night long and you'll never be alone and start talking to Jesus about everything and your lives will improve, No one needs governments, kings, queens, etc of people anywhere when people could just help one another as God and Jesus said and with God and Jesus being kings over us and all the people even now God and Jesus should be-1 samuel 8:6-9-It displeased Samuel when they said to him, “Appoint a king over us,” so Samuel prayed to the Lord. The Lord said to him, “Listen to everything that the people have requested of you. It is not you whom the people have rejected, they have rejected me as their king. They have done this from the day that I brought them up out of Egypt to this very day. They have rejected me and served other gods, just as they have rejected you. So grant their request, but warn them solemnly and inform them what the king who reigns over them will do.” and then what happened to Jesus-John 18 and 19 and he-JESUS IS EVERYONE'S KING and GOD'S BEGOTTEN SON with Mary and GOD JESUS'S DAD AND OUR HEAVENLY FATHER IS KING-as for you, DO NOT BE CALLED RABBI. you have but one TEACHER, AND YOU ALL BROTHERS. CALL NO ONE ON EARTH YOUR FATHER; you have but one FATHER in HEAVEN. DO NOT BE CALLED MASTER; you have but one master, the MESSIAH-JESUS-MATTHEW 23:8-10. Just more FACTS.

This post belongs to Jesus along with the whole Blog and others input. Also Jesus shows people now visions-seeing, dreams, let's you hear different sweet and nice voices and it is not a mental problem and more and God did before Jesus had came and before the Holy Ghost came and poured himself out on those that love and accept Jesus as the Messiah after Jesus's Crucifixion and murder and God still does with Jesus as his son and the Holy Spirit the Comforter who came after Jesus murder and poured himself out(Acts 2:17 and before see Joel 2) on those that love and accept Jesus as their Messiah and how much you love him, are you free-never you were bought and paid for by Jesus Christ 1 Corinthians 6:20, 1 Corinthians 7:23, Matthew 11:28-30 and you feel the way you feel now because instead of slavery today you have been made to labor for wages that are barely enough to pay your fucking bills instead doing what Jesus, God and the Holy Ghost intended which was helping one another with Jesus God and the holy Ghost over you only(1 samuel 8, John 18 and 19, Matthew 11:2) -Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost's words with Satan's(and their is no church of Satan as church refers to the body of believers in Jesus, and Satan is tired of being lied about and sold and wants Satanism shut down and the buildings of Satan shut down and more that do not accept Jesus Christ as God's begotten son which Jesus is and Jesus is the Messiah but you do not kill people in Jesus, God, or the Holy Ghost name regardless of their choices John 14:6. All of this is Jesus words not mine and Michael's too and others input not my-laci's words with entire post and all my Blog belongs to Jesus, God, the Holy Ghost and then others input. You have got to be that honest with Jesus and choose what you want people over you or God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit as your king and that is with all people everywhere he knows everything about you and God and the Holy Ghost does too and others they want to know about you specifically

[elixirfromthestars]

My sweet Sydney!!!! 🥹🩷🩷 It’s my first time ever reading for destroyer!Chris and my my my what have you done to me?? 😮‍💨💗💗

More under the cut ᯓᡣ𐭩

You love cuddling with him, but reading while cuddling with Chris only ends with Chris on top of you and the book anywhere but not in your hands.

^ Oh, how I wish I had this problem 👀💕 To have a beautiful man come and interrupt my reading sounds like a dream 🥰

But your boyfriend's ocean blue eyes are immediately on you when he notices you walking into the room, a soft smile playing around his lips.

^ The way he looks at her right away 🥹💕 Like his attention immediately going to her is sooooo sweet!! 🥰❤️❤️

With a swift movement, you sit down on his lap, your knees on both sides of his thick thighs when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you even closer. His nose trails along the soft skin of your neck from your shoulder to your ear before he kisses the spot underneath your earlobe.

^ I neeeeeeed this!! 😩💗💓💗💓💗💓💗

“Say it, say please, and you will get what you need, babe,” he says, his breath warm against your lips, and you nod your head. He chuckles, shaking his head when you buck your hips instead of answering his questions with words. “Words, babe, I need you to say out loud what you want.”

^ Omgggg he’s a whole MENACE 🫠💗💗💗💗

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, leaning down to kiss you passionately once more. Chris brings both of his hands to your waist, grip tightening before he lifts you up and carries you to the bed. He sits you down softly, kneeling down in front of you while he lets his hands snake up and down your thighs.

