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star2fishmeg · 4 months ago

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ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴡʀᴀᴘs

[4.4k] Pairing | bsf!Luke Hughes x bsf!afab!reader Summary | luke and y/n are tired of feeling left behind and help each other out…but in the company of their friends. but it makes a good story, right? Warnings | 18+ smut, kinda slow start, best friends to lovers, long haired luke!!! Bc I love long hair, umich!luke, (basically public) fingering, swearing, appearance and sex insecurities, tiny bit of angst but not really, mutual pining, making out Authors Note | im in such a luke brainrot it’s painful, this was supposed to be a blurb but I can’t control myself but anyway, this is my first hockey fic i hope its alright. Based on this after hours post! This is a work of fiction, please remember that my dudes

Luke felt like a creep. But she looked so at peace sitting on the lake's docks, feet dangling and toes skimming the water's surface. While she was nothing but a silhouette in the distance, the sunset cascading on the horizon complimenting her like a portrait in a museum. He also wasn’t sure on how long he’d been standing at the sliding patio doors, the UMich boy’s voices blended out into a white noise while his mind wandered to crevices of thoughts he’d been avoiding for months, but anything to escape Ethan and Luca’s conversations about girlfriend stories. Yes, he was happy for them, found it cute in fact, but when was it his turn to have that chapter in his life? He could have it if he didn’t panic and fumble at every party they threw, just a bit more alcohol and maybe he’d have a chance but like all victims of tragedy, no one would ever be her. Could ever replace her or even substitute her. So, while his curls bounced in the gentle breeze, Luke Hughes admired the only girl in the University of Michigan that’s ever made his heart ache and contort in bittersweet ways.

With a firm slap to his back, Luke’s daydream snapped back to reality, to Dylan Duke grinning and wiggling his eyebrows. The most painful thing Dylan had to endure since he met Luke was watching his friend follow y/n like a lost puppy begging for attention, and there was nothing more he wanted than for the two to just kiss already. They almost did, once, at someone’s birthday party when they both nursed a bottle of tequila. But Dylan never told them that, he wasn’t entirely sure if he dreamt it, if he was honest.

“Just go talk to her, be honest,” Dylan said with a light chuckle, nudging Luke towards the porch steps.

Luke’s legs stopped stiff, and spun to face Dylan in protest, “No! What do I even say? ‘Oh, hey y/n I know we’ve been friends for a while, but I’m in love with you haha hope this doesn’t make it awkward’? Like, come on.” With the way Dylan’s grin turned almost menacing, Luke felt his heart almost stop, his stupidity catching up with him, “This stays between us, Duker.”

He groaned and watched Dylan giggle his way back inside. Wingman or menace? Fine line, but at least he was better than Jack. Who quite literally tried trapping him and y/n in a closet when he found out, hoping for the best. Perhaps Dylan would actually help him get somewhere, he’d spent many parties coaxing Luke into making a move but Luke being the humble soul he took pride in, let her have her peace. Oh, how much he regretted it every time he heard her laugh because of another guy.

Thankfully the docks were at the far end of his garden, out of earshot and almost out of sight, if you weren’t spying. He stood silently, just taking in her very existence alone. If she weren’t wearing his hoodie so proudly, he would’ve sat down by now but the heat that flushed into his cheeks prominently just had to ease before he could show his face. Maybe she’d find it cute that his face flushed so easily, or maybe she’d think he was a fool for thinking he had a chance. Girls were hard to read, so many codes and hints, he couldn’t keep up with them all and God forbid you had an ugly code name. Watching her like that did raise the thought, what was his code name? Did he really want to know?

“I can feel you starin’,” her voice chimed, their eyes meeting as she craned her neck, “you gonna join or just stand?”

Luke’s lips pulled into his famous half-smirk, “I like lookin’ at pretty things, can you blame a man?” He sat next to her, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder like they usually did, the weight of his boldness lifting off his chest. “What’s runnin’ through that mind of yours?”

“Who said I was thinking about anything? Maybe I was finally catching a break from the zoo. Maybe I was thinking that you need a haircut.” Her laugh was like music to his ears, her voice his favourite song and every word that rolled off her tongue felt like ecstasy surging through him and freezing the world around them.

Spending a summer in a lake house was the only way y/n ever wanted to live. An oasis of serenity and laughs, endless memories, and an escape. But while she dipped her toes in the water, watching her reflection ripple, the everlasting thought that it was fleeting crawled its way back to the surface whether she wanted it to or not. The boys had been doing this longer than she had, it was her first time at the lake house and possibly her last. But there was nothing wrong with enjoying it while it lasted, being trapped under the same roof as the boys wasn’t as bad as she’d assumed. Except for the smells, they were straight-up disrespectful. Would she still love it as much if she was with other friends? Hard to say, if Luke was there, everything would be fine. Maybe a couple more girls would’ve been nice too, though.

“Please, you’re staring blankly, don’t try me.” Luke scoffed playfully, shoulder gently nudging hers as she rolled her eyes, unable to resist a gleaming smile. As much as she wanted to rebuttal, he was right. They’d met on the first week of university, Luke starting hockey practice and y/n starting as their new social girl and since then the pair of them had been two peas in a pod. Completely enamoured with each other, attached at the hip, where Luke went, he’d bring y/n, his person. “Wait, you think I need a haircut? Is it that bad?”

She laughed, Luke, stooping so she could thread her fingers through his unruly curls gently, something only she was allowed to do, “Nah, I like your hair long, cut it and I’ll cut you.” They pulled back, sitting in their original postures and watched the sun’s pinks fade to oranges, “I was thinking about how many girls you’ve brought here.”

He blinked twice, turning his head slowly to face her and to his surprise his eyes met hers. There was a gloss to them, illuminated brightly by the sunset but like glass as if she were about to break. Heart beating in his ears, he licked his lips, almost quivering when he began to speak.

“Just you.” His voice just above a whisper, husky, “Only you. Always you.” Their gazes lingered, and his eyes fluttered to her lips for just a split second before he found himself licking his lips again, feeling his throat dry at the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. His heart ached, he didn’t have half the guts the Fantilli brothers did, if he had then maybe he would’ve at least wrapped his arm around her. Instead, he sat like he was paralysed, just shoulder to shoulder as she rubbed her bare foot against his leg, their skins touching, lighting little fires up his body and his stomach gaining a warmth he’d only felt in the after-hours of his bedroom.

“Lu?” she rested her head on his shoulder, staring back out towards the horizon, “Do you ever feel like you’re so far behind the people around you? Like you’re missing out.”

Luke leaned his head against hers, almost nuzzling into it as he thought. It was a heavy question, one that’d been weighing on her for a while. Or he assumed, considering she’d never openly asked the group. That’s what made him feel special. Her feet hung still, ending their teasing game and just fell limp. He exhaled, could he let his pride go and agree? Or could he completely one-up himself and disagree, which made him braver? He loathed the storms she started in him, thoughts he never imagined he would think in his hockey brain. One girl could change his entire train of thought, change his heartbeat, change his mood. One woman he pined like a lost puppy over.

“Sometimes. What do you mean?”

“Like, all my friends have these insane hook-ups and embarrassing sex stories and I have nothing. Yeah, I’ve had boyfriends before, but I was younger and stupid then. I go out with my friends and I’m basically invisible to any guy who approaches us, just feel unlovable. And now here I am, twenty years old and a fucking virgin with little experience and no wild stories.” She vented, barely taking a breath as the words spilt from her mouth. Luke’s chest twisted, his face softening when she snuggled into his side. “I don’t know where I’m going wrong, Lu.”

He paused and bit his lip when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her body into his chest. She melted into his touch, getting a whiff of his woody, amber cologne, her favourite one at that, the one he always wore. She’d never had the chance to properly relish in his touch, was his chest always this firm? Arms always bring this much security? Fuck, when did his hand get so sexy when on her body, gliding down her arm to nestle in the curve of her waist. With her ear pressed to him, the thundering in his chest surrendered his cover entirely. Cool and collected Luke Hughes was secretly a bumbling mess.

“I get you.” he finally spoke, ears burning when her finger traced shapes on his thigh, “My entire life has been hockey, so not a lot of space for experiences either. Not enough time for relationships between practice and games, development camps and time with family. A lot of the girls who liked me didn’t really like that. That or they liked my brothers and friends more, they are a lot more attractive than me, so I don’t blame them. M’just average.”

Y/n pulled away almost instantly, her eyebrows knitted and jaw agape. For a moment she thought she heard him wrong, ‘a lot more attractive than me’, ‘just average’? Delving into Luke’s psyche turned out to be an entirely different road trip than she had thought, heartstrings tugged as her lips fell to a frown. Who in the world made him feel like that? Who did she need to hunt down? But then again, Luke’s blood boiled hearing how insignificant she felt and who exactly made her think that to start with?

“Luke Hughes you are not average! You’re the hottest guy I know!” she yelped, the hand that drew gentle patterns now clutching his thigh tight. Luke gulped but didn’t retract away from the noise. His brain was too busy short-circuiting over the fact her fingers were dangerously close to his crotch, doing his best to contain himself with slow breaths, “They just didn’t give you a chance, if they really knew you, they’d be heads over heels. You’re so fucking smart, and passionate. And-and if they saw you smile for real, not a half-smile, your full smile with your teeth, the one that feels like a warm summer’s day. It’s their loss, they’ll never know how sweet you are, that after a bad game, you want steak and head scratches, that you’re sentimental as fuck- like you wear that Yankees hat because Quinn got it for you when you fell ill and couldn’t make the game. You’re not average.”

Luke blinked, once, twice and thrice as her eyes bored into his, glazed with fire as the words tumbled from her mouth and circled his head. He watched the way her body rose and fell as she caught her breath, the grip on his thigh tightening and heat rising through his body. He felt the sweat building on the back of his neck, his collar suddenly becoming too tight. She thought he was hot? She remembered such little details about him like they’d known each other since they were kids. The hand around her waist slid to her lower back, his thumb rubbing the fabric of her (his) hoodie unconsciously.

He smiled, his warm smile she mentioned, where his eyes wrinkled and his chin tilted up triumphantly, “The hottest guy you know, huh?”

Y/n’s face dropped. Never in her life had she experienced her heart stop the way it did hearing those words. She stared like a deer in headlights, she slipped up and the heat rushing to her cheeks burned. This is what happens when you let your feelings take over, you make a fool of yourself in front of the one person who would never want to. She sighed, hung her head and hid her face in her hands, the butterflies in her stomach choking her when Luke let out a saccharine chuckle that made all the flowers bloom.

Large, warm hands wrapped around her wrists with a feather touch, and slowly pulled her hands away from her face and into her lap, soothing her nerves with a gentle rubbing of her knuckles with his thumbs. Although his hands felt clammy, the tingling in his stomach became too addicting to care about it too much anymore.

“Don’t hide,” she was radiant under what was left of the tangerine hues, eyes almost sparkling, “let me see that pretty face.”

She hesitantly raised her head, eyes meeting his and her body relaxed. She had no idea why she was so embarrassed, he hadn’t gagged, laughed in her face nor had he physically repulsed. Instead, he looked at her like she’d hung out the stars for him, wide eyes with rose-tinted ears.

“I think you’re very pretty too. Beautiful even, I-“ he hesitated, “you have no idea how many times I’ve thought about kissing you, asking you out. Honestly, the idea of you rejecting me is terrifying so I never did, plus, I’ve never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

Her eyes fluttered to his lips, the world around them falling silent until it was just them in their own bubble. Luke gulped, his eyeline following the way she flickered between his eyes and his mouth before he found their bodies leaning into one another, noses ghosting. His hands released her wrists, one arm snaking around her waist sending an electric tingle through her veins and holding her firmly close. They’d been this close before, sure. Multiple occasions of having his arms around the back of the sofa they sat snug on, arm hooked around her shoulders because some guy couldn’t get the memo at bars, in fact, the root cause of their problem was undeniably because everyone assumed they were together except them.

Y/n’s palm held his cheek tenderly, the hot, carnal desire to devour the boy only being released from its cage when he melted into her touch as if he was opening his doors to vulnerability.

“I can teach you if you like,” she whispered, her thumb tracing across his bottom lip. Luke’s fingers gripped her waist as if she couldn’t be any closer than she already was, but he couldn’t risk letting her slip from his grasp again. He wanted to erase all those other guys who’d kissed her, he would be the last guy on Earth to taste the lips that words and giggles laced with a honey-like sweetness that cradled his heart.

“God, please-“ his heart beat twice as fast, y/n leaning in, closing the gap between them and pressing her lips gently to his. If he were to die right there, he’d die the happiest man alive. Her lips were soft and warm, igniting every firework inside of him and adrenaline shaking him back to life. He could do this for hours, drinking in her citrus fragrance, lips mimicking the way she moved hers against his. If she was a match, he was kerosene and he’d let her set him ablaze over and over if it meant he could feel like the only man in the world until the end of time.

They pulled away, eyes fluttering open to an exchange of giggly smiles. Despite it being a closed-mouth kiss, nothing extra, just soft and sweet, Luke’s thoughts raced at a million miles per hour. All the weight on his shoulders lifted and he nuzzled into her palm, placing a kiss on it.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, his puppy-like gaze almost distracting her from how his skin burned pink in her palm. But in a way, all her previous anxieties dissipated like dust in the wind, tummy flipping at the pathetically sweet and lovestruck expression spread on Luke’s face, “Your face is so red. Are you okay?-”

“-Can we do that again?” He pleaded, quickly, desperately, a certain yearning feeling on his lips that he couldn’t quite describe, except that he needed to taste her again. He needed more, so much more to quench his thirst, a kind of fuzziness he felt in his core.

“Uh- yeah, let me show you what a real kiss is.” No hesitation was needed, y/n’s hand slid from his cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers carding through his curls as she roughly connected their lips again, messier, teeth chattering from the impact. Luke’s other hand found comfort on her thighs, pulling them over his lap and giving gentle squeezes, moaning when y/n bit his lower lip. He opened his mouth with ease, failing to hold back another moan when her tongue lapped his. He wasn’t sure how to react, he’d never made out with anyone and it’s not like his brothers would’ve explained it well either. So, he repeated her movement, his tongue dancing with hers with saliva lubricating their lips each time they dove back in to devour each other. Y/n tugged his curls lightly, pulling him closer, savouring the kindling arousal leaking into her panties with the way he craved her.

Luke pulled away to breathe, his chest heavy but shorts becoming tight with the intense and fiery eye contact that screamed nothing but lust, “You,” he kissed her again, fervently, “taste,” another kiss, “amazing.” He mumbled into her lips and their tongues stirred again, whimpers drawing from the back of her throat when his hand travelled further up her thigh, under her shorts and found solace on the skin only he could touch. Any further and she couldn’t promise she wouldn’t pounce, her underwear was soaked through and sticking to her folds and even one measly brush on her clit would open the floodgates.

A foreign burst of confidence washed over him, and he detached their lips, a string of saliva between them and her hand still tugging at his curls and whether intentional or not, he discovered something carnal clawing away inside him. Wetting his lips, he dove into her neck, planting wet kisses along her column and nipping in the hope of hearing her mewl again. Y/n tilted her head to the side, giving him free rein over her skin and her jaw slacking, whining his name with her thighs clenching together for any kind of friction. As he began to run his hand along her thigh, his pocket vibrated continuously, earning a growl to rumble from his throat.

“Fuck, why’d you stop?” y/n whined, hand falling from his hair to his chest. Luke pulled his phone from his pocket with a disgruntled look, of course, his moment was ruined. Swiping the notification away, he clicked his tongue, sliding his phone back into his shorts.

His arms wrapped around her waist, and looked back into her adoring yet disappointed eyes, “Dylan wants to know if we’re joining them for a movie.”

“I’m quite happy staying here with you.”

“Who says we have to watch the whole movie?”

Silence hung over the living room, only the TV blaring and the light crunching of popcorn from different directions. The lights were off, just the TV and three boys crammed on one sofa, and three plus y/n on the other. Luke, y/n, Rutger and Adam on the sectional directly opposite the TV, Luke occupying the end with the chaise for his legs, and y/n sat between them and huddled under a blanket. Rutger sat in the middle with Adam on the furthest end. Dylan, Luca and Ethan huddled together on the sofa adjacent to the TV, popcorn littered between them from missing mouths and flinching.

Luke’s hands wrapped around her waist, keeping her snug against his chest while she slowly chewed Haribo’s, feeding them to him now and then. While his heart skipped beats, feeling like a meadow of tulips blooming in the Spring, y/n’s wiggling against his crotch lured all the heat and butterflies from earlier straight back to his stomach, sending it into twists and turns. Heat flushed to his neck when she pushed her arse back into him, in an innocent attempt to readjust. A deep exhale through his nose and his hands slithered to her thighs, fingers kneading the flesh like dough as his head dipped into her shoulder, breath hot on the skin and making her hairs stand on edge.

“Stop wigglin’, pretty girl,” he whispered into the shell of her ear, placing a kiss, “you’re drivin’ me crazy.”

She froze, body falling limp into his as he ran his hands under her hoodie, his stiffened cock poking into her backside as she caught on to what his problem was. The sex-deprived whore in her awakened with a jolt, his cock solid because of her, and there was nothing she wanted more than to feel him pressed up against her, unable to find his release and have the rasp of his voice reverberate through her being as her vibrator.

“And if I don’t?” she whispered back, as close to him as possible without being heard. Instead of answering, Luke dipped his fingers down her shorts, middle finger brushing against her clothed clit. His eyes locked to the screen in front of him, resisting the urge to smirk when her breath hitched but continuing to glide his finger – in what was a lucky guess – over her bundle. She squirmed, clamping her thighs together, only to have them pried open by his free hand.

“Be a good girl and keep quiet, unless you want to be caught.” His playful tone sent chills down her spine, goosebumps swarming on her neck but melting into his touch. She plopped another sweet into her mouth, chewing intensely when Luke drew his long fingers away, only for her to feel them caress over her skin, cold on her warm body, and down her panties. To describe the sensation that zipped through her when the pad of his middle finger reunited with her clit would be the same shock if you were to be struck by lightning: sudden and sharp, rattling up the spine.

Y/n placed the bag of sweets in her lap, tucking both hands under the blanket with the hope of seeming less suspicious, but her hand skimmed down his arm and placed itself on his, slowly guiding his movements on her nub until he got the idea. Firm yet gentle circular movements, the slick seeping from her warm on his fingertips, so inviting he wished he could have a taste. She pulled the blanket to her chin, not only to cover Luke’s sudden mood but to form some form of distraction from the fuzzy feeling rising to her head. No, she’d never had this before, so the experience itself embraced her tight, addicting like nicotine.

He kissed her temple, two fingers sliding into her cunt almost perfectly, too perfect that another Haribo was abused between her teeth as her breathing struggled to remain neutral. The moan that would’ve slipped past if she hadn’t been concentrating would’ve been embarrassing enough. Luke began languid plunges into her, relishing in the way her walls squeezed his fingers tight, keeping shallow at first. The more her pussy swallowed him in their wetness, the faster his mind spiralled in greed and his pace sped up, y/n’s nails digging deep into his leg, leaving crescent shapes on the skin. The heat pooling in her stomach was riveting, knowing she would finally have an insane story to tell even more so. No one could say that Luke Hughes’ tongue tasted theirs like it was the best meal he’d ever lapped up and that he’d watched a movie with his friends while pushing the limits of both his and their sanity publicly.

With a rush of adrenaline and her nails marking him, he buried his fingers deep into her cunt, driving swiftly and curling in places that made her wriggle against him, his free hand having to hold her hips still with a bruising grip and his cock begged for attention in his shorts. Y/n popped two more sweets in her mouth, relying on their gummy nature to suppress the moans that threatened to tear through her as the knot inside her came dangerously close to snapping with the way he bullied her pussy with his bare hands. His breathing fell deep and shuddered, his heart infatuated with the ecstasy of finger-fucking the woman of his dreams in front of an entire room of his friends hammered in his chest while his face struggled to stay indifferent and jaw tight like his cock isn't throbbing violently and straining against her arse. Like she wasn’t bucking her hips into his touch like he couldn’t tell that her heart was going haywire because of just him alone. If this was what foreplay was like, the idea of piledriving balls deep in her until she couldn’t remember her name was divine.

He dragged out his last pumps, the knot in her stomach snapping and coating his fingers in hot, sticky release, kissing her temple upon her body physically shuddering. Y/n pulled the blanket up to her chin as if she had shivered naturally, stuffing her mouth into the fluffy material. Luke pulled his fingers out, wiping the residue on his shorts, practically drooling over the image of milking her dry. His arms snaked around her waist, snuggling close. Y/n sighed, slumping back into him. On the outside Luke was his collected and cool self, his breathing stable and attention on the movie, the heat in his face and hands that rested on her stomach, soothing her heart rate screamed that he was the happiest guy in the room. With every gentle stroke of his thumb on the flesh of her stomach, her heart soothed and her eyelids became increasingly heavier.

"Was that story worthy?" He whispered, kissing her cheek sweetly.

Luke’s pocket buzzed and he tutted, carefully sliding it from his pocket and unlocking it, trying his best to prevent the screen from blinding everyone.

