#right get that security guard host

[traffi]

The older you get, the more birthdays feel like normal days. But when you have people celebrating with you, you can forget about being an adult for a day. Happy Birthday Reigen

[the-final-sif]

I feel like there's two parts to the no fly list leak that are getting overlooked right now

1) the person in question has the handle "maia arson crimew" meaning media outlets have to cite "crimew" as the person they're quoting, which is amazing.

2) From everything I've read, crimew didn't actually commit a crime (in this case at least). According to crimew, the no-fly list was discovered on a publicly accessible server, totally unsecured. crimew was using Shodan which is a totally legal tool regularly used by a lot of the security community for research. Schools use and provide access to Shodan, it's a normal tool. Nothing crimew was doing was out of the ordinary. Her access and use of the file was most likely legal (or at least next to impossible to prosecute), given that it was publicly accessible.

crimew even notified CommuteAir of the data vulnerability. Which prevented more sensitive data from leaking, and was absolutely a sign of acting in good faith. Her obligation to even do that is a pretty gray area, but she did it anyways.

Now, crimew has gotten charged by the US in the past for other things, however, Swiss citizens cannot be extradited against their will. So the proceedings were suspended. She could only be charged under Swiss law, and given that the data is/was publicly accessible and the exposure was for public good, that's very unlikely to happen.

The people actually getting investigated by congress/the FBI/the TSA are the idiots at CommuteAir that were hosting the no fly list on an unsecured publicly accessible server. They're the ones who actually get in trouble for failing to have followed basic security protocols. They're the ones who had a legal obligation to safe guard that data, and they're the ones who fucked up.

[puck-luck]

hallmates | quinn hughes

warnings: voyeuristic themes (thin walls), masturbation (fem), dirty talk, wet dreams, drunkenness, quinn pining but barely, garland mentioned before i found out he followed trump and tucker carlson on instagram..., PROTECTED p in v (for once), the smut in this is not as strong as previous pieces of mine, use of Y/N. pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader summary: when fem!reader moves in next to qh, there are two instances where she forgets just how thin the walls are. the second time, quinn is sure to remind her. wc: 5746

Your first grown-up job out of college has been great. You like your coworkers, you’re not bored with your daily tasks, and they gave you a very generous relocation package for your move to Vancouver. You were lucky enough to find a nice apartment with the money, and you paid the first three months’ rent easily. It’s your first one-bedroom apartment, finally living on your own for the first time in your life, and almost everything is perfect.

Almost everything.

Your one gripe is that you can hear your neighbor through the wall when he gets home from his job at weird hours, or when he has friends over during weeknights when you’re trying to prepare for work the following day, or even when he hosts holiday parties for what sounds like fifty-plus people.

It happens often enough that you’re annoyed when his presence makes itself known, but you’re not the kind of person to go over and tell him to knock it off. Plus, you decided that you’d give him a pass because it’s not like he’s doing it on purpose.

Well, that, and he’s cute.

The first time you met was on move-in day. You were lugging your suitcases up the stairs leading to the apartment and he offered to help you carry them in. He took them both– one in each hand– and lifted them like they were nothing. He brought them all the way to the lobby, then smiled softly at you instead of saying “You’re welcome” when you thanked him. You had to talk to the security guard to get your key before ascending up to your floor in the elevator, and in that time, the cute boy had disappeared. You hadn’t caught his name, but you had texted your best friends and informed them that there was at least one hottie in your building.

You learned his name the second time he helped you carry something up the stairs. You had gone grocery shopping at the market down the street and had conveniently forgotten your reusable bags. Before you realized your mistake, you had gone a little crazy with the fruits and vegetables. You’d had to pack all of your goodies into two bursting paper bags that one of the vendors had on hand, and they were filled to the brim. You made it all the way to the bottom of the steps to your apartment when the handles of the bags tore off and all of your hard work was suddenly for naught.

The bags went crashing to the pavement, dirty and littered with the fallen leaves that hadn’t been corralled when they first made their way to the ground, and the prized red onion that you were going to chop up tonight as part of your dinner rolled about a foot away. 

All in all, you should’ve been glad it was the onion. You always peel the skin off of an onion before you cook it, and you always wash it thoroughly before cutting it up, but you reacted like it was the end of the world. Your prized onion was tarnished by the ground, which was silly, because they come from the ground in the first place. 