^ The pet names are going to be the end of me in the best way 😵‍💫💕💕💕

“You’re so wet; that’s all for me, pretty girl?”

^ being called a pretty girl makes me lose my whole mind 😵‍💫🩷😵‍💫🩷😵‍💫🩷😵‍💫🩷

I cannot take all the teasing he's doing like he’s making me go crazyyyyyyy but I love it!! 🤭💖💖

“You're the sweetest thing on earth, baby,” he mumbles. Chris takes off his shirt, revealing his trained chest. His pants and boxers are pushed down after, and he steps out of them. “Crawl up, get comfy, and spread those pretty legs for me.”

^ ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 🤭💕💕💕 this man has me giggling and kicking my feet over and over again 💕💕💕

“Shhh, so good for me, baby. Takin’ me like a good girl, my good girl,” he mumbles softly, running one of his hands up and down your side as he uses his other hand to stroke his knuckles along your cheek.

^ If he calls us a good girl one more time I will melt into a puddle 😮‍💨😵‍💫💗💗

“That’s my good girl, take a deep breath. That’s not about fucking, baby; it’s about making love. You don’t need to adjust immediately; we can just stay like that.”If someone were to ask you why you love that man, that would be the reason. The softness he has around you. The love he shows you, the understanding.

^ WHAT A MAN 🫠❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I LOVE HIM ❤️❤️❤️

“I love you, too, baby. My good girl, my precious girl,” he whispers back. He captures your lips with his once more; his thrusts speed up slightly. He’s stretching you so perfectly, hitting all the right spots, and the softness causes the coil in your stomach to tighten again.

^ He’s literally like the best 🥹🩷🩷 Like he’s a menace, but also so soft and sweet like he’s the perfect combination of it all 😍❤️❤️

Sydney, the smut was SO GOOD!!! 🥰🥰 I don’t know if I have the right words to describe all the emotions I went through, but this man is just ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 😍❤️😍❤️😍❤️

“We can just call, and they get us out of here, you know that, right?” He asks, and you nod. You would love to get out of the mission, but you also know that this is an important mission for Chris. One he worked so long for, and now you almost got the guys. You can’t just step back and ruin it all because of a bit of fear. Chris notices your thoughtful expression, his hands rubbing up and down your back. “It doesn’t matter if we almost get these guys; if you say you want to be out of the mission, we will do exactly that.”

^ He loves her so much 😭🩷🩷 He cares for her so much I’m sobbing!! 😭🩷🩷

“I know, but you’re my exception. I don’t care about the mission if it makes you uncomfortable. If you say no, you don’t want to be stuck in here any longer because you don’t feel safe, we’re going to make the call and we’re out of here. When they don’t get these guys because of that, it’s their problem; they have so much information, and with the bank robbery, they play even more,” Chris explains, and you know he’s right. Tears well up in your eyes, and you nod, trying to snuggle more into him. Your boyfriend pulls the blanket over the two of you, his arms wrapping tighter around you, and he kisses your forehead softly. “I want you to be happy, baby.”

^ AND I WANT YOU TO BE HAPPY!! 😭🩷🩷 YOU DESERVE YOUR HAPPY ENDIND 🤧🩷🩷

“I said that because before I met you, my job was everything for me. I haven’t had anything else but it. And then there was you, and I fell in love with you. You’re the most precious and beautiful thing that happened, and I couldn’t be happier. Baby, I love you. I don’t care about any mission like I care about you,” he says softly, kissing you softly. His lips linger against yours, underlining his words. “I loved my job, but you showed me what falling in love really means. You made me love again, made me love something — someone that matters more than my job.”

^ funny way to propose but I do 😌💍💕 he’s such a dream I swear 🥹🩷

“We can, I just want you to know that you matter more than that mission,” he says, and you smile softly. You peck his lips and trail your lips down to his jawline and down to his neck, placing soft kisses on his skin.