Duker idk if ur freaky or brave u dog

Luke closed his phone and looked up towards Dylan, who sat with a shit-eating grin. He smiled and shook his head, mouthing a subtle, ‘this stays between us’.

[Masterlist]

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iznsfw · 10 months ago

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Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself.

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung.

It’s all because of her.

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation.

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it.

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do.

hey, it reads, you need to—

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it.

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands.

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together.

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth.

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours.

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin.

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look.

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane.

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?”

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to.

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection.

Deception can’t lead you away.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?”

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart.

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve.

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for.

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder.

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.”

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin.

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You.

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that.

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger.

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right.

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service.

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already.

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her.

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game.

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.”

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.”

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected.

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too.

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity.

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again.

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction.

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you.

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you.

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers.

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs.

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care.

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes.

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff.

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent.

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung.

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down.

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open.

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good.

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore.

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both.

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?”

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips.

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had.

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect.

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking.

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker.

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some.

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too.

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting.

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

2K notes · View notes

jameui · 7 days ago

Text

THE BOY NEXT DOOR

PAIRING: ENHYPEN's Park Jongseong x M!Reader

GENRE: Smut, Fluff, Angst

WARNING: i guess some intense smutty action ✨, not proof read

SUMMARY: Park Jongseong. The name is known widely as the infamous fuckboy of the 4th floor in your apartment building. He insisted he shares a room with you for the night as he is being stalked. What's the worst that could happen?

Another night where you had your headphones on for a couple of hours now, knowing that your nextdoor neighbor was at it, again. Fucking horny boys and girls in his apartment room. In fact, it seemed to happen too frequently that you pretty much caught onto his schedule when he would start having his fun that you even had your alarm for it on just in case you forget about all of it.

Damn, Park Jongseong was one horny guy.

After that, he would throw them out of his room and leave them there almost naked, giving zero shits whether they would get fucked again on their way back home. Besides, it was just a one time thing. Practically, fuck and go. No strings attached. What a heartless guy, I must say. After taking advantage of their heart, he just leaves them as though they were just toys for him to play with.

But, of course, those were only the stories you heard. You knew Jongseong more than anyone can think.

Your eyes travelled its way up to the digital clock you owned above your closet after staring at your phone, scrolling through your feed to pass time. You saw that it was already half past six in the evening and that's usually the time when Jongseong would always finish.

You wanted to make sure first that he was actually done, pulling on one side of your headphones. When you thought it was finally quiet, you slowly took it off and sighed to yourself. "Finally."

You got off your bed to move to the mini fridge you have where you stored all your bottled water, since you loved drinking cold water rather than lukewarm. Soon, there was a knock on your door which got you feeling confused since you weren't really expecting any visitor.

You heard another knock bringing you to your front door to open the door for the person outside of your room. "Who is..." You trailed off when you saw your next door neighbor standing in front of you. "Jongseong?" You heard a loud bark from beside him, later noticing his pet dog that made you coo at how the cute creature looked like.

She was wearing a pair of sunglasses which you knew Jongseong had put on her himself while she wore a very cute shirt with the tag 'I'M THE BEST DOG' written on the back of it. You kneeled down to match the height of it and started to pet her, Charlotte, as you remembered it, wagging her tail happily.

"Y/N, can you do me a favor?" You heard the taller male speak out, you looked up at him with a smile. Jongseong looked like he was hesitating to say what he had in his mind to you, judging by the way he would stumble through his words or how he would open his mouth to say something only to shut them close and repeat.

Without looking at him you give him a soft laugh, all the while giving Charlotte the best belly rub who was now lying on her back. "Speak up, Park," you said, with Jongseong hesitating for the nth time. You paused for a moment facing up towards the other male, your head tilted over to the side a little. "I can't read minds, you know," You joked in an attempt to lessen what Jongseong is feeling.

Jongseong sighed, blushing due to his embarrassment. Your words were all that he needed, pushing him to tell you the tiny favor he would like to ask of you. "Well, you see. It's er... can I and Charlotte crash at your place for the night?" Jongseong stuttered a little, trying to compromise, thinking of the right words to make it seem less inappropriate. "It's very important and I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do," he quickly added.

You rolled your eyes at him, then standing back up knowing just how it had come to this. "Let me guess. Another stalker?" You asked him in a teasing manner, Jongseong immediately shaking his head in denial. You raised him a brow while crossing your arms.

Jongseong was still pressed on denying it, but the look on your face made him do otherwise. He could only sigh in defeat and hang his head low whilst nodding his head looking like a dejected dog, his shoulders slumped down. You gave him a pat on top of his head, practically on top of your toes.

You opened the door for him to enter, gesturing for him to get inside. "Come on in," you welcomed the male into your place, the blonde male replying with a muttered 'thank you' and a smile. Once he's settled inside, you close the door behind you. "Just don't use my apartment room as your new strip club."

Jongseong quickly snapped his head toward you and shook his head. "I promise you none of that will happen," Jongseong reassured you, while you took something out of your dresser's drawer. He hears a soft laugh from you, the taller male realizing that you were just teasing him, making him frown.

"I know. I trust you," you told him before you threw to him a spare key that you kept with you in case you lost the one you're currently using. You popped a loli into your mouth and sucked down the flavor of the sweets. "So, how'd you get in this situation? Again?" You asked him, walking towards your bed and sat on top of it.

Jongseong contemplates, before he looks back at you and your eyes stared back at him with full anticipation. He lets out a sigh. "Well, you see. Tonight, isn't that normal night," he answered, but you didn't completely understand what he meant to which you just stayed silent for, as a signal for the male to continue. "Believe it or not, I didn't bring anyone today because I'm having a test coming up tomorrow," he continued.

"That... still doesn't explain to me why you're getting stalked," you subtly persuade the male to tell you the leading cause of the unnecessary attention, but it didn't have to take any of that since Jongseong is willing to tell you everything. I mean, EVERYTHING.

He laughs softly at how impatient you are. "Just wait and listen," he mocks you in the most polite way possible, afraid that your attitude is brushing onto him. Though you don't meet often, you're the one who practically saves him from your lousy neighbors. So, it's starting to kinda reflect onto him.

You raised your arms and let the male do the speaking. "I asked to be recommended a tutor and found out one of the guys who applied is actually one of my past side flings. The same guy I told you about. The one who endlessly obsessed over me," Jongseong pointed out and you thought for a moment before you snapped your finger and points at Jongseong, your mouth agape in shock. "Yeap, yeah, exactly. I was shocked as well that he found any of my socials. It still got me thinking how he did it." Jongseong seeped air through his teeth, cocking his head to the side.

You got up from where you're sat and patted the male's back. "I may not be able to do anything about.. this. But, you'll be safe here inside," you stated out and went to pick up your towel from the rack to take a shower. "I'll only take a couple of minutes. I better not catch you peeking, Park,"

"Oh, god. Please." Jongseong scoffs at your cocky attitude, then he hears laughter from you before the door to your bathroom is shut closed. As soon as you got hidden inside of your bathroom, Jongseong hears the light taps of Charlotte's paw on the floor approaching him. She had something in here mouth. "Charlotte, don't go snooping around someone else's stuff," Jongseong gently told his pet dog who threw the item across the floor and let out a bark.

Jongseong looks at it confused. "What's this?" The male picks it up and draws it near to him. It looked like a pendant. Only it wasn't. He noticed the small crack around it, probably an opening and ran his finger over it, before it slowly opens and a music plays.

'Dear, don't fret. You are wonderful.'

It was a small holographic message. It looked too advanced, technologically speaking. Who could have made this? It's... brilliant. It feels like a memory locked in a device to help you remember. "This is... incredible. Don't you think so, too, Charlotte?" The female dog barks in reply and pants happily with her tongue out.

After a few more minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom with a fur robe on while you dried your hair with a towel. You catch the male staring, or admiring rather, at something and had a huge smile on his face. He looked very fascinated. "Whatcha got there, Jay?" The male didn't reply and continued to stare at the item. You chuckled.

You make your way towards him and only then that Jongseong is able to acknowledge your presence. "Oh, you're done? Sorry, I sorta got distracted by this. Whatever this is," Jongseong told you, the smile still etched onto his face. "It's so amazing," Jongseong makes a comment and your face splits into a smile.

You sat on the nearest chair beside the taller male and spoke up. "My dad made it for me," you shared to the male, whose mouth turned an 'o' shape in shock, turning his head to you. "He created it so I'd never feel homesick, but it only made it worse." You let out a light laugh, head hanging a little low, unable to look at Jongseong who found sympathy in you.

"You have a really great father, Y/N," Jongseong said with a soft smile. You lift your face up to look at the other male and decided that that was enough sentiment for the day and chose to tease Jongseong, again.

"And who told you to go snooping around my room?" You smirked, making Jongseong widen his eyes and point at his pet dog, who whimpers and lay flat on the floor while she covered her face with her paws, which you found incredibly cute as though she's able to understand your language. At this point, maybe she does. "I'm just kidding," you stood up from where you are sat and moved to your closet. You are about to get changed.

On instinct, Jongseong turns on his back and puts the pendant down on your table, but there is one thing he couldn't get off his mind. "I'm sorry. Y/N, just minutes ago, did you just call me 'J'?" Jongseong scrunched his face, not able to trust his ears. He might have misheard things.

As you threw on what you could see as cute in your closet, you replied with a hum. "Yeah, sorry. I should have thought first before I spoke. Does it bother you?" Your brows furrowed. You really had the the idea that you and Jongseong are already that close to be calling each other by nicknames.

Jongseong shakes his head in reply, but guessed you couldn't see. "No, not a even a bit," he answered. "It's just new to me, but I guess I'll get used to it eventually," he continued, before he heard the closet door close and the bed creak on your weight which could have only meant that you're done. "Are you finished?" He questioned for safety measures.

"Yeah. You can turn around now," you replied. Jongseong cautiously turns around, making you raise a brow. "So, you're scared of seeing a clothed body than a nude?" You scoffed.

"No, no. It's not like that. I mean you're a very close friend. And if I were to see you naked accidentally that would mean an awkward atmosphere around us," Jongseong full on explained and hearing that the male considered you as a close friend made your heart swell in happiness.

You propped yourself down on your bed with your hands. "Point taken," you told Jongseong. "By the way, if you didn't bring anyone with you tonight, then what was the noise in your room all about?" Your curiosity got the best of you as you looked over at Jongseong who had his lips pushed into a pout and a blush on his face.

Oh, it's those kind of days.

You breathed in air through your nose and tapped your feet on the floor. "Well, Jay. I have to stop by the convenience store. Anything you want?" You stood up to take out your wallet and fix a few things where your other important items are hidden.

The taller male lit up at the mention of having to go outside. "Can I come with you?" Jongseong asked, a little too excited. Almost like a kid who wants to go only for the car ride.

You turn to him, a big smile riding on his lips, before you return to securing your things. "Uhm, are you sure? Wouldn't that be a little dangerous?" You started to make your way to the clothing rack where some of your coats are hanging. "Considering you have a stalker that's on the loose," you stated to which made Jongseong knit his brows.

"Damn those pricks," Jongseong whispered under his breathe, still loud enough for you to hear though. He tried looking for excuses, but only found the shorts you are wearing. "And how about you? You can't possibly be going out with just that," he pointed out.

You looked down and faced him with an 'are you kidding me' look. "What about it? They're loose jersey shorts. You should be more concerned about yourself. You could catch a cold with what you're wearing. A tank top and thigh length shorts." you told him yet Jongseong was already on his way out with Charlotte. "What is up with this guy?"

In the end, even when you felt skeptical with other male, you still let him sleep over for the night. When you arrived, the male kept on insisting he stayed. The poor male looked shaken up by something you can't determine, so here you are in one bed with Jongseong who is barely in anything, but a boxer after you tried to resist him from sleeping on the floor and it made falling asleep hard for you.

It ain't helping either that you used to have a big fat crush on the older male when you first arrived here in this building. Keyword: USED. After you realized he had a fuckboy tendency and it just didn't seem quite right to you.

You let out a sigh and your eyes went over to the time on your clock. '2:31 A.M', it reads and all you could do is groan silently, your eyes clenched shut at your distress.

You opened the bedside lamp to at least illuminate a small portion of the room as you rubbed your stinging eyes. You feel so tired, but your thoughts are circling around your head endlessly like your own brain is trying to torture you, but you have no choice. You brought yourself onto this and now you have to pay.

You looked over to the other side to see Jongseong sleeping so soundly. Like a baby, safe in his mother's arms. At the sight, a small smile made its way up to your lips. "At least someone's able to get some sleep," you muttered out with a scoff, before you adjusted the blanket, so it covered him comfortably. He might be cold already considering that you put the temperature down a few degrees down, yet he still had the strength to get almost completely naked.

You watched him snore lightly. He looks so peaceful. Has he always looked this good in this light? You thought to yourself, as your gentle grin stayed on your face.

You gave a sigh and moved a few hair strands that got in the way of his face, but were immediately stopped by the older male who took ahold of your wrist which made you flinch. His grip was gentle.

You quickly averted your attention to his eyes which you felt started to bore holes into your skin. His face is dimly lit by the lamp on your table, but he still looked so ethereal. "Y/N, what are you doing to me?" His sudden question made you look at him confused.

He sat up from the bed, all the while the hem of the blanket falling to his waist which gave you a just right view of his structured abdominal muscles. "I... I don't understand," you replied to him, Jongseong sighing audibly loudly.

"Ever since you arrived in this building, nothing ever went well for me," Jongseong continued, that got you taken aback as you pulled your arm away from the male whose eyes lingered onto you.

You raised him a brow, feeling literally offended at what he had just said. After you let him spend the night at your apartment, this is the thanks you get from him? "Excuse me? Be at least grateful—"

"Let me finish," Jongseong cuts you off mid-sentence with a chuckle and you folded your arms on your chest and you gave him the stage, letting him hit the microphone with whatever he had to say. "See, this will sound weird, just giving you a heads up, but I just... I can't get it up," he stated.

You scoffed at him in disbelief. "And that's supposed to be MY fault?" For your entire existence you've never had a person blame you for their erectile dysfunction and hearing this from Jongseong—the male you only considered your friend right now—is blaming you that he couldn't get an erection because of you. That's just completely fucked up.

"Yes," Jongseong replied, rather more solemn than bluntly. Your jaw dropped at his reply and your instinct was to just kick him out of your apartment, but he looked like he had a lot of things going on inside his head. Before you could even reply, Jongseong faces you with a bittersweet smile riding on his lips. "Because I like you, Y/N. I've liked you since... I don't know, before we even started talking which was like almost two years ago. And I couldn't get you out of my head. I didn't want to make you feel sexualized or in any form, sexualize your image. I can't do that to you, Y/N," he said, ending with a tone that told you he is truly genuine and truly cared about you.

You could only look at him with furrowed brows, your mouth opened, but unable to make a noise. You were shocked, to say the least. In the middle of the night, all because Jongseong had a problem with his hormones, confessed to you out of nowhere. Who wouldn't be so surprised with that sudden news?

"Jay, I... uhm," you let out, hesitant.

"It's fine, Y/N. You really don't have to say anything if you don't feel like it. Besides, hearing a reply without much of any—" he is stopped the same way, but you've put a finger on his lips to make him go quiet.

"I don't need time to think about everything, Jay," you replied, a small smile on your lips. You trailed off, trying to find out how to start, but you thought giving it to him directly would be the best way. "I like you, Park Jongseong. Less than you think, though. Look, I don't know when it actually started, but it gave me the ick that you're actually a call boy, but I thought I would have done the same for a check," you laughed lightly.

"Uh, thanks?" Jongseong let out, one brow raised upward.

You sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that, I like you, Jay. I love your personality, I love the way you care for me, your dog, your family, or the way you'd always update me about—" Jongseong gave you no chance to finish what you're saying and spare you no time to adjust as he grabbed the back of your neck and planted his lips onto yours.

You were quick to process as you melted into the kiss, your eyes shutting closed while your hands instinctively found themselves in his soft bleached locks, your fingers entangled within it. Your heads and lips perfectly sync with each other, untamed thoughts circling around your head like a broken record. They were unruly, but it somehow made your heart feel full.

It's like on a winter night and you start the fireplace to warm the room. You don't even remember any sense dawning over you as you just let yourself in to the spur of the moment as though your whole life depended on it.

A few minutes in and Jongseong decides to deepen the kiss, as he slides one hand under the pit of your leg, rising ever so slowly as he lifted the bottom hem of the jersey shorts you wore, a soft moan moving past your mouth, the older male swallowing the sweet sound. You feel one side of his lips curve into a smirk, satisfied with the reaction he received from you.

You were probably gonna regret this later on; being treated like one of Jongseong's clients, but you wanted his touch. You NEEDED his touch. You craved everything he can give. You yearned for his warmth. You need him, in general.

It's like he's some kind of drug that made you suddenly feel addicted with one taste and you know for a fact that you'll never be able to get out of this sensation.

Jongseong nipped at your bottom lip, asking for permission. As a reply to his request, you slowly parted your lips for access. With not much time to lose, Jongseong (gently) delved into the depths of your wet cavern, cupping your cheeks as he started to search for your tongue.

Thinking the placement was uncomfortable, the blonde male repositions himself, so he's fully facing you, all the while never breaking contact. Your tongues danced together, both in different pace, but found a way to synchronize with each other, as though harmonizing.

Whilst your tongues played with each other, your hands went down to feel his biceps, which you found attractive with all the muscles surrounding it. Your fingers smoothly glided over the protruding skin of his arms, still too high on the kiss to even focus somewhere else other than the shape of his lips. It's like they were carved to fit yours perfectly.

For a breather, Jongseong was the first to pull away, breaking the kiss as you start to already miss the intimacy. Hearing a whimper unconsciously leave your throat, Jongseong chuckles. "In a second, angel. We still have to breathe, you know," he smirks. Right now, his sight of you just raised the gauge of his sex drive higher.

As everything had started to heat things up inside the room already, you could no longer wait. You're feeling hot and the way he looked so sexy just made you want him to just take you; make him claim you as his only possession.

While Jongseong tried to find a better position, you sunk down to become face to face with his clothed crotch. This went unnoticed by the male, not until he felt a shiver run down his spine when he felt your finger om the waistband of his boxers that he looks at you, while your eyes were already clouded with lust.

"Y/N, what are you—ah," he moans at the contact of his clothed member on your open palm, teasing him before you pulled down the only item that restricted you from its full glory, his cock coming in contact with the cold air of your room. "Shit.." The male let out when he felt your tongue line the underside of his cock.

"A-ah, Y/N. I didn't—ah," Jongseong sighed at the pure pleasure you were giving him. Out of pure desperation to aatosfy the taller male, you fit the tip of his thick rod in your mouth, which earned you a hiss from the blonde as a hand found its way on top of your hair. "Shit, Y/N, ah... stop teasing," He moaned, feeling your tongue swirl around his girth, the older male pushing his head back, feeling so much bliss.

Soon enough, your chest swelled with pride as you made a spur of the moment decision to take the whole male inside your mouth, while Jongseong hitched in place, an electrifying sensation running down his back. "FUCK!" He moaned out, unconsciously pulling at your hair.

You bobbed your head up and down, only then taking the few inches you could take inside your mouth (after a realization that he was too big to take whole) and jerked him off to compensate for it. Jongseong seeped air through his mouth, peering down at you only to see that your eyes was looking up at him as he had the perfect view of your lips perfectly curled around his cock.

He got more turned on by the sight of you and could no longer hold himself back anymore, raising his hands to hold onto the back of your head and forced his whole length inside your throat, which made you gag and choke, earning a satisfied whistle from Jongseong who chuckled and caressed your beautiful face. "I can see that you were trying, Y/N, but you weren't trying hard enough." The male smirked, then went on with his plan to assault your unaccustomed throat in a fast pace, tears forming in your eyes as they rolled themselves at the back of your head over the euphoria that Jongseong brought to you by constantly hitting the back of your throat.

"Shit, fuck," Jongseong cursed through gritted teeth, the vibrations of your moan only sending a satisfying sensation to his girthy dick, you knew immediately that he was feeling good. "So, you were waiting for this to happen all this time, huh?" He questioned you, not stopping with his erratic movements.

If you hadn't lost all your senses, you wouldn't have let yourself be treated like you're a thirsty slut, but the pleasure is unbearable and at any moment you felt like your mind will finally break.

Without thinking much about it, you nodded your head in reply and the smirk on Jongseong's face only grew wider. "Me too, babe," He said and continued on violating your mouth, resorting to a more inhuman speed and laughing darkly at how easily you submitted to him, liking the idea that if he ever felt pent he could easily just run to you and you'd just let him use you, but of course he wasn't a bad guy to take advantage of you. It's just an idea. An impossibly dream, if you must.

"Damn, angel. Didn't know your mouth could do so much wonder," Jongseong groaned, you holding onto his thighs for dear life, hoping your neck wouldn't break at how strong his thrusts were.

You knew how much Jongseong is capable of being rough with anyone, he literally goes down with any sex play—it's not eavesdropping, it's overhearing—but damn, you never knew him being this rough with you would be so fucking hot. Even having to experience it firsthand.