The onion rolled all the way to your neighbor’s feet. He was arriving home with a friend, a short brunet with floppy hair and a mustache. “You okay?” Your neighbor asked. He picked up the onion and cradled it in his palm.

“I’m fine,” you replied. “Just not sure how I’m going to carry all of this upstairs without the handles.”

“We’ll help out. You live next to Huggy, right?” The friend said, bending down to lift one of the bags. He cradles it in his arms and your neighbor does the same.

“Huggy?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

Your neighbor, in the meanwhile, had blushed beet-red and stooped down to pick up the other bag of groceries. “That’s me. It’s a nickname.”

“Huggy Bear,” his friend cooed, bumping his arm and knocking your neighbor off balance. 

“It’s Quinn. My name. You can call me Quinn,” your neighbor said, diverting your attention from the silly nickname.

“How do you know which apartment I live in, Quinn?” You questioned. You walked alongside the men as they took your groceries up the stairs, into the elevator, and into your apartment.

Quinn had cut his friend off by replying first. “Moving in makes a lot of noise. I live next door and we share a wall. You weren’t really quiet when you built your bed. I’m glad you have somewhere to sleep, but I could live without the expletives.” He reveals the information with a smile, the same slight curve of his lips that you’re starting to really admire.

That was that. They dropped the groceries off on your kitchen counter and you thanked them for the help, then sent them on their way.

The third time you saw Quinn– well, it started this whole mess. He’s been nice to you twice, so you thought you would repay him with the best thing you could think of: brownies. You’d just gotten the recipe from your aunt to make them from scratch and, hey, he’s a guy, right? Guys like baked goods. 

The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Not that you’re trying to get to Quinn’s heart. You wouldn’t mind it, but you’re not… trying.

Thirty minutes later, you’re knocking on Quinn’s door with a plate of brownies. Half of your goods are on the platter, ready for Quinn to dig into. The rest are on your counter, their yummy scent rising in waves from them like in a cartoon and waiting for you to return. 

You only know that he’s home because you can hear him through the wall. After he told you that the walls were thin, you’d been noticing the same thing. It wasn’t just when he gets home or when he has people over. You can hear him moving around and cooking throughout the day. You can hear his sports channels through the wall– yes, that’s right, channels. Multiple. You’re not sure, but he might have two or even three TVs. 

Long story short, Quinn’s home. It takes him a few minutes to come to the door when you knock. “Who is it?” He asks, voice muffled through the door.

“Your friendly next door neighbor,” you reply. “With a plate of fresh brownies.”

The lock slides open and Quinn appears from behind the door. You hold the plate out to Quinn and he takes it from you with one hand. The other rests above his head on the doorframe. He leans over you, smiling softly. 

Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. You don’t know where you were going with this. Your eyes are drawn to his neck, which looks muscular and, well, biteable.

“Enjoy the brownies,” you squeak out, then you turn on your heel and bolt away.

Like any normal woman who is shocked by her sudden visceral attraction to her admittedly-hot next door neighbor, you call your best friend. She talks you through it for a little while, then starts to stray into enemy territory: “Go out, Y/N. Get your mind off of it. Have a drink, get a little tipsy, then go over to his place and tell him how hot you think he is. You’ve never heard a girl’s voice, right? I feel like you would’ve, if he has a girlfriend. The worst he can say is that he’s not interested.”

When you try to weasel out of it, speaking in low tones so that Quinn doesn't hear you through the wall, she reminds you that your resolution for this “new stage of your life” was to stop being so anxious about what someone could say to you. You had declared that you wouldn’t let your own anxiety affect your ability to be vulnerable, especially not with the people that you find attractive. 

Damn your best friend. How dare she look out for you. She even promises to call you in four hours to check in on your drunkenness.

You make plans with the girl in your office that you’ve been taking lunch with. She’s also new– not compared to you, but within the past year. She remembers what it was like to be brand new to Vancouver, so she’s eager to go out with you and offer up her friendship. She takes you to two bars in the downtown area: when the first one gets too full with what she calls “the sport crowd,” you move to the next.

Your coworker’s favorite liquor is tequila. After three shots, which make you cringe despite filling your stomach with warmth, she pulls your troubles out of you. You tell her all about your “sexy” roommate– that’s right, Quinn has been upgraded from “hot” to “sexy” as a result of the alcohol– and she encourages you to try and bag him, just like your best friend did. She agrees that there’s no reason not to and that you should be fine because you’ve been bolstered by the tequila.