^ Omg he really deserves his happy ending and I hope he gets it 😭🥺🩷🩷

My darling Sydney, thank you so much for submitting this fic for my writing challenge!! 🥹🩷🩷 My apologies for letting life get in the way as it took me so long to get to it 🥺 Chris is such a sweetheart and he deserves to be loved and to have a happy love, so I adore that you gave him that in this fic 🥹💖 And the smut—what can I say you had me blushing and giddy the entire time 🤭💗💗💗💗 Thank you again for participating in my challenge!!! 🥰❤️❤️

His exception

A new bank robbery and you’re not so sure about it all anymore. Chris, however, knows what you need and he’s more than willing to offer it.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Chris x Girlfriend!Reader

Wordcount: 3.554 Words

Warnings/Tags: 18+, Minors DNI, mentions of gun’s, bank rubbery, undercover mission, angst, fluff, smut [oral (fem!rec), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, multiple orgasm, praise, aftercare], petnames [baby, babe, pretty girl]

Authors Note: There were some of those gifs of him, and however @navybrat817 made me want to write him even more them. @soelstress more Destroyer!Chris. Divider made by me.

Events: Elixirscinema [🖊 ...✩ You are my exception. — He’s Just Not That Into You | 🍰 ✩｡⋆⸜ “Kiss me.” | Love Again "Show me that heaven's right here, baby. Touch me so I know I'm not crazy. Never have I ever met somebody like you. Used to be afraid of love and what it might do, but goddamn, you got me in love again." — Dua Lipa | @elixirfromthestars], Beginnings Bingo [Row One-One | First Mission | @sweetspicybingo], Hurt and Comfort Bingo [BO32 | Row Three-Two | Praise | @hurtcomfort-bingo]

Masterlist | Destoryer!Chris Masterlist

The sun is softly shining into the small room that you call yours and Chris’ home. The door’s closed and locked, but you still hear the voice outside. With a soft sigh, you pull the sweater over your head and put on your shoes. It’s pretty early, and you stayed half of the morning in bed to read a bit.

Chris offered to stay in bed with you, but after Jay kept pushing Chris to move his ass because he got some snow and wanted to try it, you almost pushed him out of bed. You love cuddling with him, but reading while cuddling with Chris only ends with Chris on top of you and the book anywhere but not in your hands.

You unlock the door, walking out into the darker floor. The door to Silas and Shelby’s room is slightly open, allowing you to look inside, at least as much as you’re able to see the two of them.

Shelby’s sitting on her boyfriend's lap while he looks slightly up at her. A soft grin is curling his lips upwards while he listens to her.

“That’s a really big thing; my cousins told me about it. He’s good at it; it’s a big thing, trust me,” Shelby says quietly but still loud enough for you to hear. Silas nods, looking thoughtful for a moment before he pulls her closer with his arms around her waist.

“Then—“ he trails off, leaning closer to her to kiss her neck softly. With a shake of your head, you walk further through the floor, not wanting to watch the porn.

Chris is sitting on one of the small couches in the corner of the room, his legs spread and his back against the backrest, while he watches Jay taking another row of the drugs. But your boyfriend's ocean blue eyes are immediately on you when he notices you walking into the room, a soft smile playing around his lips.

You walk closer to him, forcing a soft smile on your lips when you nod at Jay, and then your eyes settle on Chris. He’s still watching you, his hands slowly moving from his lap to stretch out in your direction.

With a swift movement, you sit down on his lap, your knees on both sides of his thick thighs when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you even closer. His nose trails along the soft skin of your neck from your shoulder to your ear before he kisses the spot underneath your earlobe.

“How’s the book, babe?” He asks, his voice rough but still so soft and tender that you relax in his embrace. His smell surrounds you, and you take a deep breath before leaning your head against his shoulder.

“It’s good, but can we talk?” You mumble, kissing his neck as well. The others are used to people making out and getting into their rooms. So, to keep the attention away from your conversation with Chris, you just pretend to make out with him.

He hums, smirking when he gets up with you in his arms. He winks and nods at Jay before you pull him into a kiss and feel his warm, plump lips softly moving against yours as well. Chris growls low in his throat as he walks out of the room with you and back into the hallway.

His ocean blue eyes focused on you, his lips in a thin line. When you walk past Silas and Shelby’s room, you hear the grunts and moans of both of them, shaking your head in disgust. Chris laughs softly, kissing your forehead softly.

“Free porn for us, huh?” He asks and hurries to get back into your shared room. You nod, your arms tightly around his neck while you run your fingers up and down the back of his neck. His trimmed hair tickles your fingertips while your nails scratch softly along the soft skin. “Guess we should do our own, better quality.”