"Maybe we can do more than just this, Y/N. Weren't for us having to rest for our class tomorrow." It was nice of the male to think of your welfare, but it already reached this far and he'll let go with just a simple blowjob? You wished he's just joking.

Jongseong's pace went unbelievably animalistic, suddenly not caring about how you were now crying due to the pleasure, finding it fun how those tears stained your cheeks like they were the perfect decoration on your face, him abusing your throat with all the strength he had left until he started to convulse and buried his dick deep inside your throat and filled your mouth up with his cum, feeding you every last drop, not spilling anything as it ran down yoir throat.

He was a panting mess as he stared down at you, finding it adorable that you were so fucked up and was made a mess of by him.

He thrusts a few more time to ride out his high, before he caressed your cheeks softly, then pulling his now flaccid cock and puts a finger below your chin to lift your face up. "Not a single drop, darling. Open your mouth," He demanded of you, you complied as you opened your mouth with you tongue rolled out.

Jongseong, feeling satisfied, bent down to your height and kissed you on the forehead. "Well done, angel," he said, then fixed himself up and helped you up to your feet with a slight chuckle. "You're already weak to your knees? We still haven't even got to that part yet, Y/N," He teased you that immediately made you blush.

"Sh-shut up, Park," You told him, your voice a little hoarse, Jongseong being the reason why.

The next morning you woke up, with your eyes still feeling heavy and the memory of what happened im the middle of the night engraved in your head.

You soon realize that the bed was empty and the space beside you where Jongseong slept has now gone cold. It dawned over you like a bucket of cold water. "I should have known. I was just one of his clients," you mumbled to yourself.

"You're not a client, Y/N," a voice started from somewhere in the room, which startled you as you got up immediately and saw Jongseong by the window reading a book, in a bath robe.

Jongseong looks at you and you did as well. You were in different clothes. Did he get you changed? "I, uhm, I thought you left," you stumbled in your words. You didn't want to sound too desperate.

"I wouldn't. I would never," he replied, before he closes the book and approached you with I want to be your partner." Jongseong looks at you with his eyes full of sincerity and truthfulness. "If you're doubting my words, I'll prove to you by my actions. I will stop these vices," he stated out with determination in his voice.

"Jay... you weren't being stalked, were you?" You asked him which took the male aback. "You just wanted to spend time with me," you concluded that made him blush a deep red color. You found it cute at how he gets very flustered easily, before you threw your hands around him for a hug. "And I would have done the same if I were you," you said as the taller male, wrapped his arms around you to keep you close to him.

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its-time-to-write · 1 year ago

Note

I saw you asked for requests a few days ago. I was wondering if you would consider doing another part of the Kent!reader x Jamie fics.

I was thinking they do end up pregnant and its them telling everyone they’re pregnant . I can see everyone being so excited for them. And then Roy is just freaking out.

Since they’ve already discussed wanting to be together forever and have kids I can also see them deciding to get married before the baby is born in a small ceremony like Beard had.

I have quite a few requests about Jamie x reader having a kid, so if that ain’t your jam, maybe don’t read my next few posts😂 It’s totally my jam tho, maybe bc I’m suffering from baby fever again. thanks for requesting and for your patience!!

let’s fall in love for the night

Jamie’s jiggling his leg up and down so fast that you’re surprised he hasn’t cramped yet.

“Calm down,” you hiss, hand on his knee.

“Can’t,” he whispers back. “Roy’s gonna fucking kill me.”

You have no sympathy for him. “Yeah, and whose fault is that? Yours.”

Jamie shoots you a sideways glance. “Excuse me, this was a team effort.”

“Whatever,” you say. “I still say it’s your fault.”

Molly swoops by to refill your water glasses. “Dinner’s ready in a few minutes. Roy and Phoebe have been working very hard,” she says.

She raises her eyebrows on the word very, and you’re sure that Roy’s patience is being pushed to his limits. He loves cooking and refuses to let anyone help him, but he also loves your niece and can’t deny her anything she wants.

“Better go check on them,” she says, leaving you and Jamie alone again in the backyard.

Jamie resumes the previous conversation and says, “Well, I wasn’t the one wearing that blue thing with the flowers.”

“Well obviously,” you shoot back, “it wouldn’t even fit you.”

Jamie’s stopped jiggling his leg and he places his hand on top of yours. “Oi. Has Roy ever actually killed anyone before, or does he just have serial killer eyebrows?”

You wrinkle your nose and ask, “Why the fuck would I know?”

“You’re his sister,” Jamie replies in Phoebe’s patented duh tone.

“I’m his baby sister,” you say. “I’m even younger than Molly. If he’s killed someone, they’ve both conspired to make sure I’ll never find out. And hey, don’t make fun of the eyebrows. There’s a good chance this baby’s gonna end up with them.”

“Babe you don’t have ‘em,” Jamie points out.

“I wax,” you say smugly. “Oh, Molly texted. Time to go inside.”

Jamie groans but lets you lead him to the table.

—

All told, Phoebe didn’t do half bad.

“Auntie, I did the potatoes all by myself,” she says.

You look to Roy for confirmation. He grunts and gives a tiny nod.

“Great job, Phoebs,” you say.

Molly sets down her fork. “I’ve been thinking of changing my name back to ‘Kent,’” she says.

“Brill,” says Jamie.

“Fucking finally,” Roy says as he hands Phoebe some money. “For future words,” he mouths to her as she counts it before depositing what you’re pretty sure is 20 quid into her pocket.

Molly says, “We’ll all be the Kents again,” and you can feel Jamie go stiff next to you.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy asks, and you turn to see Jamie’s gone completely pale.

You pinch his thigh and he jumps. “Nothing,” he says hurriedly. “Well, not nothing. But, I dunno, don’t want to overshadow Molls’s good news, ya know? It ain’t important.”

You pinch him again.

“Ok, it’s actually a little fucking important (sorry Phoebe, take it from Roy). But um, maybe you could help me babe?”

He shoots you a pleading look so you take pity on him. You’ve had more than twenty years dealing with Roy, so you’ll let Jamie slide this once.

“Right, so, we’ve been meaning to tell you- I’m having a baby,” you blurt out.

Roy’s dinner roll gets crushed in his hand as his face goes bright red.

“What,” he growls, and you’re not sure if you’re more terrified by the absence of “fuck”s or the fact that it was a statement, not a question.

“That’s wonderful, love!” Molly says before Roy can say anything else. She’s not looking at him but you can practically feel him take psychic damage from the shut up and be happy you prick, message she’s sure to be telepathically sending him.

“It’s Jamie’s, right?” she continues, taking a bite of salad.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” you ask indignantly. “Who else’s would it be?”

“You don’t have to pay me for that one,” Phoebe pipes up. “I’ll give you a free tab of one hundred words because of the baby. If it’s a girl, you can have fifty more.”

You grin. “Sounds like a plan.”

“You’re probably going to owe her the fifty, Phoebs,” Molly says. She points to Jamie with her fork. “I mean, look at him. He practically screams ‘girl dad.’”

“That’s- fucking- great,” Roy garbles out. “‘Scuse me.”

“We’re having a backyard wedding next Saturday, too,” you call after him. “So we probably won’t all be the Kents again.”

You wince as he slams a door from somewhere in the house.

“He’ll come ‘round,” Molly says consolingly. “Remember how he was with Phoebe? And I was already married!”

You grip Jamie’s hand. “Molls, why can’t he just emote like a regular person? I mean honestly, did our parents fuck him up that bad?”

Molly raises a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know, babe. Think he’s just like us, really, afraid of loving something so he just pushes it all away. And besides, you’re the baby of the family. We’ve always tried to protect you and keep you safe, and sometimes he feels like you’re out of reach.”

You ask, “He told you that?” and Molly just laughs.

“Not in so many words,” she replies. “But you know how he is.”

“He’s an arsehole,” you grumble. “I’m going to go talk to him.

—

Roy is, predictably, in the backyard. Not many places for him to go and think properly.

You find him sitting under the tree.

“Oi,” you say, “budge over.”

He grunts and moves so you’re not quite in the dirt.

“Can you be sitting on the ground?” he asks.

“It’s been like three months,” you reply, “That isn’t long enough for me to get stuck places.”

Roy says, “hmm,” but doesn’t offer up anything else so you just sit in silence next to him, pressing your shoulder to his.

“Why the fuck did it have to be Tartt?” he asks after a beat. “Could’ve been fucking anyone in the fucking world, and you fucking chose him.”

“You like Jamie,” you say in confusion.

“I don’t,” Roy replies, “he’s a prick. And a fucking footballer. Why’d you have to go for a fucking good-for-nothing footballer? He can’t even be around for his family when they go through shit because he’s going to be busy scoring fucking meaningless goals or some shit.”

That stings for a moment, but you take a good look at Roy’s face. It’s stoic, but shit if you can’t read it like a book. Blood is blood, and you’re a Kent just like him.

“This isn’t about him, is it. It’s about you. You think you did a shit job as a brother and an uncle so Jamie’s going to be a shit father.”

“I missed out on a lot,” Roy says hoarsely. “And before you say fucking shit, I’m not fucking crying. So shut the fuck about it.”

You grin and wrap your arms around him. “You’re the best big brother a girl could ask for. Took all my cues from you. And anyway, you’ve been there when it counts. Phoebe fucking adores you, practically attached at the hip you two. And yeah, Molls and I missed you when you were at Sunderland and Chelsea and wherever. But… you came back. We needed you, and you came back. So don’t go projecting your stupid self-image on Jamie, because he’s not like that. And you’re not either, you absolute fucking ape-armed frizzy-haired shit-faced twat.”

Roy huffs out a chuckle. “Ape-arms. Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

“Almost went with ‘camel knees.’ Haven’t used that since I was ten, but I thought it might hit too close to home these days.”

Roy laughs for real this time and tilts his head so it’s resting on yours. “Still fucking weird that my little sister’s having a kid.”

You say, “You’ll get over it. Oh, and don’t wear a goddamn T-shirt on Saturday.”

—

It’s rainy, so the backyard wedding becomes a living room wedding, because who really gives a shit? Richmond have a game tomorrow, but for today they’re in yours and Jamie’s house all dressed up (but still in trainers) laughing and smiling as Dani officiates what you’re sure is your dream wedding.

It’s not the one you and Molly would’ve giggled about as kids when you sneaked from your bed into hers, but everyone you loves is here.

For once, Jamie’s house almost seems too small.

(Dani was the only person you two knew who was ordained or whatever. And hey, could you have picked a happier person for it?)

Molly and Keeley had gone out with you to find a white dress, Sam and Phoebe were the flower-people, and Roy walked you down the stairs to where Jamie was standing with Isaac by his side.

“I’m not fucking crying,” Roy whispers in your ear. “It’s fucking allergies from being in this prick’s house for too long.”

“It’s my house too,” you remind him.

Roy just sniffs, pats your hand where it’s tucked into his arm, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

All in all, it was pretty great.

Gifts range from hair products to restaurant gift cards to designer baby clothes, including a tie-dyed onesie from Phoebe.

“I have a matching one at home,” she explains.

But now it’s the evening and everyone is gone except family.

“Can’t believe my baby’s married,” says a beaming Georgie as she ruffles Jamie’s hair from their place on the couch.

“Can’t believe he attained his childhood goal of marrying into the Kent family,” Molly remarks.

Jamie grins smugly. “What can I say, I’m a fucking goal-getter.”

You’re snuggled in Jamie’s arms, dress exchanged for a white sweatshirt and sweatpants set, courtesy of Rebecca.

“I’d’ve had a poster of you on me wall if they made one, babe,” Jamie says. “Better sight than that hairy git.”

Roy just rolls his eyes and says “I’m getting another beer.”

“Can you bring me a piece of cake?” you call after him.

“Me too?” Phoebe asks, looking hopefully at Molly.

Jamie pats your knee. “Don’t think he heard you, love. I’ll get it for ya. You too, Phoebs.” He shoots a wink in her direction, and she giggles.

“Oi, grandad,” Jamie says, walking into the kitchen. “Did you hear your sister?”

Roy turns around from the fridge with a menacing look.

“If she has a single moment of unhappiness, I’m going to fucking kill you,” he growls.

“Jesus, sorry,” Jamie says, hands in the air. “What’s got your knickers all in a twist?”

Fucking Jamie, never able to back down from a good squabble with Roy.

They’re both keeping their voices down because they know if they got caught, no less than three people would be grabbing them by the ear and yelling.

They might know this from personal experience.

Roy says, “She’s my little sister. I’d fucking murder for her, and so would Molly. Always tried to make it easier for her when she missed our parents and shit, but it always fucking got to her anyway. Didn’t help that I fucked off to Sunderland at fucking nine, before she was even fucking born. She’s wanted a family of her own for fucking ages, and if you fuck this up for her they will never. Find. Your body.”

Jamie’s not sure Roy’s ever looked this menacing, which is saying something, because he’s Roy fucking Kent. He always looks menacing.

So he nods and says quietly, “I ain’t gonna fuck it up, Coach. Had a shit dad too. Always wished he were around, except when he was then he’d get all fuckin’ angry and shit. But… still wanted him, y’know? Weird. Anyway, not gonna be like that with her. I want a family too.”

Roy looks straight into his eyes, looking for the barest hint of insincerity. Jamie’s gaze doesn’t waver. He’s not sure of much, but he’s sure of this. He’s sure of you.

Roy says, “Right,” nods once, then claps Jamie on the shoulder right at his phone dings.

Jamie pulls out his phone to a text from you that reads, pls stop fangirling over my brother. baby wants cake and so does ur mum

He smiles and tries to figure out how to balance three plates at once.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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galaxiasgreen · 24 days ago

Text

🎃🐈‍⬛Cat Burglar

Halloween shenanigans with minor Garreth/F!Reader [T-Rated, 3k words]

“What the hell are you wearing?” “What?” said Garreth. “It’s a pumpkin costume.” “You’re taking a girl, you knobhead! You’re meant to dress sexy! Like me!” Tight trousers, a long, leather coat, and the criss-cross of belts over his bare chest… “You’re barely dressed!” “Exactly!"

A/N: This was written for @garrethweasleyfest! My prompts were Garreth POV on a major holiday, Garreth gives MC a new potion with some unintended side effects, and Modern AU coffee shop, and because I like chaos I decided to (loosely) mush all three, resulting in the most crack thing I’ve ever written.

Very grateful to contribute to the Garreth fandom in whatever small way I can. Special thanks to cuff and Elli for organising the fest. Make sure to support all the other amazing Garreth content using the hashtags #GarrethWeasleyFest and #GarrethWeasleyFest2024! And, as always, please enjoy <3

[read on AO3]

Officer Ruth Singer sinks into the chair opposite with a sigh.

“All right, Mr Weasley, let’s cut to the chase. Where’s the Ferrari you stole?”

To be quite frank, Garreth’s not entirely sure how he got here. He’s not sure why he’s wearing half a pumpkin costume and cinching-on-his-private-area orange tights. Hell, he barely knows what a Ferrari is (just that it’s expensive. And bad to steal).

He does know, however, that he did not do it.

“I know it looks bad, ma’am,” he says, trying to raise his hands – they’re handcuffed to the desk with less wiggle room than a finger up an arse. “But I’m innocent. You’ve nabbed the wrong man.”

Officer Singer has a round, childlike face, but in all her riot gear she looks barely contained in the tiny interrogation room. One swoop of her glower almost makes his orange tights brown.

“Look, kid, you were clearly out for Halloween. Want to look cool for your mates and fancied yourself a new ride, doing doughnuts or whatever.”

“I don’t need to steal anything to have a doughnut! Please, Officer Singer. I know I’m innocent. In fact, I was framed.” The detail comes back to him sharply. “And I can tell you what happened.”

Sort of. He’ll remember the specifics along the way. Hopefully.

Singer gestures vaguely. “Go on, then. Let's hear it.”

Garreth sits up.

“It all started three weeks ago…”

“Froth the milk, Weasley.”

Froth the milk. Right. Garreth turned to the countertop he’d wiped clean of droplets two seconds ago. The monstrosity taking up most of its surface was supposedly called a masheen, a big metal box with loads of buttons and a pipe stuck out the middle. He’d been working at Aesip’s Coffee House for a while now, but this contraption was so complicated he hadn’t got the hang of it yet.

“Yes, Mr Sharp.” He grabbed a carton of milk from the cool box and poured it into a jug, which he stuck under the masheen and whispered, “Heatus Upus… Ventus Milkus… Incendio? Work with me, please.”

“You have to steam the milk.”

He turned sharply. You were about his age and wickedly pretty, wearing form-fitting clothes under a long, black coat, and leather gloves accentuating the slender bones of your fingers. You nodded to the jug, brow sloped in quiet exasperation.

“Put the steam wand in.”

“Wand?” he said. Then he remembered the long pipe. “Oh, right, that thing.”

“Now pull the leaver. That activates the steam.”

You were right; the milk frothed nicely. Even Sharp seemed mildly impressed Garreth managed not to explode anything, when he took the jug with a raised brow.

“I will brew you the best drink as thanks,” Garreth said to you, when Sharp was gone.

“Just a black coffee is fine.”

“Takeaway?” You nodded. “And does my illustrious saviour have a name? To write on the cup, of course.” He winked.

You pursed your lips. “Prim will do.”

Prim. Oh, he liked that.

It became a routine. Every day you came in and ordered the same thing. He’d chat and flirt, you’d giggle and smile. Sometimes your visits coincided with that of Sebastian Sallow’s, Garreth’s annoyingly handsome, annoyingly charming, and annoyingly annoying acquaintance who through full fault of his own made Garreth look bad – but you hid when he was close, gaze flickering to Garreth under low-lidded eyes. Obviously his humour, good looks and handsome fit in Aesip’s green apron was enough to win you over.

“Hello, Garreth!” piped a voice from behind the counter. “Can I order a cappuccino?”

October cold had webbed the coffee house windows with frost. Garreth rolled his shoulders. The girl was vaguely recognisable, with glasses and pigtails. What was her name? Something stupid, like Gabble.

“‘Course! Anything el—?”

“Made ristretto with half soy and half oat milk and three pumps of caramel and half hazelnut, extra chocolate drizzle, crumb topping and whipped cream in a large cup and no water. Oh, and a slice of strawberry cake. Thanks!”

Garreth frantically scribbled it down as Gabble-Maybe skipped off to find a table. Merlin’s nipsicles, how the hell does anyone talk that fast? He went to grab the milk. Did she want almond? Or chocolate?

“Do you need help?”

Your voice made him jump. You were good at that, appearing silently. “Yes, please?”

You recited everything again, slower, and he wrote it down. “You have a great memory, Prim.”

You shrugged. “Practice.”

“Don’t be modest, you’re saving my arse. Thank you.” He scoured the cool box for soy milk. “Although, just saying, if I had my wand I wouldn’t need to do it by hand.”

“What?”

He blinked, not really sure why he said that. “Sorry. Usual?”

“Yes, please,” you said with a cute smile. “Although I was thinking… maybe adding a syrup?”

“Whoa, flying the broom away, aren’t we?” He winked. “What flavour?”

“Surprise me.”

As he concocted the drink, chatting merrily away and discreetly adding a gloop of pumpkin spice, the doorbell tingled. Sebastian strode inside in a loose shirt and pressed trousers, and a peacoat made of some expensive wool. Oh joy.

Garreth slid the drink to you, and your cute smile widened. “Thank you, and, erm… I… I wondered…” You glanced at Sebastian intensely power-walking towards him, and quickly mumbled, “Never mind,” before rushing to the nearest table to avoid getting trampled.

A second later, Sebastian slapped down some gold rectangle and proclaimed, “Coffee as black as my soul, Weasley. Make it fast. I have better things to do.”

Most days Garreth had no idea if he was joking. His sense of humour was so warped Garreth couldn’t tell anymore.

“Latte with cream then?”

“I’m in a good mood so I’m going to ignore that.” Sebastian plucked a key ring from a pocket and twirled it around. “The stock deal went through. Decided to treat myself. Don’t be jealous.”

“What the hell is that? A lighter?”

“It’s a fob,” he declared, “for my Ferrari.”

Holy shit! Garreth thought. What the hell is a Ferrari!

“If you’re nice I might let you look at it. From a safe distance. Behind a window.” Sebastian stuffed the fob into his coat pocket. “Oh, yeah, and Leander’s party tonight, turns out Missy is going, so I guess I’ll deign to go as well.” He fixed him a sharp look. “You are going, right?”

“Yes, obviously.”

“Good. You can hold my drinks. And a date?”

“It’s Halloween, thirty-first, mate.”

“No, you turd, are you bringing anyone?”

“Oh.” No, and he wasn’t likely to either. Everyone he knew was already going: Natty, Cress, Amit and Everett, Adelaide, Ominis and Imelda. He poured a black coffee and slid it over. “It’s not necessary, right?”

Sebastian took it with a roll of his eyes. “God, Weasley, why do I hang out with you?”

“Bothering me at work isn’t hanging out.”

“Do you think I want to go to Leander’s place? I’m only going because Missy is. Just find a date so you don’t look like the only loser.”

“You don’t have a date either!” Garreth yelled, but Sebastian was already halfway out the door. Merlin’s chapped lips. The bloke would be decent, really, if not for the ego bigger than a planet.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Garreth…”

He jumped. You had magically reappeared again, avoiding eye contact but batting those lovely, luscious eyelashes.