She tells you about the person she’s currently seeing and how confusing it is, rambling on and on. When the time comes, and you’re still out, your best friend does call. You talk to her for a second, then she meets your coworker through speakerphone, and they bond over the fact that they both think you should hook up with Quinn.

You party into the night, getting more and more loopy. Your confidence skyrockets by the end of the evening and your drinks are tasting like water. You’re probably too far gone to actually talk to Quinn tonight, but who cares? You feel good. You needed a night out like this.

By the time you’re getting in the Uber, there’s a goofy smile that hasn’t left your face since maybe your fifth drink. You’re able to stumble up the stairs to the lobby and gleefully greet the nighttime security guard at his desk, then you ride the elevator up to your floor. You look up and see yourself in the mirrors on the ceiling of the elevator, which is a treat for Drunk-You. It’s almost a shame when the elevator dings, having finally reached your floor, and you have to leave.

You walk down the hall and consider going up to Quinn’s door, but your phone vibrates in your pocket and you dig it out. It’s the newly minted group chat between you, your coworker, and your bestie. It distracts you, and the clock in the top left corner informs you that you’ve gotten home at a crisp 1:30am, so you decide to go to bed. 

You go to bed, alright. You get ready, you get comfy, and then you remember Quinn’s neck. 

The skin looked so soft. The hair from his beard had started to creep down towards his adam’s apple, but it was neatly maintained. You can imagine how scratchy it would be in your palms, or against your cheek when he graces you with a little kiss, or against your neck while he sucks hickeys onto your skin… or against the sensitive expanse of your own thighs.

You know just how sensitive and delicate the skin is on your thighs because it’s where your fingers are dancing. 

As you drift off, mind still foggy from your drinks, your touch starts to feel much more like you imagine Quinn’s would. His big fingers, on that manly hand, would touch you so carefully. He’d be so determined to play you like a fiddle.

As you imagine your very sexy next door neighbor touching you, you’re making a lot more noise than you realize. It starts with a whimper here and there, then crescendos into actual moans and desperate keens. You’ve shoved your face into the pillow below you, but it does very little to muffle your moans– considering you’re a big fan of breathing, your face is more turned to the side so that you don’t actually suffocate yourself while in the middle of getting off. Your middle two fingers are shoved into your cunt, your index finger erratically sliding against your clit. 

“I know, baby, you feel so good. You want it so bad, don’t you?” Quinn’s imaginary and gently deprecating words wash over your brain like an intrusive thought. 

You bite your lip and turn into the pillow, pleading with him belligerently into the cushion. You’re fighting for your life in this little fantasy, feeling so overwhelmed, and the man you’re imagining isn’t even here. But, in your mind, he’s the one with his fingers inside of you, making you gasp out his name once when his finger passes over your clit just right. In your mind, he doubles down and turns you into a mess. The drinks clogging your mind are able to make it feel more real.

You’re so caught up in your own pleasure that you forget just how thin the walls are. You miss the sound of your neighbor tossing and turning in his bed, even standing at one point and pacing around his bedroom.

It’s only after you come that you hear his bedframe creak with the weight of his body and the faint music that he seems to be playing– maybe just as white noise to fall asleep. You write it off and succumb to the clawing hands of your own slumber. 

You see Quinn again the next day. You’re heading to work with a heavy hangover weighing on you– why did you listen to your best friend when she told you to go out on a Sunday? Why did you listen to your coworker when she brought out the second and third round of shots?– and Quinn seems to be heading to his own job. You still don’t know what that is.

You meet him in front of the elevator, waiting for its doors to open and let you in. You’re honestly not sure if the movement will make you feel more sick, or even push you over the edge and make you dizzy and on the verge of throwing up, like getting out of bed did when you woke up later than you meant to and you had to rush to get ready. Everything is too bright.

Quinn yawns three times in two minutes. You’re the only two in the elevator and the silence is growing more uncomfortable than the ache in your head, since you consider Quinn to be your… friend now? General acquaintance, distant crush, or next-door neighbor might be a better categorization. 

“Long night?” You ask. 

His cheeks turn pink, bizarrely, and Quinn seems determined to face straight forward. His eyes look a little more deer-in-headlights today, rather than the calm and serene blankness that you’re used to. Not that you’re used to looking into Quinn’s eyes. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologize, feeling for him. You’ve been the victim of a restless night many times over, so you know how dreadful it is the following day. “Do you know why?”