You chuckle softly. Chris opens the door and walks into your room, closing it behind the two of you and locking it for some privacy. He lets you down, turning the two of you around before he presses you with your back against the wooden door.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice low and quiet. His head tilts softly, his eyes soften, and he brings one of his hands to your waist. His calloused hand grips your soft flesh lightly. The other of his hands is pressed next to your shoulder against the door.

You shake your head, snaking your hands from his shoulders down to his firm chest. Chris immediately understands, leaning his head forward and pressing his lips as soft as possible onto yours. His tongue swipes over your lower lip, parting them softly before he devours your sweet taste with a low grumble in his chest.

He pulls away slowly, looking down at you with a soft smile on his plump lips. His fingers dig into your waist, his lips hovering above yours while he lets his other hand next to your shoulder slide down your shoulder and slide toward your waist as well. Just when he could curl his thick fingers around it, he moves it to your center and captures your cunt with his hand.

“Say it, say please, and you will get what you need, babe,” he says, his breath warm against your lips, and you nod your head. He chuckles, shaking his head when you buck your hips instead of answering his questions with words. “Words, babe, I need you to say out loud what you want.”

“Please, need you, Chris,” you whimper, feeling his fingers slowly rubbing your folds through the fabric of your sweatpants. A shaky whine followed by a soft moan falls from your lips. Your fingers curl around his shirt tightly, pulling him closer and grounding yourself.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, leaning down to kiss you passionately once more. Chris brings both of his hands to your waist, grip tightening before he lifts you up and carries you to the bed. He sits you down softly, kneeling down in front of you while he lets his hands snake up and down your thighs.

Your boyfriend pulls at the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to lift your hands so he’s able to slip it over your head and throw it away. Chris leaves you with flushed cheeks and only a bra and sweatpants while his blue eyes roam over your body.

No matter how often he sees you, sees you naked, he adores you, adores your body. He can never get enough of you, and he shows you with every part of him. Chris’ tongue pokes out, wetting his lips and making you whimper.

He leans closer to kiss your sides, along your stomach to the other side before he kisses his way up to your bra. His hands keep the soft motion on your thighs. “So sweet, all mine.”

You nod, whimpering. Chris pushes you back softly, and you crawl backward on the bed until you’re comfortable. Your legs dangle down the mattress on both sides of your boyfriend's thick body. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, pushing them down and off your legs to reveal your soaked panties.

“Look at you, all wet and needy for me, babe,” he mumbles, bringing his lips to your covered pussy. His tongue licks a thick strip from your entrance up to your clit, where he sucks at the soft fabric and groans at your sweet taste.

“C-Chris, please,” you moan, wiggling your hips to get more of his warm mouth against your cunt. His fingers dig into your thighs, pushing you into the mattress while his lips remain around your clit and his eyes are locked with yours. “N-no teasing, please, Chris.”

Chris kisses your panties once more before he pulls back and slides the thin fabric down your legs, throwing it on the floor as well. His lips trail up your thighs, kissing and biting softly while he keeps you in place with his big hands on your waist.

“Spread ya legs for me, babe, put them on my shoulders,” he mumbles, and you obey, spreading your legs when you place them on both of his shoulders and caging his head between them. “Good girl.”

His voice is rough, sending a shiver down your spine. A low chuckle leaves his lips when he notices the goosebumps all over your body. Chris keeps kissing up to your pussy, leaving soft marks all over your skin.

“You’re so wet; that’s all for me, pretty girl?”

“M-mhm, all for you, Chris, only for you,” you whimper, bucking your hips to get closer to him. He pushes himself up slightly, causing your legs to lift as well so he can position himself better between your legs. His tongue slides over his plump lips once more before he lowers himself and kisses your wet folds.

Your hands immediately sink into the sheets underneath you, gripping them tightly while you pull at them harshly. Chris smirks, lifting his head so that his beard scratches over your sensitive bundle of nerves. He lowers his head again and lets his tongue run over your folds to your entrance.

His calloused hands stroke your thighs up and down before he uses one of them to bring to your cunt and tease your entrance with one of his thick fingers. He dips in slightly, slipping back out and doing the same with his tongue.

“C-Chris, no… no teasing, please,” you whine, a moan coming out when he plunges one of his thick fingers into your tight cunt. His lips are moving back to your clit, his tongue swirling around it while he pumps his digit in and out of you.