“Could I trouble you for a napkin?”

“Yes! Of course!” He grabbed a wodge. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, and the coffee is really delicious.” You looked down at your gloves. “I really appreciate you making it for me.”

“You’re welcome.” His heart did a little triple-twist somersault. “Happy to help broaden your taste buds.”

You gave him another small, cute smile, which made his cheeks warm, before retreating again to leave—

Just find a date. Sebastian’s words decked him in the face. Holy moly. He was staring at the solution.

Like a drunk shotput, he flung himself out from behind the counter, narrowly missing Mrs Hecat taking her mint tea, and hurried after you.

“Wait, Prim—” he squeaked before you stepped out, then coughed out in his very deep, manly voice, “Er, ahem, wait, Prim.”

Your face brightened. “Is something wrong?”

“D’you want to go to a Halloween party tonight?” It popped out like a stealth fart. Merlin’s uvula! “I mean. Would you— maybe, if you want— but no pressure—”

“Yes!” you blurted. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

Quickly you scribbled a string of numbers onto some paper and tucked it into his pocket. What the hell is that? some inner voice piped, but then he realised you were so close he could smell the pumpkin spice on your breath, so you could’ve given him a used tissue for all he cared.

“Send me the details?” you whispered sensually.

“Yeah, already sending. I mean, I will. Send. The details.”

You gave him a cute wave on the way out, and once you were out of view, Garreth did a little dance.

“Don’t quit your day job,” muttered Hecat, rolling her eyes.

With Sebastian’s help, and some sort of portable communication device called a foan, Garreth found himself waiting outside the café five hours later when a sleek, green mechanical carriage roared around the corner and stopped abruptly at the pavement’s side. Sebastian rolled the window down – and his jaw snapped upwards with an almighty clack.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“What?” said Garreth. “It’s a pumpkin costume.”

“You’re taking a girl, you knobhead! You’re meant to dress sexy! Like me!”

Tight trousers, a long, leather coat, and the criss-cross of belts over his bare chest…

“You’re barely dressed!”

“Exactly! Jesus, just get in.”

Garreth reluctantly slid into the passenger’s side. The carriage was so strange, with an angled front-facing window overlooking the road, plush, leather seats and a wheel that steered itself – allowing Sebastian the chance to snatch Garreth’s pumpkin hat and chuck it out the side. They were going so fast it practically vanished.

“Who’s this girl you’ve invited anyway? Is she fit?”

“I can’t comment on a woman’s weight,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But she’s a customer. Cute.”

Sebastian hummed. “I’m impressed. Didn’t know you had game, Weasley.”

“I get my meat from the butchers, but thanks?”

Leander’s house was a giant three-storey mansion in the countryside, fed light down the driveway by a string of torches and a collection of dancing skeletons. Sebastian tossed the mechanical carriage into an awkward spot in the middle of the front courtyard.

In the darkness, the shape of you was palpable. With a shiny black one-piece that moulded perfectly to your curves and chest, and a pair of cute ears and eyeliner-drawn whiskers, Garreth’s brain became instant mush. You were… dressed like a cat. An attractive cat.

“I like your costume,” you said to him, once you met on the front steps. “Do I look okay?”

“Errrrr,” he stammered out. “Girl… yes… girl hot— I mean, girl thot— I mean— shit—”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Christ, Weasley. Let’s go in.”

The party was already booming. Rock music was blasting from open parlour, and mood lighting was creating a coalescent effect of red, blue and green marbling on the walls. Bodies were squished together and dancing. The host himself was front and centre, in only a sailor’s hat and a pair of skimpy shorts, getting drunk with Natty and Cress as a succubus and a nun who’d clearly lost the way.

Dragon dung, I really did miss the memo on costumes! Ugh, and his tights were so uncomfortable, too!

Sebastian peeled off his coat and chucked it at Garreth. “Go deposit that somewhere safe. If I find any cash missing, I’ll know which skint bastard to blame.”

He immediately dove into the bodies, probably looking for Missy, leaving you and Garreth with the coat like a plonker. You took Garreth’s hand suddenly – his haunches rose.

“Shall we go put that… somewhere private?”

Merlin’s coccyx. Garreth was about to die. Of glee.

“Leander has a coat room. This way.”

The place was fairly small despite the size of the house, and it was already jammed with a variety of fleeces, bags, capes, elaborate headgear and abandoned props. He tried to find a hook near the back but nearly tripped – you snatched his arm and pulled him close to steady him, and your breath, minty and fresh and enticing, whirled into his nose.

“Be careful,” you whispered in that sensual voice. “Let me do it.”

You took the coat and stretched around him, causing blood to rush up his neck. Pretty girl. Pretty costume. His brain managed only caveman utterances as a strong impulse to crush his lips to yours overwhelmed him. When you reached back, however, your hands wandered, going from the coat to his hair, dragging your fingers through like a comb. His mouth went dry tracing the silhouette of your body, and the look of hunger in your eyes.

“Prim—” he choked out.

You placed a finger to his lip. “Outside?”

He took your hand and marched you out front again. Good grief, it was happening. He didn’t make it one step down the courtyard before you pulled him down, meeting his lips with your own. The kiss was so unexpected and warm and amazing all the hesitation in his chest dissolved. His hands met your waist, his chest your own. You tasted like an addiction, poisonous and unyielding. He wanted more, so much more.

The kissing intensified. It was so chilly, yet he was burning up within, throwing himself willingly into the flames of you. Oblivious of the surroundings, he let himself be guided to wherever the hell you wanted. Your tongue skimmed the seam of his mouth and it took all his willpower not to moan. Was this Muggle Heaven? He fell back on something soft, flat out against – a leather seat?

You peeled yourself off as you threw the rest of him into the passenger’s seat of Sebastian’s Ferrari. Garreth yelped.

“Er, Prim—?”

In two seconds you were in the driver’s seat, and revving the engine. The Ferrari purred to life, and when you hit the accelerator, Garreth’s face mashed against the back of the seat.

“Prim! What the hell are you—?”

The carriage swerved left, pitching him sideways until he grabbed the headrest to steady himself. He screamed. Only when you were in some country road did you lurch to a stop. Garreth caught his breath.

“We could’ve just snogged in the courtyard, you know!”

You turned, casting him a sweet, ominous smile, and swung a key ring around your clawed finger. He stared at it, recognising the shape…

“Wait a second… that’s Sebastian’s knob!”

“Fob, Garreth,” you corrected. “And it’s mine now.”

“What? But—”

“I have to thank you, actually. He’s been a target for weeks but getting close to him was impossible… until I met you.” You pressed something on the dashboard and passenger door opened, letting in a rush of frigid air. “I can’t believe you’d break his trust.”

“But— I didn’t do anything!”

With one swift movement, you kicked Garreth square in the chest. He took the blow unprepared, tumbling into the cold and landing on the compacted mud with a thump.

“Sebastian will notice soon,” you said casually. “They’ll find your hair all over his coat. Don’t worry, I’ve confiscated your phone so you can’t contact anyone. Should give me a few hours leeway, but I’m sure he’ll notice you’re gone first. You’re not a bad kisser though.” You winked. “See you next time, gorgeous.”

The door sealed shut, and the metal carriage sped off, churning dust and smoke in Garreth’s face.

“And that’s how I was framed.”

Officer Singer stares at him like he’s become the pumpkin.

“You’re saying this girl Prim used you to steal the Ferrari from Mr Sallow?”

“Exactly right!”

“When she doesn’t exist?”

“What?”

“The number you texted isn’t in service. No record of her at any local business or university. You don’t even have a name?”

Garreth feels sweat drip from head to arse. “N-No, but I swear she’s real!”

“Yeah, okay, and I’m going home to feed my unicorn.”

“Unicorns are real too! And Sebastian saw her!”

“Mr Sallow did indeed see someone that night, but it was dark. She could’ve been any of the other party guests.”

“But she wasn’t—”

“I’m afraid the evidence is stacked against you.” Singer stands. “You’re under arrest for Ferrari-theft—”

“No, please!”

“— where you’ll face trial—”

“No!”

“— and then… Azkaban.”

“NOOOOO—”

“—OOOOOOOO!”

Pain shoots down his head and shoulders. Garreth gulps in a sharp breath and pries open his eyes – everything’s blurry, but he can just make out his legs stuck in the air and the rest of his body awkwardly folded between the foot of his bed and the floor. Except for undergarments, he’s arse-naked. Everything’s spinning, his hair’s dishevelled, and his innards feel like they might quickly become outards.

“Garreth! Are you all right?”

A vague shape above him crystallises into you, staring down at him with a hand over your mouth. You’re barely dressed, just a thin nightgown.

“Prim… what…?”

“I told you that potion was a bad idea,” you scold, helping him onto the bed’s edge. “Enhancing your dreams… try nightmares! I tried shaking you and nothing worked! You just sat there and drooled for thirty minutes!”

“Wait— so…” Everything was a dream? That tavern with the weird masheen and Sebastian’s metal carriage and you being a cat burglar but not the cute kind—

“Prim,” he pulls you into a hug, “Merlin’s nappy rash, I love you. I love you just the way you are.”

“Er…” You pat him on the back. “I love you too?”

“And I will be the best boyfriend ever as long as you never to get me arrested for a Ferrari!”

You fix him a sweet, if exasperated smile.

“You know I would never try to get you arrested, Garreth. Whatever you saw in your nightmare wasn’t real.”

And thank goodness for that. He sags and rests his forehead against yours.

“I’m never drinking that potion again.”

“That sounds like a very wise idea,” you say. “I do have to ask though… what’s a Ferrari?”

Garreth kisses your nose.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

Fin.

My eternal gratitude to CharlesSTBeaufort for fielding all my annoying car questions. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed! <3

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[Divider credit]

#hogwarts legacy #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x mc #hogwarts legacy mc #sebastian sallow #garrethweasleyfest #garrethweasleyfest24 #prim #stay with me #acvasverse #my writing #my oneshots #my stuff

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f4iry-bell · 4 months ago

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BEAUTIFUL MISTAKE

a/n: just some rubbish hehe.

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: gigi invites a captivating random stranger to an event and she mistakens grayson for someone whom he totally isn't...

taglist: @unnoodles @nqds @alwaysthefangirl @clarissaweasley-10 @benny1989fredd @imaseabear @never-enough-novels @nikolaisprivateer (LMK if you want to be added)

“Can you get me a glass of water?” asked the girl who was wearing a light green tube top and a matching green skirt with fake wings attached to her back, her hair done up as a bun.

“Excuse me?” Grayson’s eyebrows formed a frown. If this girl is trying to mess with a random stranger at a party, he was not the right person to do this.

“Should I repeat myself?” She asked.

“I'm Grayson Hawthorne.” He was clearly offended.

“Great. Grayson Hawthorne, can you get me a glass of water, please?” At least she said please this time, but still Grayson wasn't letting this go.

“No, I can't.” His words were sharp.

“Why not? Aren't you paid for this?” Now it was her turn to frown. Clearly confused.

“I'm Grayson Hawthorne.” He repeated again, she gave him a look that says am-I-supposed-to-know-what-that-is?

“I'm not a caterer.” He scoffed.

“Oh.” She said, realisation hitting her slowly taking its fine time. “Oh! I'm sorry! You just…”

“I just what?” He asked, still offended that she mistaken him for the caterer.

“I mean, your outfit.” She pointed at his Armani suit which she probably didn't know that it costs ten times her whole outfit.

“What is wrong with it? Is it not ironed properly?” He asked. He got it ironed just this morning, it was impossible to find a tiny wrinkle.

“No. This is a costume party. Or am I wrong?” She looked around to make sure she didn't imagine people dressing up as ridiculous characters. “I'm not!” She confirmed.

“You're not”

“Then why aren't you in a costume?”

“I am.”

“Oh? What are you dressed up as?”

“Figure it out yourself.” He wasn't dressed up as anyone, in fact he refused to dress up as anyone but himself. Even with all the begging that Gigi did or threatening that Jameson did couldn't make him change his mind. He was probably the only one who wasn't in a costume.

“You are” she tried to think of a character. “Oh! I know, James Bond!” She exclaimed.

“No.” It was a good guess, he'll give her that.

“Um, Elijah Mikaelson? Aaron Warner? Chuck Bass?”

He had no idea who these people were.

“I'm sorry. What's your last name?” It was a very weird and specific question. Yes, this was a costume party, but also a fundraiser. He wanted to know if she is here with an invite or just snuck in.

“Why?”

“Just tell me.”

“But why?”

“Show me your invitation.” He demanded.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Um.” He was right, until she looked around for something or someone and finally pointed at someone. “Her!” She pointed at a short haired girl who was dressed as a star, a literal star with cat ears whom recognised well. It was his half sister Gigi.

“What do you mean?” He was confused. But I had an idea.

“We met last week and she invited me in exchange for a discount.”

“Discount?”

“At the vet slash pet shop.”

Grayson was confused and disappointed.

“You know? Vet where you take your pet and pet shop where you buy stuff for your pet.”

“I know what those are.”

“You just seemed lost.”

“I was not”

“Were too.”

“Excuse me, I need to have a word with your “invitation”” With that he walked away to have some serious conversation with Gigi on how she invited a stranger to a charity even for a discount when she's literally rich as hell.

Part 2...

BONUS

“We need to talk.” Gigi immediately knew that with that phrase, there I'll be a lecture coming up.

“What did I do this time?” She asked, she genuinely had no clue.

“You invited a stranger to a fundraiser.” He went directly to the point, as usual.

“I- She's not a stranger! She's a friend!”

“Whom you met a week ago.” He pointed out the fact.

“We're platonic soulmates.” She gave him a cheerful smile hoping it'll ease him down.

But it didn't.

“Juliet, you can't invite random people you've just met to important events like this where she serves no purpose.” He lectured.

“I know! But she was talking about how she makes cute dresses for cats and dogs and for humans too! And then I was like do you like to dress up? And she said yes! And that's why I invited her. She had the costume ready! And it was too pretty to let it go to waste.” She gave her statement.

“That's it? She likes to dress up so you invited her?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Uh huh.” Gigi was easy to read for Grayson.

“Tell me what you're hiding.”

She sighs giving up. “Fine. Her brother, well they both sometimes switch their shifts at the place where they work. And he's really cute…I thought this might help her give me his number.”

“All this for a boy?”

“A cute boy! Who loves cats!”

#the inheritance games #grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #the brothers hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #the hawthorne brothers #xander hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #avery grambs #nash hawthorne #the grandest game #lyra kane

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honeys-hotties · 9 months ago

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ok this is kinda specific but can I request a julien fic where she's not sure if the reader is into girls and they're all out and a random guy hits on the reader and jb pretends to be her gf to get the reader away from him. and the reader plays along and kisses jb so she gets her confirmation and then they just confess their feelings ugh 🥰🥰🥰

i love this request!!! sorry it took me sooo long my loves, i've been absolutely overwhelmed with everything recently, but this one has been in the works for a bit and i'm so excited to get it out!!

My Type-Julien Baker x Reader

julien baker x fem!reader, sorta angsty? but happy ending (of course!) not proofread so i'm so sorry in advance, but i wanted to get something out tonight!

word count: 2727 💗

“When do you want me to pick you up?” Julien asks, her voice coming from the phone propped up on the coffee table. You’re sitting on the couch painting your nails while she watches through the screen, her face close to the camera on the facetime call.

“Umm, what time did Phoebe want to meet us there?” you ask, carefully applying a second coat.

“I think sometime around 9?” Julien says, smiling at the sight of you, deeply concentrated on your manicure.

“Okay” you say, capping the bottle and blowing on your freshly painted nails. “Do you wanna come over and get ready with me before we leave?”. Julien nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, that sounds fun. When should I come over?” she asks, getting even closer to the screen. You pick up the phone, careful not to smudge your nails, and laugh at Julien’s expression, her face giant on the screen. “Oh, I don't care, maybe around 7? I can order a pizza or something?”

“Sounds good princess” she nods. “I’ll see you then. You smile and blow her a kiss before hanging up the phone and grabbing a bottle of clear nail polish to go over the red painted onto your nails with a smile.

Julien, however, is much less relaxed. As soon as you hang up the phone, she lets out a huge sigh and immediately calls Phoebe and Lucy to vent.

“Guys, I’m literally going over to her house to get ready with her, which really means watching her get ready, and I don’t know if I can take it.” she says dramatically. “She’s just so gorgeous and smart and funny and cute but I don’t even know if she’s into girls and I feel like I’m going to fuck up and make things SO awkward and if I ruin our friendship I don’t know what I’ll do and I just-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there” Phoebe cuts her off. “First off, that girl is definitely not straight.”

“Oh one hundred percent,” Lucy chimes in. “Remember when she was auxing when we were at the beach and she played girl in red? And when she and I talked for like an hour about Portrait of a Lady on Fire?”

“Yeah, or when all of us were like, collectively drooling over that Angelina Jolie movie? Honestly, shoot your shot JB.” Phoebe encourages, Lucy nodding along.

“I don’t know guys, I really don’t want to fuck up our relationship. I mean, other than you guys, she’s my best friend in the entire world. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Julien, even if she was straight, which for the record she’s definitely not, she would never, ever hold your feelings against you.” Lucy tells her seriously, Phoebe agreeing with her.

“I guess so.” Julien tells them. “Alright, I love you both, I’ll see you at the bar tonight.” Julien waves to the pair before hanging up, dropping her phone onto the table, and dropping her face into her hands.

When you answer the door you’re fresh out of the shower, fresh faced with wet hair, wearing an oversized Green Day shirt, and tiny shorts, and Julien feels like she’s about to have a heart attack.

“Hey, you” you say, giving her a tight hug before opening the door further and letting her inside. “I just called, pizza should be on its way soon!” Julien can hear music playing faintly from your bathroom, and is acutely aware of the smell of your body wash and the fact that you are wearing very little clothing.

“Yeah, sounds good.” she says, walking inside and taking her shoes off, before following you into the bathroom where your makeup and hair products are spread out over the counter. She sits on top of the toilet and watches you dry your hair while you tell her about your day and the drama between some of your friends, looking at you like you hung the moon. Satisfied with your hair, you drag her into your bedroom and sit her down on the bed, pulling different hangers out of the closet.

“Okay, so I have this dress I thrifted,” you tell her, holding up a short, black dress. “It has this really cool neckline, and I was thinking I could do my layer necklaces and those black heels?” You show her another hanger. “I have this skirt too, though, and I thought I could wear it with that red top and my leather jacket? And my boots?” Julien stares at you blankly, but really she’s just picturing you in the clothes you’re holding up and trying so hard to keep her cool. You gently wave your fingers at her. “Hey, earth to JB, you okay over there?”

She starts, and stares at you for a second, blushing wildly. “Oh, um, I don’t, I mean, I think they would both look good.” she stutters, glancing down at her tattooed hands which are fidgeting in her lap. You roll your eyes playfully, laughing gently at her words.

“But which one would look better?” you ask, waving both of the hangers in her direction. “I was kinda leaning towards the dress, especially cause then I would match your shirt, but I really wanted your input!” Julien flushes again at your words, before nodding her head in agreement.

“I um, I think the dress would look really gorgeous on you.” she manages, and you beam at your words, heading into the bathroom to change and leaving Julien a flustered mess on the edge of your bed. Reminding herself of Lucy and Phoebe’s encouragements, she tells herself to get a grip and get over herself, taking several deep breaths as she waits for you to come back.

When you return, fully dressed and putting on your jewelry, Julien swears she can feel her heart stop. You pause, slightly self conscious under her gaze, and cast your eyes down, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “What, um, what do you think?” you ask her, slowly meeting her eyes with your own.

“I think you look stunning” she tells you, voice full of sincerity. “I mean, shit, you’re easily one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen.”

You flush at her words, and smile at her before grabbing your jacket and sitting down beside her to put on your shoes. “I think you’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen too, JB.” you tell her, and miss the way her face burns at your words. “Ready to go?” you ask her, straightening up and grabbing her hand, pulling her into the living room as she nods. “You sure you’re okay with driving?” you ask her, grabbing your keys and phone while she ties her shoes.

“Of course I am,” she reassures you. “You just focus on having fun tonight, okay?” You grin at her, and the two of you chat about the night ahead all the way down to her truck, where she holds the door open for you before climbing inside herself. As soon as the car starts, she hands you her phone, and you pull up the playlist she had made for the both of you, singing along to the music the whole way to the bar. Julien has her hand resting on your knee as you speed through traffic, and you have your window down, the cold, nighttime air rushing through your hair.

Once the truck pulls into a parking space outside the bar and Julien opens your door, grabbing your hand and leading you into the bar, things start to speed up. Once the two of you find Lucy and Phoebe, making your way over to the booth they had claimed and greeting them with tight hugs and cheek kisses, Julien offers to get the three of you drinks, and after she leaves, Phoebe pulls you onto the dance floor. You throw your arms around Phoebe’s neck and she guides your hips to the music, the two of you a giggling, sweaty mess under the flashing lights and blasting speakers of the club. After Julien returns with your drinks, you pull Phoebe towards the table and slide into the booth, leaning up against Julien who lays an arm across your shoulders as you sip your drink.

“Having fun out there?” she asks, her face extremely close to yours in order to be heard over the music and chatter of the club. You nod, grinning, and gesture towards Phoebe

“She’s taking charge,” you say, laughing. “I’m just along for the ride.” Phoebe winks at you, pulling you into her side and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek, causing you to squeal and laugh. Lucy laughs loudly at the pout on Julien’s face at the loss of contact between the two of you, and Julien rolls her eyes, before quickly excusing herself to go to the bathroom.

In front of the mirror, Julien splashes water on her face, exhaling deeply and trying to talk herself up. The images of you dancing with Phoebe, the ones of you getting ready earlier, and every single second you had spent with her played in her head as she spiraled into a haze of overthinking and self-doubt. How could someone like you ever fall for someone like her, she wonders, but before she can get too deep into her own head, Lucy barges into the bathroom. Seeing the questioning look on Julien's face, Lucy cuts her off before she can ask:

“I know you too well, JB. I know you’re in here overthinking, but you need to be out there making a move.” Julien tries to protest, but before she can even get the words out Lucy cuts her off again, holding out a hand. “Don’t even try to give me any of that ‘she’s so out of my league’ bullshit either Julien, you two are made for each other and you know it. Now snap out of it and get your ass out there. Go get your girl!”

Julien grins ruefully at Lucy, thanking her for the pep talk before heading out of the bathroom to find you.

Meanwhile, you had wandered over the bar to get another drink for you and Phoebe. Julien was acting weird, barely making eye contact with you ever since you two had arrived, and you were stuck wondering if you had done anything wrong. When she had left the table, you had wanted to go after her, but Lucy insisted that you should stay, that she would go check on Julien. Phoebe had encouraged you to get another drink, so you were sitting in front of the crowded bar while the drastically overworked bartender made his rounds. You were so absorbed in what was happening with Julien you didn’t notice the guy next to you that had been ogling you from the second you sat down, until he opened his mouth.

“Hey you, come here often?” he asked, and you cringed internally, before tuning to find the man. He wasn’t unattractive, but his sleazy pick up line coupled with the stench of alcohol on him and the fact that he was way too close to you turned you off completely to the man. Well that, plus the fact that you already knew what you wanted, and it wasn’t him.

“Um, not really.” You said politely, before attempting to turn back around. The man’s hand on your shoulder prevented you from doing so, though, and you felt panic rising up within you. You tuned out whatever he was saying, searching frantically for Lucy, for Phoebe or Julien behind him, but with no luck.

“Like I was saying,” the man continued. “A pretty girl like you really shouldn’t be here all alone. Let me buy you a drink, then maybe we can keep getting to know each other at my place.”

You felt fear closing over you, your friends were nowhere to be seen and this guy was relentless. “No, really, I’m not interested.” you told him as calmly as you could.

“Why not?” he asked, grinning horribly at you.

“I’m not available.” you hear yourself say, to which the man scoffs.

“That’s what they all say, but I don’t see anyone here for you-” but the man is cut off by a firm hand sliding around your waist.

“Sorry about that, baby.” Julien says, pulling you protectively into her. “Line for the bathroom was crazy long. Who’s this guy?” she asks, pointing to the man whose slimy grin had slid right off of his face. Relief rushes through you at the feeling of Julien’s hands on your hips, and you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Don’t worry about it, honey.” you tell her, melting back into her arms. “This is, Matt, was it?” The man scowls.

“Mike, actually.” he responds, gruffly. Julien sticks out her tattooed hand.

“Mike, hi, I’m Julien. Her girlfriend.” she says gruffly, her voice and hands on you sending a wave of heat through your body. “And you’re obviously making her uncomfortable, so if you could leave, that would be great.”

“No, you know what, we were having a good time before you interrupted.” Mike scowled. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m her fucking girlfriend.” Julien snaps at him, before pulling you into a strong kiss. You relax into her, throwing your arms around her neck and she pulls you in by the waist, standing between your legs and tilting your head gently upwards to meet her lips. You kiss her back feverishly, until she abruptly pulls away and steps back. “He, uh, he left.” she tells you, running her hand across her mouth. “Sorry about that.” she mutters, before turning on her heel and running out the door, leaving you sitting at the bar, speechless.

You stare at the spot where she disappeared into the crowd, heading for the door for a moment, before jumping up and stumbling after her. You pass by the booth with Lucy and Phoebe who are sitting, staring at you with smirks on their faces.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Lucy asks, smiling gently as you get closer. “Go get your girl.” Phoebe whoops at her words, and you roll your eyes playfully at the two of them, before turning towards the door and hurrying out into the cold air. Once you stumble outside, and walk a couple feet down the sidewalk, you see Julien in the alley, leaned against the bricks with a cigarette in her hand. You walk slowly towards her, watching as she takes shaky drags from the cigarette in her hand.

“Hey, Jules.” You call softly to her when you’re a couple feet away, and she slowly meets your eyes with her own red-rimmed ones. “Why are you crying?”

“Fuck, I’m so, so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, you just looked so uncomfortable and I wanted to make sure you were safe but I wasn’t thinking and-” but you cut her off, surging forwards to kiss her again. Your hands fly into her hair and she drops the cigarette, crushing it under her boot before pulling you in by your hips. She runs her strong hands up your back and bites your bottom lip gently, causing you to moan into her mouth, tugging gently at the roots of her hair. Moments later, you break away, panting, and she rests her forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” you tell her, placing a finger to her lips when she begins to protest. “You did save me, and you showed me that you feel this too.” you gesture between the two of you. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for like, forever!” you tell her breathily, giggling at the incredulous look on her face.

“Me?!” she asks. “I thought I wasn’t your, uh, your type, I guess”

“Well, you thought wrong.” you say, before lacing your fingers with hers, smiling at the beautiful grin that breaks onto her face. “Let’s go tell Lucy and Phoebe good night, and then you can take me home.”

Julien steals one more quick kiss before squeezing your hand gently and pulling you after her back into the bar, laughing as you stumble, and thanking her lucky stars she had been wrong about you.

#julien baker x reader #boygenius #julien baker #honey writes #phoebe bridgers #lucy dacus

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brucewaynehater101 · 6 months ago

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Have you ever watched the show Durarara? If not that's OK, you dont need any back ground lore about it for this au, I was just using the kind of creature that Celty is as an inspiration.

Back near the end d of Dick being Robin, a strange phenomenon started, a rumor you could call it. Some nights when the caped crusader and his side kick were out on patrol, a strange figure would appear following them but it's clear that it was no human. It was tiny, sized like a child and acting almost like one too. Except for the fact it was missing its head and the stump bellowed thick black smoke that hid any gore from view. Very few ever saw it and those who did claimed it was the spirit of someone that the Dynamic Duo were unable to save.

During Jason's time as Robin, the strange being was sighted less and less as it followed the pair around. It still clearly followed them often but it became better and better at stealth. The pair certainly never got a glimpse of it, other than one time. Jason was unexpectedly separated from Batman while fighting Mister Freeze and found himself following the sound of something hitting the ground. When he rounded the corner, he found what looked like a kid laying on a dumpster like they had fallen off the icy fire escape. That is, until it stood to it's full height and he realized whatever this was *it has no head*. The thing stared at him in silence and though it had no eyes, Jason could feel it's gaze upon him, pinning him in place. Then it ran and by the time Jason snapped out of it and followed, the creature was long gone.

When Tim first appeared to Bruce and Dick, demanding to be Robin, they didn't know who he was due to him wearing a motorcycle helmet and using sign language. He claimed that he had to keep it on due to "medical reasons" and that it "filters regular air into something safer to breath". All Tim is willing to tell the Bats about it is that the same incident that left him unable to breath without filtered air caused serious harm to his vocal cords so he can't speak anymore.

Bruce is... worryingly ok with not knowing who the kid is or what he looks like. After all, it means there's less for him to get attached to. Plus Tim can't scream at him and if Tim tries to lecture him, he can just turn his head away. Though he doesn't because that means Tim pulls out the Air Horn. This means that both Dick and Bruce only know Tim as Robin for quite a while and by the time either of them feel bad enough about that to do anything about it, it would be so rude to admit that they don't even know his *name*. Surely he told them at some point and they just forgot, right?

Tim likes that they don't know anything about him. It makes things much, much easier. After all, they can't learn about and then *care* about the fact that he doesn't exactly know where his head is if they don't know it was taken. Well, he *sort of* knows where it is! It's somewhere on the grounds of Drake Manor! It's not his fault that his built in Head Locator got messed with by his mom due to the jar she put his head in! She only hid it because she doesn't want anyone else to take it, ok? He can still track it to an about 1000 feet across area! That's pretty damn close. Besides, it's definitely safer to be Robin without one. After all, do you have any idea how many concussions he avoids by simply Not Having It With Him? So many. So very, very many.

Only a few of the rouges know that Tim doesn't have a head via them forcefully removing the helmet. The few who have done it claim that Robin is some kind of monster and the helmet keeps him whole. Well, in their defense, Tim did start spewing black smoke everywhere when it got removed!

The first of the Bats to know that Tim isn't human is Jason during the Titans Tower attack. At some point, Jason wanted to see the fear in his replacements eyes so he ripped off the helmet and froze at the sight. His replacement had no head. His replacement. Had. No. Head. Tim takes his chance to knock Jason away and stops holding back, using his thickened smoke to blind him and then allowed the strands of dark energy to tie him up like a spider web. Jason managed to break free and fled the tower with the strange strands of black energy chasing him out as Tim stood still right where he was left.

Jason quietly wonders why and how Bruce managed to recruit the Thing that haunted his nightmares after he saw it looming over him from atop a dumpster.

Tim edits the footage of the tower security so that it all goes dark when the power does so that none will see what he did. What he is.

I have watched the show, but it's been so long since I've seen it that I've forgotten everything :(

However, your AU is super rad!

I'm curious if Tim has any other powers related to being a dullahan or if a motorcycle enhances anything (if it's treated like a horse). The black fog effect was a neat power and I so want to hear more.

Particularly, I'm curious about Bruce and Dick's reactions, how it affects Jason's grudge against Tim, and whether Tim's status affects Damian. I hc that Alfred is some type of creature too (that's why he seems to live forever), and has been silently helping Tim with whatever special needs the kid may have (not that Tim knows). Bruce suspects Alfred is something but doesn't know the details and doesn't want to anger the older man by asking.

Perhaps Jason, due to his revival status, is also some type of creature. I'm hcing a wraith or a similar being. Due to dullahan's dealing with death, maybe Tim and Jason have some sort of dynamic there (like Tim can always tell when Jason is close by like a sixth sense or something).

As far as Tim's head, does he start to freak out when his mom dies and he realizes he has no clue where it actually is? To add on, how does he do school or public appearances as Tim Drake?

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc au #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth

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violetsiren90 · 8 months ago

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Beacons Ashore

(A What the Moon Saw Drabble)

Pairing: Yoongi x f!Reader (What the Moon Saw universe)

Genre: drabble; non-idol AU; friends to lovers; childhood friends; new friendship; angst and fluff; Yoongi POV

Summary: A few months after first stumbling across you in his favorite spot, Yoongi finds himself at the hideaway ledge on a night in March.

Content Warnings: PG, but ALL my content is off-limits to minors; minor injuries and allusions to domestic violence; allusions to minors smoking cigarettes; sad birthday boy; first aid; sweet beginnings

Author's note: Just a quick birthday drabble in honor of Yoongi and my favorite fic couple. It's exactly 1000 words! Short and sweet. A Yoongi POV. 💕

If no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! Yoongi certainly loves you, and I do too! 🧜‍♀️💜

The moon watched Yoongi shift impatiently where he sat.

He wasn't waiting for you.

This was his spot, after all - you had stolen it. Intruded. You kept insisting that it was very possible that you had in fact found it first, and that the both of you had simply never retreated to the little nook in the cliffside on the same night until that night, last year, but Yoongi found the notion highly improbably.

It wasn't that he would ever complain that you were now part of his nightly reprieves more often than not. You weren't noisy or bothersome, and always brought cozy blankets and oatmeal crème cakes you were willing to share. You were easy to talk to, when there were words, and when there were none, your silence was easy as well - a peaceful companion in the darkness like the crash of the waters below.

It was a Tuesday, and you were always here on Tuesdays. Your mother was gone playing bunco and your father was...working late. Yoongi shifted again where he sat, tossing a pebble over the lip of the ledge. He hadn't been able to lift any cigarettes tonight, not after the incident with the soup. His stomach rumbled. Yoongi held himself around the middle and stared out at the water shimmering under the chilly, pale yellow light of the March moon.

He wasn't waiting for you.

He wasn't.

And then little scuffling noises from above found him springing to his feet and leaning over the railing to see you tottering down the steps wearing a backpack and carrying a flannel blanket in your arms that nearly obscured the front of you with its bundled mass. Yoongi hopped over the rail and trotted up the stairs to take the blanket and the backpack while you clambered over the railing to reach the ledge.

You were so tiny that you had to drop to the ground after pushing your tummy off the bar. It made Yoongi smile to himself. He wished you weren't so cute, like a tiny little bear in your puffy coat and Ugg boots. If you weren't so endearing he could begrudge you for setting up camp in this little corner of his life.

Yoongi didn't let people in, it was easier that way. People thought they wanted to get to know him, sure...but people always overestimated themselves. People were soft, ignorant idiots who recoiled when they discovered the ugly, messy truth his life, quietly excusing themselves from his association thereafter.

That's why when you asked him what had happened to his hands, he lied.

"I fell."

It wasn't exactly a lie. He had fallen. When his mother had shoved him out the door and locked it behind him, screaming for him to go, to run, while she took the blows meant for him, he had fallen.

Your eyes dropped to his scraped knees. Yoongi tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. The innocence of your knitted brow seemed to ask why he was always bleeding. Under his jacket the soft skin of Yoongi's tummy burned from the scalding overturned bowl of seaweed soup. Suddenly, he wanted to run away - but he was already where he'd end up if he did.

You watched Yoongi's eyes dart over your face. You watched his foot scrape back over the stone of the ledge. You huffed and stuck your legs out in front of you in a little V, pulling your backpack into your lap. It was almost as big as you were.

Yoongi's heart squeezed in spite of the pulse rushing in his ears.

Cute. Damn it.

You plunged your arm in past the zipper of the bag and pulled out a little white box, setting it between your legs and glancing back up at him to pat the ground beside you. Yoongi raised an eyebrow skeptically, but you tilted your head to the side and raised your own brows in a way he had quickly learned meant he better just cooperate.

He sat down beside you, his back to the cold rock and his knees drawn up to his chest. You shoved your backpack aside and skootched in next to him, cracking open the plastic lid of the box to reveal the contents of a first-aid kit. Yoongi's heart squeezed again.

You peeled open an alcohol pad and warned that it would hurt. He scoffed, then clenched his jaw to keep from yelping when you gently patted the cool wet pad over the bloodied knees peeking through the rips in his jeans. Then you pursed your little lips and leaned in to blow on his skin. What on earth that was supposed to do to help Yoongi hadn't the faintest notion, but he did know that your small, gentle touches were taking up enough space in his mind to push away everything else.

You stretched a bandage over one knee. It was white with bright pink hearts and tiny pictures of Hello Kitty. Absolutely garish, and the sweetest thing he had ever seen.

"It's my birthday," Yoongi blurted out, surprising himself with his own words.

You drew back and blinked at him.

"I..." he mumbled, reaching for something to justify the sudden revelation, "I'm thirteen."

You turned away to rummage in your bag again. Yoongi was kicking himself for being such a weirdo, and he stood again to go, when you turned back with something in your hands. You looked up at him with a silly grin, holding an unwrapped oatmeal crème cake with a Q-tip from the first aid kit stabbed like a candle in its soft center.

"Got a light?" you asked, teasingly.

He reached out and gingerly took the little confection in his battered palms, pulling a weathered Zippo from his jacket pocket.

The moon watched as he lit the the little cotton swab.

It watched him shush you as you tried to sing to him then mush the snack cake against your face when you wouldn't stop.

From far up and away in the cold March sky, the moon saw Yoongi begin to glow at your side - long after the make-shift candle had been blown out.

-Fin-

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midnightcrw · 1 year ago

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Running away

Chapter 1

Reverie

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x fem!reader

Summary: Life really had it in for you. Just moving to a new apartment seemed to unleash a brand new hell

Warnings: tiny mention of self inflicting pain, the beginning of a panic attack

a/n: it's been a while since I last wrote something, so please bear in mind that there might be some mistakes or overall bad writing because English isn't my first language

"You should stay away from him," the stern voice of the woman named, Amanda, rang through your apartment.

She was probably in her early forties, dressed in a crisp white blouse and a black pencil skirt. She was wearing heels and her brown hair, with a few white streaks, was pulled back from her face. She had probably just come from work, but she didn't hesitate to greet her new neighbor who had just moved into the apartment complex, which happened to be you.

She seemed to be a nice woman, but very disciplined and serious at the same time. Her posture was upright, which made you a little envious as you often found yourself sitting with your shoulders down as if pulled inward. There was definitely a different air about her and you. She looked confident, sure of herself as she sat with her legs crossed and her body held high, while you looked insecure, as if you were being scolded, which shouldn't be the case.

Amanda had come to your apartment to introduce herself and chat with you a little while she handed you a container of freshly baked cookies. They smelled fantastic, and you seemed almost certain that this woman had no flaws.

"From who?" You asked her, your voice almost coming out in a whisper, being utterly confused. The conversation between you two had been quite comforting and relaxed until her body tensed up as she warned you to stay away from someone. You didn't even know who this man was, having not even met anyone else in this apartment.

It looked like Amanda didn't like the man she was talking about at all. She looked stiff, her head still held high as she looked at you from one of the stools you had set up for her to sit on. Whoever this man was, he must have done something to make her look so rigid. Even though her voice had been stern, there was a bit of concern dripping from it.

She cleared her throat once, but even as she spoke, her voice still sounded a bit raspy. "From the man next door to you." A frown made its way to your face as you wanted to ask more about it, but she beat you to it.

"No one in this apartment is fond of him. He is... I don't know how to put it into words, but he's kind of creepy," she shook her head, as if he forced her to. "It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, just don't get too close to him. Preferably stay away from him."

You just nodded, not sure if you should ask more about your neighbor. If she looked like that just by telling you little to nothing about him, then she must hate it when she actually got into detail.

It almost seemed like bad luck to you. First the wheel of one of your suitcases broke, and then you apparently ended up with a neighbor who seemed to be disliked, if not hated.

Amanda smiled at you, or rather at the fact that you agreed with her to stay away from him with a simple nod. Her tense and rigid body now looked visibly relaxed. Even the expression on her face changed almost immediately, she looked more comfortable now. Her blue eyes were not as intense as before, and the wrinkles on her face disappeared a little.

She grabbed your hand to squeeze it a little, not being too firm or too gentle, just like a little warning. "If you should ever need anything, my apartment is right across the hall". With that, Amanda stood up. Her manicured, red-nailed fingers, straightened the pencil skirt she was wearing. She was taller than you, having to slightly look down to meet your eyes as she gave you a friendly smile when you led her to the door.

Once she was out of your apartment, you carefully shut the door and leaned against it until you slit down onto the cold floor. The back of your head hit the door as you closed your eyes, not knowing what conclusion to come to from this brief encounter. Thousands of thoughts swirled around your mind, all being left unanswered.

Amanda seemed to be a nice lady. She was strict, that was for sure, but she had good intentions. At least that was something you could tell yourself. But the way she talked about your neighbor threw you off, not knowing if there was just a little misunderstanding between them or if there was something seriously wrong with him. She said that the others in this apartment didn't seem to like him either, but that seemed impossible to you since there are a lot of people here. Anyway, you would stay away from him for now, or at least that was what you told yourself.

You stood up and looked around your apartment. It was small, but just right for you. The kitchen and the bathroom were already set up by the workers you had hired before. Only the living room and your bedroom would have to be put together, since there were boxes lying around.

You would try to make it a cozy home for yourself, as you planned to stay here, since you had already moved through several countries and came to the conclusion that you wanted a place to stay in permanently.

Walking across the room, you opened one of the boxes, wanting to make sure that nothing was broken. As you placed some of your belongings onto the ground, you heard the voice of a woman shout. It was difficult to make out what the she was saying, but it definitely didn't sound like she was pleased. You tried to stay quiet, trying to make out the words she was saying, but to no avail. Everything sounded muffled.

You thought of walking out, to make sure everything was alright but before you could do anything, the woman stopped shouting when you heard the loud bang of a door. Shaking your head, you thought to yourself, what you must have done in your past life to have gotten these kind of things happening to you.

After several hours, you finally put everything in it's place. Your apartment was kept in simple white colored walls and with everything you put out, it was now a mix of gray, black and white tones with dark green colors accenting the rooms.

Finally satisfied with the overall result, you lay down on the sofa, too exhausted to change into anything comfortable as you fell asleep.

"Fuck..." you muttered under your breath as you ran inside. Your clothes were clinging to your body, completely soaked from the rain. Your hair stuck to your face as you pulled some strands back, visibly annoyed at the weather.