If you would look down at him, you would notice the grin on his face, his eyes locked on your face and taking in every little detail of your expression.

You feel the knot in your stomach tightening. His digits storming your spongy spot with every movement. Chris's beard is adding more pleasure, making you moan and wiggle underneath him.

“Can take another finger?” He asks, knowing the answer, and before you can respond to his question, he already pushes a second digit into your tightness. His name falls from your lips, your mouth drops open, and your legs shake when he speeds up the thrusts of them. “Mhm, gonna cum, pretty girl? Cum for me and make a mess on my fingers, babe.”

And you do, his warm lips, his soft beard, and his thick fingers sending you over the edge. Your pussy is clenching around him while you throw your head back and moan his name loudly. You’re panting, your eyes closed as he keeps fucking you with his tongue and fingers through your orgasm.

Only when you whine and try to wiggle away from him does he stop and pull his fingers out of you. Chris pushes your legs softly off his shoulders and sits back. His tongue pokes out, and he places his fingers on them, circling them with a deep groan.

“You're the sweetest thing on earth, baby,” he mumbles. Chris takes off his shirt, revealing his trained chest. His pants and boxers are pushed down after, and he steps out of them. “Crawl up, get comfy, and spread those pretty legs for me.”

You nod, still fucked out, but you do as he says and move further up the bed. Your head in the pillows, you lick your lips when your eyes settle on his thick, leaking cock.

“Can you take me, or do you just want to cuddle?”

“You… want you, please,” you whimper, spreading your legs apart for your boyfriend. He smiles softly and crawls up the bed, settling between your legs. Chris lets himself fall slightly on top of you, his throbbing dick rubbing along your wetness, and you immediately buck your hips upwards.

Chris leans down to kiss you softly, his tongue sliding over your lips and sliding between them. One of his hands moves between your bodies, wrapping around his shaft and stroking himself a few times before he lines up with your entrance.

His teeth bite slightly down on your lips, and he pulls it softly, then kisses you once more while he pushes in. Your moan is swallowed by him, his cock stretching your tight cunt, and you take a deep breath when he pushes further into you. No matter how often you have sex, it’s always a tight fit, and his cock feels just so thick it’s causing a light burn in your pussy.

“Shhh, so good for me, baby. Takin’ me like a good girl, my good girl,” he mumbles softly, running one of his hands up and down your side as he uses his other hand to stroke his knuckles along your cheek. Chris pushes further into you, bottoming out with his balls flush against your ass cheeks. “That’s my good girl, take a deep breath. That’s not about fucking, baby; it’s about making love. You don’t need to adjust immediately; we can just stay like that.”

If someone were to ask you why you love that man, that would be the reason. The softness he has around you. The love he shows you, the understanding.

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down. Chris chuckles and lowers himself, his chest pressed against yours. With your legs around his waist, you let them slide down his thighs and tangle them with his.

“You’re so beautiful, so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers, his lips so close to you but not breaking the distance just yet. His ocean blue orbs are so soft when he looks into yours. There's nothing that matters but the two of you at the moment.

It doesn’t matter that Silas makes a plan for the next bank robbery or that the others play Russian roulette with a gun that doesn’t have any bullets in it. It just doesn’t matter because you’re safe; he's safe. And for the moment, it’s just you and him, connected and filled with love for one another.

“You can move, if you want,” you say softly, lifting your head to kiss him. Chris's lips move in tandem with yours as he pulls his hips back and lets his cock pull out except for his tip before he pushes back into you. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix, and you whimper into the kiss.

Your walls clench around his thick dick, earning you a low groan from your boyfriend. “You make me go crazy, and I love it, pretty girl,” he mumbles with a smirk on his lips. You smile softly back at his sweet words, sighing and moaning softly when he thrusts steadily but slowly into you. Chris lets you feel every inch of his cock.

“I love you, Chris, I love you so much,” you whisper against his lips.

“I love you, too, baby. My good girl, my precious girl,” he whispers back. He captures your lips with his once more; his thrusts speed up slightly. He’s stretching you so perfectly, hitting all the right spots, and the softness causes the coil in your stomach to tighten again. “Gonna cum for me?”

You nod, wrapping your legs tighter around him. Chris smirks, pushing further into you, his lips never leaving yours.

“Then come for me, squeeze me,” he growls. You whimper, your walls clenching around his twitching cock. The coil in your stomach snaps. You moan, throwing your head back while your legs tremble and your pussy is squeezing around your boyfriend's cock, pushing him over the edge as well. “Fuck, just like that, baby.”

Chris' voice is husky and his hips stutter when his warm cum spurts out of his tip. He’s keeping his cock deep in your cunt, his thrusts slowing down until he stops and lays down on top of you. He’s still taking care to keep his weight mostly on his arms and legs.

He’s panting just like you, sweat running down his forehead, but he still has the soft and adorable smile on his face. The smile that reaches his eyes, making them light up even more. “So good, baby, so good for me. Your pussy squeezed me so hard, mhm, love you. I fuckin’ love you, babe.”

You giggle, running your fingers over his short hair, letting your nails scratch along his scalp. “I love you too. Can you… Can you stay like that a moment longer?”

Chris nods, though he wraps his arms around you and turns both of you around so he’s underneath you. “That’s oke, too? Don’t want to crash my baby.”

“Mhm, more than oke,” you whisper and smile. You kiss his neck and shoulders softly, leaving some hickeys on his soft skin. For a moment the two of you are quiet, just enjoying the closeness and warmth of one another. But then you speak up to finally tell him about what you heard earlier and caused your mood change. “Chris, I-I’m… I’m scared; they plan a big thing… a bit… bank robbery.”

“We can just call, and they get us out of here, you know that, right?” He asks, and you nod. You would love to get out of the mission, but you also know that this is an important mission for Chris. One he worked so long for, and now you almost got the guys. You can’t just step back and ruin it all because of a bit of fear. Chris notices your thoughtful expression, his hands rubbing up and down your back. “It doesn’t matter if we almost get these guys; if you say you want to be out of the mission, we will do exactly that.”

“But you said… it’s important for you, Chris. You didn’t want to stop that mission for anything. And I agreed; I knew details about the mission. You played with open cards, and you told me that nothing… there’s nothing you would cancel that mission,” you say. He nods; he knows that he said it, and he meant it when the mission started, but now there are things that are different — things that are more important for him.

“I know, but you’re my exception. I don’t care about the mission if it makes you uncomfortable. If you say no, you don’t want to be stuck in here any longer because you don’t feel safe, we’re going to make the call and we’re out of here. When they don’t get these guys because of that, it’s their problem; they have so much information, and with the bank robbery, they play even more,” Chris explains, and you know he’s right. Tears well up in your eyes, and you nod, trying to snuggle more into him. Your boyfriend pulls the blanket over the two of you, his arms wrapping tighter around you, and he kisses your forehead softly. “I want you to be happy, baby.”

“But you said… I don’t want to ruin it for you; I don’t… It’s weird; there’s… I’m not sure why I’m afraid; I know they keep an eye on us while we are on the mission, but…” You trail off; a few tears roll down your cheeks. Chris immediately brings both of his big hands to your cheeks, wiping the tears away and pulling you closer. His lips are only inches away from yours.

“I said that because before I met you, my job was everything for me. I haven’t had anything else but it. And then there was you, and I fell in love with you. You’re the most precious and beautiful thing that happened, and I couldn’t be happier. Baby, I love you. I don’t care about any mission like I care about you,” he says softly, kissing you softly. His lips linger against yours, underlining his words. “I loved my job, but you showed me what falling in love really means. You made me love again, made me love something — someone that matters more than my job.”

“I love you too… But I want to… I want to finish that mission with you,” you confess. He nods slowly.

“We can, I just want you to know that you matter more than that mission,” he says, and you smile softly. You peck his lips and trail your lips down to his jawline and down to his neck, placing soft kisses on his skin.

“I know, but I want to. I know you’re here; you take care that no one gets hurt,” you say softly.

“Sounds like a plan, and of course I do, baby. So let’s find out where and when they plan the robbery, and then we are out of the mission,” Chris says. You nod but remain on top of him. He chuckles low in his throat. “Let’s cuddle a bit longer, and then we’ll get ourselves cleaned; Jay will tell us all about the plan anyway.” You giggle, kissing his neck and biting softly into it while he tickles your sides and makes you squirm on top of him to get away from his fingers poking into your sides with a grin on his lips.

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[cent-scratchnsniff]

something bad did indeed happen to that man. spent abt 25 minutes trying to find a better picture of that one (1) offical piece with his eyes open that wasnt compressed or tiny