You liked the rain, but only when you were inside and could just listen to it in peace. Your day at work in the library was pleasant, as all you had to do was put some of the new books on the shelves. There weren't any complaints either, since everyone who came in either just wanted to look at the books or study. Of all the days you have had so far, this one was probably the most relaxing. But the rain definitely made your day miserable as you were forced to run home.

As soon as you got your breath back, you started walking, hearing the wet squelching of your shoes as you just sighed. Looking across the hall, you saw the elevator next to the stairs. It made you feel sick, almost like you wanted to throw up.

Your eyes were locked on the gray elevator doors, not moving a single inch. Your breathing accelerated, if the apartment hadn't been so quiet, you were sure you wouldn't have been able to pick up on it. Mere seconds passed as you shook your head to come back with a clear mind. Without a another glance at the elevator, you made your way to the stairs and slowly went up, not wanting to slip down because of your wet shoes.

Looking down, you noticed your right hand twitching. As you put your left hand on top your twitching one, they both suddenly began to shake. Knowing that it wouldn't stop so easily, you carefully bit the tip of your tongue, not hard enough to bleed, but enough to make you aware of the slight pain that you were inflicting onto yourself.

With frantic eyes, you focused onto the stairs ahead of you as your heart pounded against your chest. It was a confusing feeling, you knew what was happening, but at the same time you felt numb enough not to focus on certain things as you usually would. The words in your head stumbled together, only a few of them clear enough to decipher.

You looked around the stairs like a newborn baby looking around the world with unfocused eyes. You hurried up, not caring at that point if you slipped down several stairs, just wanting to be in your apartment. It was almost as if you were in a trance, unable to return to reality.

With frantic steps, you made it to your floor as you walked across the hall. Your eyes were still looking down, but this time at the floor as you bumped into something. With that, you gasped softly and inhaled. You probably did not realize that you had held your breath before.

It felt like someone had saved you from drowning as you looked up at what you bumped into. Your eyes met a black hoodie clad chest and then you looked further up. This time, rather than seeing a face, the person you had bumped into was wearing their hood up with a mask on the lower part of their face. Not being able to see their eyes, just a slight glimpse of the bridge of their nose.

Even though you couldn't see the stranger's face, it was obvious that the person was a man. A very tall man, with broad shoulders and a broad chest, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He almost towered over you.

Your heart seemed to slow down from it having pounded inside your chest, finally coming back to reality. You couldn't see his eyes because of the hood he had pulled down over his face, but you could almost feel his piercing gaze.

Not wanting to seem even more rude than you had already been, you smiled at him. It was a small smile, but still friendly and apologetic. "Sorry for bumping into you" you croaked out, slightly embarrassed that your voice didn't come out smooth as you'd hoped for it to be.

The man nodded, his head moving slightly to indicate that it was alright. And just as you were about to apologize further, a door clicked open, just across the hall. You moved to the side, to see who it was as the stranger also turned slightly.

It was Amanda, her eyes widening in horror as she clenched her hands into fists when she realized that she had been staring wide-eyed. Without saying anything, she moved her head slightly to the side, indicating that she wanted you to come to her.

You raised your eyebrows in confusion, not knowing what was going on. Nevertheless, you turned your head towards the stranger, smiled apologetically and said goodbye as you made your way towards her.

Once you were within arm's reach, she pulled you into her apartment and closed the door firmly. It was silent, completely silent now. You were sure you could hear a pin drop.

Her blue eyes glared at you, obviously angry. This time she was dressed more comfortably. Her hair was down and she was wearing a sage green sweater and sweatpants. But she stood straight, her posture perfect, just like yesterday when she had introduced herself.

She looked you up and down. Your body was still soaked from the rain and as she moved her eyes up again, she stopped suddenly. Amanda's eyes were fixed on something, and just as you were about to ask her what was wrong, she took your hands in hers.

"Did he do something to you?" She sounded panicked, her blue eyes meeting yours. You looked down and realized that your hands were still shaking from earlier. Wanting to calm her, you were about to speak until she interrupted you.

"That was him, the guy I told you about yesterday," her voice sounded almost abrasive, it wasn't a pleasant sound. She was stiff again. Obviously concerned that he might have done something.

"He didn't do anything," you exclaimed. Her gaze didn't waver, she wasn't satisfied with your answer, still not believing you as you continued to speak. "My hands are just shaking from the cold," you tried to reassure her, which seemed to work.

She let go of your hands. You didn't really like to lie, only when it was necessary and this time it was. She ran a hand over her face, clearly out of it, "Just... please be careful," she whispered.

It was clear that something wasn't right and not just because of your next door neighbour. It was her behaviour, her paranoid and overprotective behaviour. It made you uneasy, made your hands sweat as you bit down on your lip.

Not wanting to stand around any longer, you make up an excuse "Would it be alright for me to leave now? I still have to unpack my things". Hearing that, she nod and you quickly made your way inside of your own apartment.

'What is going on here?' You muttered to yourself as you ran a hand through your hair, wanting to tear it all out in frustration and confusion.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #cod x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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justsescape · 4 months ago

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"Do you remember how we met, anon? Do you remember what the captain said to you about me?"

The setting sun dipped low on the horizon -- but not without making an event of its exit. It torched the clouds until there was nothing left but a spotless orange sky. An assortment of life's obligations had rounded up the other tourists and left this beach vacant -- save, of course, for the two of you and the pair of towels you both sat upon. The silence was as thick as the humid summertime air.

What did the captain say, exactly?

You have to learn to work together with Asuka. From now on, you'll be inseparable.

What followed were years of... well, not always pleasant, but certainly unforgettable memories from NERV and beyond. The beginning was the ugliest. Those first days of training as a pilot were inhospitable, unforgiving, punishing. In fact, failing a synch ratio test was how you learned that the underside of her plugsuit's heel smelled like burnt rubber. She let up in time -- as she was apt to do -- but the harshness of the environment never would. Just picturing the inside of an Evangelion unit could make your heart lurch.

You breathed a sigh of relief. The potent smell of saltwater slithered into your nostrils. You'd take this sunkissed shoreline over the cold, underground walls of the headquarters any day.

She can be aggressive, but she has a big heart.

That heart could be hard to find back then. Now, it was ironically even harder. Breasts like bean bag chairs covered Asuka from her collarbone to her knees and sprawled out as wide as she was tall. Sand caked the portions of her underboob that ventured beyond her beach towel; perhaps you should have brought her a tarp instead. You didn't forget the other essentials, at least. A generous serving of sunblock had left her skin glistening in the last rays of sunlight. Meanwhile, nipples as big as tires were only partly covered by a far-too-small red bikini top. The straps were long enough to tie a Christmas tree to the roof of a car -- but as she lifted her arms, or moved her legs, different sections of her areolae revealed themselves from underneath the tiny cups.

"It's about time you took me out on a date here," Asuka said, her elbow gently nudging your side. Her sizable breast did the very same. It always did; even the span of her outstretched arms had been surpassed by her ever-expanding bosom. Her slender body was comically disproportionate form just how unrealistically top-heavy she had become. "I guess if I really want to go somewhere, I need to ask you twenty damn times before you actually listen to a word I say!"

Chalk it up to sensory overload. After all, the entire world was awash with beautiful sounds. Passing flocks of seagulls making their bird calls; the rising and falling whisper of the wind; and the crashing, leaping waves, the most ambitious among them cresting just before your feet and licking at the tips of your toes.

But no sound in the whole world was more beautiful than the very first time Asuka said "yes" to a date with you. Some of the details were hazy. It was on a bridge; it was in the winter; she was busty, but not nearly as busty as she was now. Such details were vague. What had really stayed with you was what she said and how she said it: a slight and quivering "are you serious?" delivered through a surfacing smile, the lovely creases in her brow as the realization fell over her, and the way her perfectly pale cheeks turned beet, beet red as she said "I can't wait."

If you spend enough time with Asuka, you'll see that she has another side -- a kinder, softer side.

Asuka bent at the hip like a drawbridge to lay down flat on her back. Her rack flopped over her; surely the lower half of her vision was taken up by her gigantic boobs. Much of her wardrobe had been torn and broken amidst her late blooming, but she actively chose to stop buying and wearing purses. Why use them when her cleavage was deep enough to stow away an entire briefcase?

"Caught you staring, idiot."

That she did. Now it was your turn to sport a beet red blush.

You averted your gaze. This was her chance to strike. Asuka playfully scooped up a fistful of sand and lobbed it in your direction, but a miraculously timely breeze -- surely carried by God's sick sense of humor -- whisked the tuft right back at her and practically sandblasted the side of her heaving bust. Thanks to the sunblock, every little particle stuck to her skin. Her rack jiggled rhythmically as she was seized by a coughing fit.

"Nnnnngh! You... th-this is your fault, you dummkopf!" Asuka's ferocious scowl was as familiar to you as the back of your hand. "You knew that breeze was coming! Why didn't you say something and stop me?!"

She raised a clenched fist, but the only fight she was about to have was the one with her ill-fitting bikini. Playtime was over; enough was enough. With a sudden, echoing SNAP!, her top parted like a shredded tightrope, straps flittering carelessly through the air as her boobs heaved themselves even further down her slender figure. Where they once hung down to her knees, they were now a hair's width away from reaching her ankles.

"EEEEEEEEEP!"

As an athlete on a yoga mat might stretch to touch their toes, Asuka swiftly hunched over her massive chest in an attempt to cover her nipples. Her hands, however, were decidedly outmatched. All they could hope to do were grip the erect nubs like they were the joysticks on an arcade machine. Her areolae bloomed around her grasp.

Perhaps she had applied a little too much pressure. The waves continued to reach toward your feet -- only this time, they were returning from whence they came with a few errant spirals of milk mixing into their midst.

Don't give up on Asuka. Try to reach out to her. She has so much to give.

"D-don't say anything," Asuka commanded as she repositioned her hands again and again to keep herself modest. Ample amounts of flesh bulged in her armpits and around her back. If she was this encumbered sitting down, just how big would she be in a few short months? Maybe she'd have to drag her overdeveloped breasts behind her wherever she went.

"I... I don't care how inconvenient these things get. We're still going to go out on more dates, understand? So hurry the hell up and haul me back home, and you better make damn sure to ask me out again tomorrow! I mean it!"

You'll be inseparable.

You liked the sound of that.

#muse: asuka #breast expansion #lactation #the drabble zone

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masonmtxo · 1 year ago

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Baby Season

Summary: welcoming baby number 2 into the world

Notes: this is so short and half arsed but I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcomed and very much appreciated 🩷

“Here he is!” Your midwife beamed down at you, nearly as excited as you and Mason having been on the journey with you for both you pregnancies and now births

You took the swaddled bundle and immediately nestling him into your chest, without a second thought shuffling to the end of your hospital bed as Mason slipped on beside you. Once he was settled, you turned to lean into him, carefully placing Theo against his now t-shirt covered chest having taken off the scrubs he was told to wear at the earliest opportunity. You burrowed you head into his shoulder, face inches away from your tiny newborn who, like his sister, immediately looked at home in his daddy’s arms.

“You done so well baby,” Mason whispered against you hair as he pecked it every so often, “he’s so perfect.”

“He is, already looks like his daddy,” you smiled, eyes not breaking away from Theo’s sweet pink face, his big brown eyes flickering around the room in innocent curiosity.

You laid in silence for a while, both of you just admiring your son, only moving out of your comfortable position when it was time for his first feed. This being the second time you’d done this together had you working around each other in sync, knowing exactly who needed to do what without any communication. You found yourself propped up with you back against you husband as Theo found the source of his feed with only a little hassle, his daddy helping you support his head against your breast.

Mason’s phone vibrated, signalling a text from what you hoped would be a family member confirming they were on their way with your daughter, having not seen her for hours since you had gone into labour. You leaned off him slightly, allowing him to reach around your body to grab his phone from the coffee table beside the bed. “Its your mum,” he muttered, quickly swiping to open the text, “she’s downstairs in the waiting area with Marley and wants to know if you’re ready for a visitor?”

“Please!” You grinned, glancing back down at Theo, “Are you ready to meet your big sister sweet boy?”

Despite Marley’s initial hesitance towards a new sibling, unwilling to have to share you and especially her daddy with another child, she has massively come around to the idea. It had started with Mason, knowing exactly what his daughter needed to make the change less daunting, continuously letting her know how important her role as a big sister would be whilst making sure she knew that she would always be his little girl and his best friend, easing the worry off her little shoulders. In the weeks leading up to the birth, now completely onboard with Theo’s arrival, Marley had taken it upon herself to ensure you were constantly resting, reminding you in her tangled web of toddler sentences that you were in fact carrying her little brother and were responsible for looking after him until she could do so herself. You had internally giggled every time, being scolded by your 2 year old was a welcomed event, knowing she was entirely ready to take on the new role wholeheartedly, even if she had seemed reluctant initially.

Your thoughts were broken by the sound of your toddlers squealing, bursting through the doorway and charging towards the hospital bed you lay in, leaving your mum in the doorway.

“Mummy!” The cheered, frantically trying to climb onto the bed, Mason appearing behind her to lift her small body up. She quickly slid in beside you, taking Mason’s previously occupied space, nesting under the arm you held outstretched for her, eyes quickly locking onto her baby brother and staring at him in amazement.

“Marley, meet baby brother Theo,” you felt hot tears welling up in your eyes as you watched the way she gently reached for his tiny hand, letting him wrap his fist around one of her small fingers.

You felt Mason shift towards you, leaning over the low railing to create a small bundle of bodies at the top the bed. He rested his head upon yours, pressing a kiss to your hair as he took in the same scene, eyes equally as watery as yours.

“Look what we made,” he whispered against you, voice so thick with emotion he sounded choked.

Without a word you turned to face him, allowing your gaze to break from the tiny humans to take in your husband for a minute. His hair was ruffled, eyes puffy and purpled but at the moment he couldn’t have possibly looked more perfect, thoughts he was mirroring in his own mind as he held your gaze. Wide grins fell across your faces, lips meeting in a messy kiss as you both giggled with happiness. The moment ending abruptly with a loud “Ew,” from Marley, who had turned to look at you both with annoyance.

#mason mount #mason mount fluff #mason mount x reader

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absintheandtextbooks · 4 months ago

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Ok so I haven’t posted like a proper potentially controversial deep dive here but I need to say some things about this season of Bridgerton. Before I do here are some qualifiers

1. I am not plus size but I am on the chubby end and wear typically a size large.

2. I come from a long line of people who are plus size

3. I think every comment about Nicola’s weight besides the ones she chose to make without pressure to make them are just simply not our business and pretty shitty

4. I want this to be a discussion this is not a hill I need to die on but I think peoples opinions can change and two things can be true.

Ok here we go buckle up

I was incredibly excited when I saw that the new season of Bridgerton was going to have Polin. It actually is what got me to start watching it in the first place, however I noticed a couple things with “the discourse” happening around the show.

Firstly, people were really excited to see a larger actress as a romantic lead which I agree is fantastic! The second is that these same people were very vocal about the height difference between the two of them. In fact how “tiny” she was in comparison was brought up a lot. I’m sure if this post has stumbled across your page a bunch of those did too.

Like some of the comment pieces on the above Forbes article mention, the media seems to have an allergy to “mixed weight” relationships when the woman is heavier-set or bigger in general than the man. What we talk about less is that height is also a factor. Society doesn’t just want women to be thin, it wasn’t them to be small.

I don’t mean to write about this in a “the tall girl movie from Netflix cringe way” but I think there is a nuanced discussion to be had about how we want women to take up less space and how femininity is tied to being small and delicate.

To me, a 5’ 6” ish queer person I’ve been taller than a lot of girls I’m friends with and a bunch of the men and enby or trans people I know. That, personally, has always made me feel bigger and ganglier and less feminine than the other femme presenting people I’m around. I get automatically stuck in a different category. Gaining weight, however, intensified this feeling. It feels as if I am perceived differently because of the combination of these two factors not just each on their own. Everything around us says it’s ok to be tall if you’re super thin and it’s ok (but less ok than being tall and thin) to be bigger if you’re short and dainty. It feels very conciliatory and condescending like a woman can’t take up space if she wants to be loved.

In Bridgerton, the conversations circling Nicola’s weight and height like vultures prey on this idea. It’s not acceptable just because she’s not sample size and that should be normal but because she’s little next to him even when she’s bigger. She can be a romantic lead because the man they show her to be in a relationship with is still bigger and stronger in different ways.

This also puts pressure on masc presenting people too. They need to be taller and often bigger to be accepted as “masculine or manly” which is its own problem I don’t feel as qualified to write about.

I’m sure this has its own complications for people who are non-binary or trans but I just needed to get this out there because it’s been BUGGING me.

Cheers,

Absinthe

#bridgerton #nicola coughlan #luke newton #polin #polin bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #thoughts #forbes magazine #tw weight #body image #this is just some thoughts #let’s chat about it

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dr-docktor · 7 months ago

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Ok I have an outline for a swap au/curt falls au

I've had this SaF au rotating in my head for a hot minute and I got some details down and I want to write it all down somewhere so here! Fair warning: it’s pretty underdeveloped but as I get suggestions and stuff I hope to develop it more:-)

Quick thanks to @randeeznuts for letting me yell at him about this in Discord <3

Its a Curt Falls au where, of course, Curt is the one to fall instead of Owen. It's still Curt's banana peel, however.

After the incident, Owen retires. Mourning the fact that he and Curt never got to run off together. Instead he picks up what little he has left of that fantasy and tries to pull it together.

A tiny cottage on a lake, a hairless cat named Penelope, a vegetable garden... You get the idea.

And all things considered, he could be doing so much worse. Penelope is spoiled rotten and the vegetable garden looks gorgeous no matter the time of year. Ignore the thousands of abandoned hobbies scattered across the coffee table and carpet. Ignore how he hasn't cut his hair since he chopped most of it off in some grief-driven rage 3 years ago. Ignore how his back porch reeks of cigarettes as his smoking habit has gotten so much worse. Ignore the fact that all he can think about some days is how efficient the little pronged rake in his hand is just as efficient at tearing up weeds as it is tearing through flesh.

Admittedly, I'm not 1000% sure how or why he decides to go back into the field for this one mission. My best guess is Cynthia finds his ass and is like "Hey bestie, I need a huge favor." I will expand on that later, I swear.

I imagine the main plot points of the show continue. You got Tatiana, the casino, etc. etc. etc. (once again I will expand on specific changes later) I also imagine most of the comedy with Owen comes from him being the sort of straight-man (haha) in most situations.

Being able to bounce off of whatever insane event is happening around him with utter seriousness and sarcasm. Because he just wants to get through this and get back to his cat. (the cat-sitter doesn't even know her favorite food! Much less her routine oh how will she live happily???).

He also never clarifies to anyone if Penelope is an animal or human so people are just consistently arguing about if he's talking about a child or a cat. Tatiana and DMA keep interrupting BVN's speech to debate this. Tatiana claims that its clearly a child, that Owen's eyebags and stubble indicate a stressed-out single father while DMA firmly thinks she is a cat for reasons he will not explain.

SPEAKING OF DMA :-) I think the guy needs no further introduction. There's still a lot of gaps in development, specifically centered on why Curt would ever join Chimera. I very firmly believe that they didn't torture Owen. But given how loyal and stubborn Curt is, I don't think they'd be exactly gentle while trying to persuade him. This might change later on, who knows.

Curt's version of the DMA is so interesting to me because I think he'd be a lot more reactive than the Owen DMA if that makes sense? Like very quick to explode with anger. Like he acts all smug while insisting Penelope is, in fact, a cat and not a human child. But as soon as he's asked why he thinks this, he fires back with a "Because I can just tell, okay?!?!??!" and then awkwardly trying to redirect the conversation.

I also think Curt's DMA accent would be along the lines of New Jersey or Boston. Mainly because it's an accent he can mimic SUPER well (thanks Ms Mega!). I've always had the headcanon that Curt is really good with languages and accents which sort of contributes to this.

In terms of physical appearance I don't imagine this DMA to look like Joe Walker. But I don't really have a solid grasp on what he does look like. However, I really like the idea of him wearing these black goggles on his head that he finally puts over his eyes during the torture tango.

Just imagine the light of electricity getting reflected in these bad boys during the torture tango. While Curt's got this massive grin that, in any other context, would come off as friendly and dorky (if not a little bit smug). Scary!

Also, because it's Curt, I imagine he fidgets a lot. Maybe in the background of scenes where he's not doing things he'd be practicing tricks with a butterfly knife or cracking his joints.

Ok back to plot stuff.

I like to think Owen figures out the identity of the DMA at some point shortly before the reveal. There's a clear moment where the clues click together (Like those jigsaw puzzles sitting abandoned on his coffee table). But Owen sort of shrugs it off just out of sheer denial. He knows its true, but it's not until the reveal where he's forced to confront it.

I know realistically this would end in only one of them walking out of the staircase scene alive (I couldn't even tell you which one). But my heart really wants for there to be a happy ending. Like most of this, I'll figure it out eventually.

#spies are forever #docktor's note #owen carvour #agent curt mega #swap au #<- i need a better name for this au #I will edit this will better tags as this develops #long post #saf swap au

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theteasetwrites · 2 years ago

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Merciless Beauty

Chapter 10: Straight Through My Heart

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: war, violence, scary situation, blood and gore, death ❧ Word Count: 9.5k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In this Chapter: Alexandria and the Hilltop's forces besiege the Sanctuary, with three objectives: save the princess, kill Negan, and burn the place to the ground.

❧ A/N: I am so sorry I wasn't able to keep up with the schedule for this chapter, but I have been quite busy with school, work, and life, and this chapter was pretty hard to write because it was so action-heavy, and I am not very good at writing action scenes! So I wanted to make sure I was taking my time and not rushing through it. I really hope you guys like the second to last chapter, and thank you to everyone who waited patiently the last few weeks. I hope it was worth the wait. <3

The sky was stained violet in the twilight that married day to night. It was that strange time of transition, wherein the sun had set beyond the distant hills, leaving only a soft halo of light behind, while the moon still had yet to claim her dominion.

And it was quiet, that uneasy kind of quiet. The kind that did not settle, but hung in the air with a heaviness, threatening at any moment to implode.

But the silence in the Sanctuary provided you with the solitude you needed to do all that you knew was left to do: pray.

You could not pray to God, though, for the last time you had, you knew he hadn’t even bothered to hear you. Perhaps you were a sinner. Well, you knew you were. Everyone was a sinner, and you were no exception. In fact, you had more to answer for than most—you’d lied to your own father, lain with a man to whom you weren’t married, and, worst of all, you’d tried to kill someone.

So why should you pray to God, who would surely not listen anyway?

But you still believed in Heaven. You still believed that Daryl was in Heaven, even if he, too, had been a sinner. You had to believe he was there, where he walked amongst angels in perpetual bliss. So, you prayed not to God, but to him.

Your weak knees wobbled on the cool, rough stone underneath you. A faint stream of the last light from the dusk outside crept in through the tiny crack in the old stone wall. You focused on that crack of light, its dying shimmer reminiscent of the sparkle in his eyes of cobalt blue. Just the thought of him, how you’d never see him again, brought forth the tears.

“Daryl,” you said quietly, squeezing your eyes tight as you sniffled. Lowering your head, you clasped your cold hands together, and held them below your chin, just like a prayer. “I do not know if you can hear me…”

Another sniffle as you shook your head, as if embarrassed by how pitiful you must’ve looked—on your knees in a dark, cold dungeon, wearing only a dirt-stained chemise and a pair of once beautiful pinsons on your aching feet. You’d never felt more ugly than now, not only because you felt filthy, cold, and thin, but because you felt as though all your poise and dignity had been stripped from you, until you were bare. Though you weren’t naked, it very nearly felt like you were.

The lump in your throat could not be held back much longer. With a blubbering burst of tears, you sobbed against your hands, still clasped together in prayer.

“Oh, my love… I—I do not know what to do.” The only comfort you had was in that last little sliver of blue, that crack in the wall. It was darkening now, almost black as night settled in. You still kept your gaze locked on it, that little bit of hope. “I have tried to be strong… I tried to k-kill that bastard, Negan. I did it because I do not want to feel like a prisoner ever again, but… now look where that got me.”

Your cry almost melted into a laugh at your own failure, but even that could not distract you from the grim situation you found yourself in. In fact, as you sat in momentary silence, with only the constant drip… drip… drip of a nearby drain to entertain you, you could only think of him.

Though you knew in your heart of hearts that you could not be to blame for his death, you still felt as though you were the catalyst, the cause of your own woe, and the death of the love that you had just barely begun to feel.

“Most of all… I miss you terribly, and I have not known such pain as this in so many years, to think of how you must have suffered, how you…” You swallowed back a strained gasp, shuddering to think of what had happened to him. “I never wanted you to die for me, Daryl. Never. I only wanted… I just wanted to be free. You set me free, and you did not have to. You did it because you were a good man. You are a good man. You always will be to me. I will always love you.”

Releasing a deep breath that shook you to your fragile core, you wiped your tears with the dirty sleeve of your gown. The pressure made the sensitive bruise around your eye sting. As silence settled in again, you thought of one more thing to say, one more utterance to release into the cool night air, surely never to be heard by anyone but the rats and the maggots that plagued this disgusting prison. Still, if there was a chance that your love could hear you, from wherever he was, you were going to be sure that it would mean something.

“My love,” you spoke again, “I am frightened… and I have often felt alone, before you, but now… I fear there is nothing left, that all that’s left for me is loneliness. All I’d need to believe otherwise is—well, it is silly, but… some kind of sign. Something to show me that there is still hope. If you could, would you show me something? Anything? Please, my sweet knight.”

But there was nothing. Only silence. You shook your head, feeling your tears welling up within you again. After all, what were you expecting? A beam of light, a prophetic vision, an epiphany? “Fool,” you muttered. “He cannot hear you… No one can.”

As you began to rise to your feet, a sudden rumble echoed from somewhere outside the walls. It seemed distant, and quite faint. It was not a common sound you’d grown accustomed to over the past twenty-four hours you’d been locked away, but it was familiar. It reminded you of the cannon fire from that night, when the Saviors attacked Alexandria.

It couldn’t have been that, though. The cannon fire was much louder, and had shaken the—

Boom!

You were sent back to the ground, not on your knees but on your side. The ground shook underneath you, while another round of explosions assaulted your ears. Reaching up to cover them, your eyes shot open when you realized.

“We’re under attack!” a distant voice cried out.

When the shaking subsided, you heard racing footsteps from the floor above you, swords being unsheathed and men shouting at each other, barking orders and arguing in panicked hollers. There were no windows in that dungeon, but there was that sliver—that crack in the stone wall. You lifted yourself in a hurry to cross the cell, closing one eye to look through the jagged fissure.

All you could make out for several moments was opaque blackness. The night had swallowed what was left of day in the time that had passed, but in the distance, coming over a gentle slope, was a sight you could not believe.

First, you saw the flames, the torches that some of the men carried as they rode on horseback. Much further in the distance, you could make out the silhouette of the bombards mounted on carriages, some being loaded by men in full suits of armor, others being pushed forward, making their assault on the keep.

They’d already made it past the castle walls, it seemed, as the battlements were all but destroyed, with flames swallowing the remaining rubble. It was too dark to make out their alliance, but you knew it could not be Alexandria. The kingdom was too weak for such a siege, and you’d never seen such bombards before. No, this must have been some foreign faction… Perhaps they even could have been just as evil as Negan and the Saviors.

You could not allow yourself to have hope of being rescued, but you had asked for a sign. Any sign. Though you were hoping for something more metaphorical, you supposed this would do.

As the armored Friesian’s hooves galloped over a fallen Savior’s writhing body, the knight raised his sword with one hand, and, in one swift motion, sliced the head of another’s clean off before rounding the corner of the keep.

Through his armet, with only two thin oculariums allowing him to see, he could just make out the great entrance, raised high by a flight of imposing stone steps looking over the besieged castle grounds. The armored Prince Jesus and Duke Richard followed closely behind, each upon their own steeds and slaying every Savior that came barreling towards them.

“We must go on foot now!” Jesus shouted over the warfare, men-at-arms all around them, some roaring battlecries, others wailing in agony as they writhed in the bloodied earth, Saviors and Alexandrians and Hilltop soldiers alike. “Onward to the keep! That is where your princess will be, and Negan.”

The three men dismounted before their horses ran off, over the debris from the fallen walls and towards the safety of the woods. Sir Daryl watched them as long as he could see them, before they dissolved into the smoky darkness of the night.

Making their assault on the keep, the three fought through the crowd, knocking men from their horses to rid them of their helms before driving their blades through their faces without too much remorse. These men were all different degrees of evil, but they were all on the same spectrum. They all stole, tortured, killed, raped… There could be no remorse for the Saviors, who had shown no such remorse before.

With each step the knight and his companions get closer, climbing the steep hill towards the entrance to the keep, the other soldiers of Alexandria and Hilltop followed, preparing to assault the keep—Negan’s home.

They were fueled by vengeance, rage at the ravaging of their homes and the murders of their loved ones. In the distance, Daryl could hear the king shouting above the chaos. “Surround them!” he said, wielding his own sword as he fought amongst the common men. “Push on! To the keep!”

But the mass of soldiers was too thick for the battering ram to get through without conflict, and that door was not going to open by itself. More likely than not, there were Saviors on the other side of that door—likely Negan’s most skilled, trusted guards.

Seeing this, the king turned to whistle the signal.

The beast was released from her chains, then, and with a roar, Shiva bounded towards the skirmish, her strong paws pushing the Saviors out of the way before she dug her claws into them, her teeth cutting through the steel of the armor to puncture their flesh. A few Alexandrians and Hilltop fighters were knocked over in the event, but the tiger kept the Saviors down long enough for twelve of the king’s men to run up the steps to the keep as they carried a long, heavy wood beam with the steel head of a ram on its end.

The knight, the duke, and the prince stood by, their swords held high in preparation to fight the Saviors on the other side.

The men with the battering ram heaved several times, each time making the door splinter until finally the ram broke through, destroying the door as the men plowed through, dropping the beam to lift their blades and fight.

Daryl went first in afterwards, with Jesus and Richard following behind. Sure enough, the place was crawling with Saviors, armored and wearing the black and red colors of House Smith.

The knight was faced with a particularly skilled Savior, who advanced towards him in a diagonal lunge, his sword swinging with intent to attack the weakest point—the underarm.

But Daryl was quick, parrying for a moment, only to regain his stability and counter the Savior’s next strike with his own.

Though he had the perfect moment to slash at the briefly exposed skin between his helm and his gorget, instead he seized the opportunity to tackle the man with such force that his weapon clattered to the floor as he pushed him into a hidden alcove beneath the stone staircase, where the Savior fought for freedom from the knight’s attack, but Daryl was using all his strength to keep the man pressed against the wall.

He sheathed his own sword to reach for the misericorde strapped to his leather belt. With the dagger in one hand, he used the other to yank open the visor of the man’s helm, exposing two wide, frightened deep brown eyes.

The knight was young, probably only just promoted from a squire, but Daryl did not have time to care. He’d already killed plenty of young men tonight, and one more wouldn’t make him any less damned.

He lifted the blade to the Savior’s left eye, its narrow tip poised to puncture the young knight’s pupil as though it were the center of a target. In the confined space of his helm, he breathed heavily, the heat of his anger and adrenaline burning fumes in the back of his throat as he spoke three simple words, his voice louder than even he had anticipated, but he had no time to repeat himself: “Where’s the princess?”

“I—I know of no princess.”

A low, muffled growl escaped Daryl’s lips. He pressed his chest harder against that of the Savior, his grip on the dagger becoming at once firm and shaky as irrational rage overcame him. It was as though he was looking Negan in the eye right now. Though, this Savior had a kindness in his eyes, one distinctly different from the evil of Sir Negan’s serpentine stare. Still, there was deceit behind those eyes. Years of interrogating prisoners of war had trained him well, despite the psychological toll it had taken on him. At least he could tell when a man was lying.

“Wrong answer,” he replied through lips tightly drawn into a snarl. He did not need to harm the knight beyond the suffocating weight he inflicted onto the young man’s chest, he only had to narrow his eyes in a freezing stare. “Wanna try again?”

The young knight swallowed hard as his defense began to crumble, though he still feigned ignorance. “Sh-she is here.”

Daryl huffed as he inched his dagger closer, the tip grazing the Savior’s eyelashes as they fluttered in nervous movements. The knight never did have much patience, and now, with your life and the lives of his men at stake, he couldn’t care less about the chivalry which was supposed to dictate his every action and every word, even in battle. In fact, he’d never been chivalrous enough to care about that before. When it came to war, every man was a savage, and Daryl was no exception.

“You’ve got about five seconds to tell me where she is ‘fore you lose your damn eye.”

“No, please!” The Savior caved easily, and it was clear that, despite the fact that Negan trusted him enough to be one of his personal guards, he was not particularly loyal. Not if he surrendered that easily. From Daryl’s knowledge of war, a truly loyal soldier would lose his eye and maybe a few other body parts before giving in. “Last I heard she was locked away in the dungeon. Negan gave orders to put her in there just last night. I haven’t heard anything since, that’s all I know. I swear!”

For a good several moments, Daryl did not remove his blade, his lips snarling at the Savior as he processed his words, and contemplated whether or not to kill him.

He wanted to. No Savior left alive, he repeated in his head like a mantra, but he wasn’t going to be the one to kill him. Something told him not to. Perhaps it was that last bit of gallantry, or perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“What’s your name?” he asked the young man, words which he’d never thought he’d ask of an enemy. The man seemed confused by his question, so he jolted him against the wall and demanded again, “What’s your name?”

“Alden.”

“Alden… This place is gonna burn to the ground. If you value your life, you’d leave now and never look back.”

The Savior nodded, his eyes softening as Daryl removed his weight and the knife from his face. As Daryl turned to begin his search for you, Alden said one more thing. “Wait!”

The knight turned, half-expecting the man to turn on him, just as a precaution.

But he did not attack him. He only held out a large iron key, dangling from the ring in his hand. “You’ll need this.”

You paced back and forth the length of the cell, wringing your hands nervously before you tried again, though you were sure either no one could hear you, or no one cared.

But you had to try, even if every cell in your body was against it. Death seemed inevitable, and perhaps you truly had nothing more to live for, if the world was as dark and cold as it seemed, but you believed that fortune held you in its favor, somehow. The attack was a sign. A sign from Daryl. That’s what you had to believe. There was no time to stand idly by, you had to act. And the only way to act, in your current position, was to shake those bars that held you in your cell, and to scream at the top of your lungs.

“Hey!” you cried out, your voice drowned out by the sounds of warfare outside and above you. “Hey! What is happening?! Let me out!”

As they neared the dungeon, racing down the winding steps that took them underground, the four men plowed through more Saviors, the ones tasked with guarding the dungeon. Despite being nowhere to be seen, Negan must’ve sent extra defenses to protect the subterranean corridors.

With the help of Jesus and Alden, the duke and the knight tunneled their way through the maze, each corner they turned revealing a new foe, until they found themselves nearing a great iron gate, beyond which Daryl swore he could hear your voice. The fear and confusion pierced his heart like a thorn, though the familiarity in your voice was like the sweetest rose.

“This way!” cried Alden. “Hurry!”

The four men raced towards the gate, with Alden hurriedly turning the key in the lock. Daryl did not hesitate, throwing the door open with a great echo of the squeaking of hinges. He stepped in quickly, and the other three men followed, though Daryl pushed them back.

“Stay out here,” he said. “Keep watch. If anyone followed us—”

“Go,” said the duke. “But hurry.”

For the first time in several hours, you heard the creaking of the opening door, the footsteps that echoed through the dark, winding halls of the dungeon. Though you could not see who they belonged to, you had more fear in your heart than hope.

All you could see beyond the bars of your cell and at the end of the hall was that same glow of that same fire of that same sconce that provided the only light you had in this God forsaken place. As you stepped back, terrified of the slow, heavy footsteps growing increasingly loud, the shadow of the figure played against the stone floor, flickering with the light.

Surely, you were to die tonight, whether by the hands of a Savior or one of the intruders. You could not see any other way for this to end, though you had wished so much for Daryl’s sign to be true.

“Please,” was all you could muster, your voice shaky and delicate, close to shattering like thin, weak glass.

He followed your voice, his vision obscured by his helm that he had forgotten to remove in the haste to locate you. When he turned the corner, finally laying eyes on you, his heart could not bear to waste another moment—he moved as fast as he could in his heavy steel armor, which you could not recognize at all.

It was not the armor of Alexandria, nor of the Saviors. No, it was the Hilltop’s armor, but you’d never seen it in your life.

All you could see was an unfamiliar man in unfamiliar armor hurriedly jimmying the key in the lock of your cell door, while you cowered in the dusty dark corner, frightened. With nowhere left to go, you sank to the floor in defeat, hugging your knees to your chest for some semblance of comfort.

“I—I am not one of them,” you stuttered. “Please.”

But the knight did not respond, himself too overwhelmed with emotion to speak. He stood before you now, frozen for a moment, until he kneeled to face you at your level. Between those thin, rectangular windows built into the cold shiny steel of his helmet, you could see a sparkle of cobalt blue, like the reflection of the sunlight that danced upon gentle waves of the sea on a bright summer’s day. For a split second, you swore you recognized that glimmer, the way it made your stomach do somersaults and your chest swell up with air when you’d forget to breathe properly.

Only now, you were sure it was fear that made your body react that way, not the eyes of your lover, so you thought.

It could not be… And yet, he moved like him, he was built like him, he even very nearly smelled like him—a warm, woody musk. Perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks on you, though, or just wishful thinking.

“Wh-what do you want?” The words were so strangled by the tightness in your barren throat that he could hardly hear you, his helm dulling his senses. “Who are you?”

Just then, Daryl realized how negligent he had been in his stupor. He was still wearing that helmet, and you could not see him for who he was. He could speak, but he feared he’d just cry, and what kind of knight in shining armor would weep before his beloved lady?

You watched with bated breath as the knight lowered his head, his gauntleted hands rising up to either side of his helm. It took some effort to pull the thing off, with it the linen padding and chain mail that protected his head. Left behind was only a curtain of long, shoulder-length hair, chestnut in hue, with subtle streaks of sun-kissed brown and ashy flaxen laced throughout.

His head still hung, you could not quite make out his face, as it was shrouded in sinuous ripples of hair that so much reminded you of Daryl, but you could not let your mind wander into irrational fantasies of seeing him again, though it was tempting to do so.

With a drag of his hand, he pushed back the hair that hung over his forehead, then lifted his gaze to meet yours, his face blotched with blackish-gray ash and gunpowder from the cannon fire that he’d fought through to get to you.

But it was not dark enough to disguise him, his features clear as day. Gentle, deep-set eyes of blue shone brighter now without the obscurity of his helm. A short, rounded nose of button shape sat above a pair of panting lips. They were not plump, nor exceptionally thin—there was a softness to them. Around those lips, a smattering of a thin layer of facial hairs, which faded into high cheekbones, defined just enough to bring shape to the otherwise soft curves of his face.

The part of him that made you shudder, though, was the long, reddish scar that split above and below his left eye. You’d traced that scar over in your mind a thousand times, recreated it to perfection whenever the image of your knight’s visage lulled you to sleep in the comfort of your warm feather bed.

Could it be some cruel trick, some strange sorcery, some facsimile that you’d conjured up in your troubled mind? Or perhaps, and most mercifully, you were dead, too, and this image was an angel sent to carry you into Heaven… Though you knew you were not bound for such a place. No, he was real. You could feel it.

But you could not believe it, not until you touched him, reaching out to hold his ashy cheeks in both of your hands as you leaned closer to him, feeling the heat of his body which you once thought was cold and lifeless. Yet here he was, alive, his heart beating fiercely, as though it yearned to tear itself from his chest and his armor and bury itself next to yours, where it belonged.

“Daryl?”

When he spoke your name, you could not keep yourself from him much longer, your head dizzy with shock and your heart fragile with the sudden break away from grief and utter despair. Your body melted into his arms, your cheek held firm against the cool hard steel of his pauldron as your tears began to puddle on the surface.

There were no words between you for a while, only the sound of your gentle cries against his shoulder, and the heavy breaths he panted out as his lips gently grazed your neck, one hand supporting your back while the other tangled in your hair.

But you could not keep yourself from lifting your head up from his shoulder, letting your eyes dart frantically all over his face. Despite your tears, your lips curled into a smile, with something between a laugh and a cry escaping between sighs.

He could not handle the separation, though. His eyes squeezed shut, he leaned forward to touch your forehead with his, then the tips of your noses were stuck together like glue, your lips tickling each other’s in featherlight grazes as your breathing synced and your heartbeats seemed to create a harmony from their natural rhythms. Of course, you could not hear it, but you both felt it, deep in your souls.

“I thought you were…” Hesitation to even speak of the possibility of his death stopped you from continuing, your voice instead softening into a teary sigh, the breath of which he felt on his trembling lips.

Just the sound of your voice had him in pieces, crumbling like a dried leaf in the palm of your hand, the hand which he held in his, his grip firm but so gentle. And in his arms, you were trembling, cold and tired and hanging onto him as though he was an apparition that could dissolve at any moment, and after everything you had seen, you feared that could be true.

“Are you real?” you whispered, still surrounded by him and his corporeal presence. “Am I dreaming, or are you really my knight, my Daryl?”

“I am real… I am your knight, and I am gonna get you out of here.” Now, he pulled away, the reality of the situation setting in, but his gaze was set on the purple swelling of skin around your right eye. Though you tried to lower your head, as if to hide it from him, he lifted your chin up with his armored hand. Tears trickled down your cheeks, squeezed out as you closed your eyes.

A burning rage took him over then, that puffy, bruised flesh striking him like lightning that set him ablaze. As he examined you, you swore you saw his top lip twitch into a snarl. The anger was not at you, of course, but at the mark of your assault, and the hand which had committed it.

“He did this?” he asked. “He hurt you?” You had not known such intensity in his voice, or such a menacing fire of fury behind his eyes. Underlying it all, though, was concern. Concern for you. His soothing touch as he stroked up and down your arms proved that. “Did he touch you?”

Though a part of you wanted to lie, to forget about Negan and everything you’d gone through, you could not lie to him, not your love.

“H-he… Yes.”

You did not have to say more.

“I’ll kill him. Right now. Son of a bitch is a dead man.” He’d stood to his feet now, with you still clinging to him, and his hands still holding onto your arms as you shook your head. You could not risk losing him again. You’d already gone through the pain of losing him once, and now that you knew that pain, you could never go through it again.

“No, my love. He is not worth risking your life, not again.”

Of course, he knew you were right—your safety was more important than his desire to kill Negan, and right now, in the catacombs of the Sanctuary, you were anything but safe. His priority now was getting you as far away from Negan and the Saviors as possible, and just hope to God that whoever found Negan killed him slowly, because that’s what he deserved for laying a hand on you.

At the very least, he’d see that you’d never be hurt again so long as he could help it. Pulling his dagger from his belt, he held it by the blade to offer you the handle. “Take this,” he said. You took the misericorde with a shaky, tired hand.

Before you could speak, the duke’s voice called out: “Let’s go!” he cried. “Now!”

There was no time to even consider it. Daryl took your hand, leaving behind his helm in a hurry to lead you out of the dungeon. You were greeted by the three other men, two of which you had never seen before, one of whom was dressed in Savior armor.

But before you could even ask, the Savior led the way down the cavernous tunnels below the Sanctuary, where footsteps and screams and sounds of cannon fire echoed through the old, winding passageways.

“There’s an escape route through here!” said Sir Alden, pointing further down the underground tunnel, leading into darkness. “It opens into the woods!”

The Saviors, though, were following not far behind, a squadron of them rounding the corner to see the prince, the duke, the knight, the traitor, and the princess, all momentarily frozen to face the dilemma: either stay and fight them off, or keep running until you reached the other side. Either way, they would have to fight at some point.

One strong hand pushing you back behind him, the knight withdrew his sword, as did the other men, standing firm against the Saviors, but Prince Jesus had another plan.

“Go,” he said. “We’ll keep them busy, you get the princess to safety.”

Daryl hesitated, looking between you and the prince, whose sword was about to strike one of oncoming attackers. “Go!” he called out, still feeling the knight’s presence. It was not honorable to leave an ally to battle alone, but then, it was even more dishonorable to put a princess in danger.

With only a few more moments’ hesitation, the knight took your hand, spinning you around to pull you further down the tunnel, into darkness.

There was hardly a flash of light to guide you, but somewhere in the distance, a sliver of bright moonlight crept underneath the iron door that surely led out into the woods outside, far from the cannon fire and bloodshed.

At length, you reached the exit, the knight only letting go of your hand to lift the bar that kept the door sealed from the outside, and to then break the link of the chain lock with the steel of his armor. When the door was thrown open, a gentle, cool breeze awakened you, into the relative peace of the quiet sylvan glade.

You could only double over for a moment, panting heavily as Daryl closed the door behind you. When you felt his arms lifting you up, you stood upright, falling into his embrace.

“We’ve got to keep movin’,” he panted, his armor weighing him down and forcing his breath to escape him more strongly. “Further we get the better… The horses aren’t far from here.”

Beyond the gentle slope of a hill, you could see the Sanctuary—plumes of gray smoke illuminating the crumbling parapets and the burning towers that once had stood tall and formidable. Even now, you could faintly hear the voice of your father, commanding the cannons to release more fire upon whatever rubble was left behind. The forces of Alexandria and the Hilltop did not retreat, not even now, but kept pushing, with the intent of killing every armored Savior man big enough to carry a sword.

Frozen in fear, you were shaken by Daryl’s hands on your shoulders, his touch reminding you where you were, and that you were alive. Free. It was not unlike the feeling you had when you escaped through the tunnels that first time, stepping out into these same woods.

He spoke your name, drawing your attention to him. Wordlessly, you let him guide you, his arm wrapped around you as he practically held half your weight to move you with him. Somewhere in the darkness, you’d lost your slippers. Once you’d relished in the feeling of being barefoot in these woods, but now, your feet were tired, soar, and stinging with cuts from the sharp twigs that your soft soles dragged over.

But his strength kept you upright, though gravity seemed to be working against you. Just for one moment you wished to stop, to catch your breath and to rest your poor, lacerated feet. “Daryl,” you said. “I—I must stop. Just for a moment.”

He felt your weight begin to sag as he nearly lost his grip on your waist, but he was quick to set you down upon a fallen log, coated with overgrown moss nearly soft enough to feel like some sort of cushion. It was a welcome relief as you struggled to stay sitting upright, despite your desire to lay down and sleep for an eternity or two.

“Let me see,” said Daryl, lifting your foot by your heel to examine the sole. If you’d been more alert, you’d have been more embarrassed for him to see the state of your feet, bloodied and feeling as though they had been whittled down to the bone. “I will carry you… We can’t tarry long.”

“Just… just a moment, please.”

The pain in your voice carved a new fissure in his heart, your hand clinging to his shoulder, the other gripped tight around the knife at your side as you strained to control your tears. Though you screwed your eyes shut with the tension of your pain, the gentle feeling of his forehead against yours forced them to flutter open, his face a welcome relief from the agony that plagued your sore, tired body.

It occurred to you again that he was alive, real, that this wasn’t some kind of strange dream. Or maybe it was. You could not tell, with the hazy glow around him as your tired eyes struggled to focus on his visage. “Daryl…”

All pain melted away for a moment as you lifted your hands to feel the warmth of his cheeks. You could feel his smile, both in the lift of his face and the depths of your soul, which you were sure now was tied unbreakably to his, for he was alive, and so were you.

“I love you,” was all you could say, with so much more fervor and earnestness and purity than you had before, to anyone. You said it once more, this time through a weak laugh that made your voice tremble in delirious glee: “I love you.”

He did not need to reply in words—his soft, featherlight kiss conveyed more than words ever could. It was more coherent, more potent, more true. Your lips conformed to the gentle contours of his as you leaned forward, fully immersed in him and his love, his warmth embracing you like two strong arms of burning hearthfire. It was not an impassioned kiss, but one of comfort, reassurance, and the truest kind of love.

As he pulled away, you ached to feel his lips once more, but his eyes entranced you. Even in just the light of the full moon, you could still see that crisp blue, enveloping you in his longing.

“I never stopped thinking of you,” he said.

“Nor did I… Every second I was in that horrible place felt like the world ending all over again. All I wanted was to hear your voice again.”

On his knees before you, he felt like a pilgrim at the altar of his Goddess, to whom he promised eternal worship and sacrifice—the only divinity he devoted himself to, the only saint worth sanctifying, the only idol he held to such exaltation that he would gladly be nailed to a cross in sacrifice for Her and Her alone. In the temple of your body, he felt your heartbeat against his chest, even beyond the plate of armor that separated him from you. At least, he swore he could. How he missed that feeling.

“I’m here now, princess… And I love you.”

For a while, the space between you seemed to be the entirety of the universe, the center of it all right where your chests met, where your hearts beat. In the bliss of the silent, cool night air, you smiled. “Oh, my sweet knight.”

But the peaceful darkness was broken by the harsh glow of a flame, creeping into your line of vision despite all your focus concentrated on the man before you. Behind him, a figure was silhouetted by the light, moving between the trees on the edge of the forest.

It was a figure you knew well.

Tall, lean, almost slithering, but much too bold for that—he moved with more arrogance. It was more like a saunter, but with an unmistakable rage in his heavy, ominously slow step.

Daryl felt the presence, shooting up from his knees to withdraw his sword, his body shielding you from whatever danger lurked. The minute he saw his face, that wide, chortling grin, a strange feeling overcame him. Though it was mostly abject fury, there was a hint of satisfaction, as though the perfect opportunity had befallen him.

Bloodlust. He’d felt it before, but never like this. Never before did he have such a resolute desire to kill a man, and now the man was before him, he did not have to wish that he could’ve been able to kill Negan himself. He was right there, and just as he knew he would the minute that vile man set his filthy snake eyes on you, he was going to kill him.

There was no question, no hesitation, no other option. Daryl would have his head for taking you from him, for hurting you, for even looking at you.

In Negan’s hand was the lit torch from which the light had come. In the other, a sword. He was not heavily armored, only protected by a breastplate and loose chain mail draping over his arms, but the way he glowered at Daryl now, his smile becoming more devious and sinister by the second, you knew he was here to fight.

With your knife behind your back, you stood to your feet, positioning yourself so you were nearly alongside Daryl, but he quickly moved in front of you, shielding you from the presence of Negan.

But beyond his shoulder, you could still see the bitterness in his gaze as he approached, sauntering as he swung his sword by his legs.

“Daryl, I presume?”

For the first time in his life, he made sure that his title was honored. “Sir Daryl.”

Negan’s eyes widened in amusement and faux impress. “Pardon my inelegance… Sir Daryl, I believe you have taken something from me. Something that belongs to me.”

Behind your snarl was a momentary lapse of fear, only vanquished by smoldering anger and hatred. To think of any universe in which you belonged to that man was nothing short of abject horror. You only hoped that such a universe could never exist. Before you could think about it too long, Negan added another few words to his vile declarations.

“And I want it back.”

The it in question was you, of course, and the insinuation that you were some kind of object to be passed around only fueled Daryl with more hatred than his heart could stand. Another word from that man might have been fatal to the both of them.

“You’ll die first,” he said.

Negan let out a hearty chuckle, underscored by a biting bitterness that cut through the knight’s armor, reminding him of the danger he was up against. Daryl might’ve been a good fighter, but surely Sir Negan was no amateur. He had been knighted once, after all, and he could not have made it to his position as a leader without some battle prowess. It was evident in the way he walked, his sword now held high in both hands, the torch he once carried thrown haphazardly to the dirt and illuminating the scene with the hellish glow of an orange flame.

“Are you challenging me to a duel, knight?”

“No,” replied Daryl, swinging his sword upright with impressive swiftness and skill. “I won't duel a dishonorable knight… But I am going to kill you.”

As Negan held back another insufferable chuckle, you stood to your bare feet, one hand still holding the knife behind your back, the other upon the knight’s shoulder, as if to pull him away, but he was planted firmly. In fact, he nearly lunged towards the other man, if it weren’t for your touch.

“Daryl, you do not have to fight him,” you said under your breath, your concern not for the other man, but for the wellbeing of Daryl. You had already believed him to be dead just an hour ago, and you did not possess the strength to face that reality again. “He is weak now. The Sanctuary has fallen… He has nothing. He cannot take me again.”

But that was not good enough for him.

Negan was ordered to be killed on sight, and there was no way in Hell he would let that man go with his head still intact. Not after what he had done. The evidence was on your face as he looked back at you, his sight beginning to practically blur with rage. No, it did not matter how powerless Negan was now. All that mattered was ridding the air of his filthy stench.

“Princess,” Negan said, a bite to his teasing voice that made the bruised flesh around your eye sting. “When I kill your useless knight, you come with me.” There was a crazed desperation in his eyes, and a frantic adrenaline running through his veins until they bulged in his sweat-shined forehead.

The powerlessness came rushing back, the feeling that you were nothing but property to be claimed by whichever powerful man came along and made his decree. But that would never happen again, not anymore.

You’d spent too long feeling trapped in a world that you had no control over, like a flimsy paper doll subject to the whims of a careless child. Though there was not much you could do now, there was the reassurance that you were ultimately in control of your own destiny—that you were free.

And Daryl had freed you. Though you had the power in you all along, his love had changed you. It made you stronger, and now you stood in the face of that which threatened your destiny. With whatever power was within you, you would protect that destiny, and that destiny was him.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Daryl said to you, his voice low and rumbling with the earthquake of fury that rose inside of him. There was nothing else to say, only a steady look cutting through the heavy air between you. With a nod, you clenched your jaw and straightened your back in an attempt to hold back the fear of losing him again, though above all, you had faith in him.

Only three words fell from your trembling, burning lips: “Yes, you will.”

At length, Daryl stepped forward, while Negan matched his movements to the knight opposite of him. As their swords swung up in unison, the tension between them was broken by their sharp blades cutting through to meet, the sharp, stinging sound of silver crossing silver ringing in your ears as you watched, eyes wide and unblinking for fear of one second changing everything.

There was no fear of going back to Negan now, only the fear of losing Daryl.

But he was a good swordsman—that much you knew. And as he advanced forward diagonally, he met Negan’s next swing with a front guard and a heavy step forward to push the lighter man back with his body weight, then striking again in an attempt to lacerate the exposed skin of his opponent’s neck.

Negan was swift, though, fading backwards only to catch himself with the skill of a trained swordsman. He took a fierce lunge with his sword’s point aimed at the space between Daryl’s breastplate and his underarm, but Daryl blocked the attack with a short guard, his sword held with such force that it propelled Negan’s sword nearly out of his hands.

Daryl’s movements were equally as swift now, his attack coming quickly as he lunged towards Negan with the offensive. He raised his sword high now, coming at the taller man with a window guard that poised his blade just above his own head, the point headed directly for Negan’s eye.

If the strike had hit, you were sure you’d be sick to your stomach to see the steel penetrate his face, blood surely spewing in a geyser as the blade would tunnel through the brain and exit out the back of his head, but Negan was too cunning, once again.

With a pivot, he swiveled himself to the right of Daryl, using his height to his advantage as he turned his sword at an angle, then used the pommel of his hilt to strike at the base of the back of Daryl’s neck, the pain of which elicited a grunt from the man who stumbled forwards.

A fearful gasp escaped your lips, though only rage burned through you, causing you to grip harder on the handle of the dagger you still held behind your back, waiting only for the right moment to strike. You took to studying the man’s weak points—the spots at which his minimal armor allowed for easy access. His back was only draped in chain mail, which you knew to be weaker than steel plate.

And the blade Daryl had given you was incredibly sharp, with its point small enough to penetrate through small crevices and weak spots in armor. If you could get through that chain mail, you might puncture his heart from the back… But he moved so fast, his feet conjuring a whirlwind of dust as he slid to and fro above the dirt ground.

Though Daryl had caught himself before he could fall, he was winded by the hit to his neck. Negan only smiled, swaying his head in arrogant amusement as the knight returned his gaze with a glare.

Had this been a true duel, Negan’s hit would have been unsanctioned, an unfair and unchivalrous move that would have had him disqualified. Daryl should have known, though, that a dishonored knight would not abide by any code, and that the only way he would be able to defeat Negan was to forgo any last shred of chivalry he could spare.

A man of Negan’s ilk did not deserve such a privilege anyway.

“You see, my princess,” Negan called out over his shoulder to you, his eyes never leaving the huffing and puffing knight whose face grew more red and more strained with each second that Negan still breathed. As he spoke he swung his sword in haphazard circles through the air in front of him, a slight chuckle rumbling under his voice. “He’s pathetic, a waste of a good sword. How could your so-called knight keep you safe when he can’t even keep his balance?”

Daryl stood still, momentarily paralyzed by unspeakable anger as sweat soaked through his hair and trickled down the hot skin of his face. Heavy pants and an increasingly frantic heartbeat nearly drowned out the man’s loud, brash voice, but it cut through like a hot knife, scorching his burning skin as his words gouged a little deeper with each stinging utterance.

“Oh, but he could not even protect you when the Dead invaded your kingdom… He couldn’t protect you then, and he sure as hell can’t protect you now.”

The man turned towards you now, peeling his aways away from Daryl to saunter slowly in your direction. You stepped back, eyes wide and lips agape with quick pants. As fear overwhelmed you, you kept your hands behind your back, just waiting for him to get a little closer, though he never did.

Daryl lunged towards him, taking advantage of Negan’s momentary lapse of attention to raise his sword and swing it down just as his opponent turned around. But Negan was quick, retreating with a backwards step and a block that pushed Daryl back too.

And Negan knew what he was doing—weakening Daryl with his words, drawing out his anger to render his technique sloppy and uncoordinated. So he continued, gesturing the tip of his sword towards the knight.

“You know how this ends,” he said. “You know that I’m gonna win… Because people like me, we always win in this world. People who take what they want and get what they want.”

But none of those words meant anything to Daryl, who could not comprehend anything past the smug grin that split Negan’s face, and the boiling of his blood as he grew nearly faint with rage.

Through heavy panting breaths, he spoke without even hearing his own voice: “I said… I’m the one who’s gonna kill you… And I am no liar.”

With a strong footing, he threw himself forward with a grunt so loud that it could have suited as a battlecry. His swing was fueled by pure hatred, to the point that he moved even faster than Negan could deflect this time. It made your heart jump in your chest, watching your knight seem to gain the upper hand again, his sword never relenting and his movements swift enough to dodge every stroke that came his way.

Now, Negan was winded, his long legs seeming to almost shake underneath him as he struggled to keep his body guarded against Daryl’s blade. With a swift advance, calculated yet impassioned by another outburst of anger, he drew Negan’s attention with a false strike, his blade not following through with the swing directed towards his abdomen.

Negan’s right shoulder was effectively exposed now, displayed for just a millisecond directly before Daryl’s eyes. Where his pauldron slipped, loosened by the movement, a sliver of aged leather was revealed between plates of shining black steel. In a split second, he made a hard strike, the edge of his blade slicing through the leather and gouging open the skin of his shoulder.

Negan bellowed deeply, groaning in pain as he swung haphazardly while Daryl faded back, narrowly missing the edge of his blade.

The cut was deep, digging through muscle and ligaments and nearly into bone. If Daryl had swung any harder, his arm might’ve been hanging on only by a thread of blood dripping flesh.

But there was enough strength in his arm still to raise his sword again, barrelling towards Daryl as fast as his anger could carry him. Daryl deflected his strike with a front guard, but the second blow was strong enough to do the unthinkable.

Your eyes widened as a gasp escaped your lips, the edge of his sword cutting through the air as it flew a yard or two away from your knight’s outstretched hand. With nothing to block against Negan’s next move, Daryl was rendered defenseless.

“Daryl!”

The knight had fallen on his back, struggling to return to his feet just as Negan walked over him, planting his muddied boots on each of his wrists to keep him pinned down, despite his fingers flexing in desperation to reach the handle of the sword that lay just inches from reach.

And your heart had dropped to your stomach again, your frantic mind scrambling to figure out what to do. There was that blade in your hands, and perhaps you could… No—not perhaps.

There was no doubt in your mind now what you needed to do, the red cascade of blood beginning to pour over the silver steel of his greaves. Negan’s last swing had been strong enough to slice through the armor, into the flesh of Daryl’s thigh. Without his sword, and without the strength to free himself from underneath Negan’s feet, he could not defend himself against Negan. Even with the wound to his shoulder, he had the upper hand. The final upper hand.

That fear showed itself again—that same confusion and uncertainty that overtook you and made you freeze when that herd closed around him, a feeling which you knew all too well. Now, he was not surrounded by the Dead, but something much more evil: a man whose selfishness and greed trumped any human decency he once might have had.

But you would never feel powerless again. Not when you were in control, and that misericord in your trembling hands could put an end to the fear that had held you in its clutch for a decade. All this time, you thought freedom was in leaving the walls of Alexandria, but it was in something else, too.

Freedom was in putting an end to that which kept you imprisoned in fear.

As you moved forward, your aching, lacerated feet carried you slowly, silently towards the man whose back was turned to you. With your eyes narrowed on a ring of silver in the center of the chain mail draped over his back. Unblinking and barely breathing, you lifted the small blade, trapped in the clutch of your hand beneath your white knuckles.

“You’re the one who’s gonna kill me, huh?” Negan’s head tilted slightly as he watched Daryl struggle to free himself, his face displaying the utter amusement that such a sight afforded him. “Now, I just don’t see that happening… You know, you really shouldn’t come to a duel without a sword.”

With a huff, the knight spat a glob of saliva at Negan. A futile exercise in defiance, but what else was he to do?

“Now, because I am a merciful man,” he continued, the tip of his sword beginning to dig into the skin of Daryl’s neck, just enough to draw a bead of fresh blood onto the already bloodied edge, “I’ll let you make your peace with my princess, whom you so unceremoniously swept away from my castle.”

Without turning completely towards you, he called out your name. “My princess,” he said, “is there anything you’d like to say before I rid your knight of his weary head?”

For a moment, you feared he would turn to see you just inches from him, your knife poised to dig into his back, but just before you lunged forward, you answered him—with the only words you could think to say in response:

“I am not your princess.”

The closeness of your voice widened his eyes, and just before he turned, you’d felt the heaviness of the knife tunneling into his flesh, its sharp tip carving a path straight to his cold, evil heart.

You swore you could even feel it beating, if it had ever beat at all.

Negan stumbled backwards, taking you with him as your hands were still grasped tight around the handle of your dagger.

And the weight was lifted from the knight’s wrists, as Negan’s grip on his own sword faltered and weakened. The blade fell from his hands, but in midair, the knight caught it by its hilt as he leaned up with all his strength.

In just a moment’s time, he swung.

The slice was clean, only a splash of hot blood stinging your cold cheek. Severed with ease, the head flew in midair only for a few moments, landing in the dirt not far from the knight’s fallen sword.

Negan’s headless body sank to the floor, almost with an eerie consciousness, as though even his body insisted to stand his ground until the last possible moment. With only the distant crackling of the torch and the heavy breaths back and forth between you and him, the silence of the night swallowed the tension that had once lingered in the air.

Now there was only relief, and whatever was left of the fear you had began to crumble away.

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