Quinn swallows harshly. “Um, I have an idea.”

It’s a weird answer, only because he doesn’t elaborate any further. You keep waiting for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. That is, until the elevator arrives in the parking garage under the complex, when Quinn starts to head one way towards his car and you start to go the other way to your own. To make things even more confusing, Quinn says in a very stilted voice, “Thanks for the brownies.”

Then, like you did when you dropped the brownies off the previous day, he bolts. 

At first, you’re confused, but you let it go. Maybe he was late for work. At least he took the time out of his day to thank you for the brownies, right?

You consider gifting him some of your sleepy-time tea, since he was having trouble sleeping and it’s clearly affecting him. Then you think to yourself that if you kept bringing Quinn treats, you would seem like a cat dropping a mouse at their owners’ feet… so you decide not to.

You feel vindicated with your choice in the coming days. Each time Quinn sees you, his eyes go wide and he scampers away as quickly as he can. It proves itself to be very confusing because he was so nice before. 

After a tough week at work, and another near-miss with Quinn, you’re just… tired. It’s been a weird few days. What you really want is to snuggle up in your bed, throw on some ambient music, drink a glass of wine, light a candle, and fall asleep early– after blowing out your candle, of course. You’d be damned if you were the reason the entire apartment burned down in the middle of the night.

You’re lucky enough that your plans for the night work out. You get to settle in with a book– a spicy romance novel that your coworker recommended to “take the edge off if you won’t knock on Quinn’s damn door.” She seems to think that the reason you’re having a bad week is because you haven’t hooked up with Quinn yet. You don’t think there’s any correlation.

There does seem to be a correlation between the spicy book, the mention of Quinn, and what happens later. You fell asleep with your book open against your chest, having been lulled to sleep by the comfort of your own home. 

It starts simple. Quinn’s lips are sliding against yours, his hand resting securely on your waist. You’re laying in bed and you’ve got a thigh over his hip, grinding into his generous length. Before you know it, and in dream-land it seems like a flash, Quinn’s length is inside of you. He’s got a thumb on your clit while the other plays with your hair, sweet kisses gracing your lips. Quinn’s content teasing you, thrusting as shallowly as he wants and leaving you whining for more. 

“Quinn,” dream-you insists between kisses. 

“Not enough for you, sweetheart?” dream-Quinn chides playfully, his voice riddled with fondness. “You weren’t even supposed to take my cock tonight. But no, you just had to be full. You couldn’t be content with warming me either, huh? You need me to fuck you whenever you want. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Quinn, I need you,” you confirm, whining a little bit and pursing your lips so he finds them again.

“Music to my ears,” Quinn tells you with a smile. “Let me make you come, yeah?”

“Quinn,” you moan again, his touch reducing you to a mess that can only say one word: his name.

You wake to a loud knock on your apartment door. “Y/N!” The person calls, and it sounds like a man, which alarms you in your freshly awoken state.

You roll out of bed and tug on your bathrobe, which you had thrown in the dryer during your first stint in bed, the one that had sent you into sleep. And– and– had sparked that weird dream that has you wet in your panties and wishing Quinn had been there when you woke up.

You tie the belt of the robe around your waist and look through the peephole– it is Quinn. Your wish came true, in a bizarre way. He’s here and he looks concerned. He’s lifting his hand to knock again, but you open the door.

“Quinn, what’s–”

“Are you okay?” He asks. He’s wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, as well as his tennis shoes. He probably just slipped those on to come over here. “You were saying my name. I heard you through the wall. You said you needed me. Are you hurt? Is something wrong?”

The barrage of questions leaves you rattled. You blink in surprise, trying to process all of his inquiries. “What?” You ask, squeezing your eyes shut hard to try and wipe the sleep away. 

“You were saying my name,” Quinn repeats. 

You squint, crossing your arms over your chest. “I was asleep,” you say, aware of how confused you sound.

“You were asleep,” Quinn repeats. He blinks twice, then repeats himself, sounding more sure. “You were asleep.”

“I was asleep,” you agree.

Quinn goes to leave, then faces you again and tilts his head to the side. “What were you dreaming about?” He asks. 

You feel your face flood with embarrassment. You’ve never been good at controlling your expression. “It was nothing.”

“Was I there?” Quinn checks. “Is that why you were saying my name?”

“You were there,” you confirm, hoping it’s enough to satisfy him and he leaves. 

Quinn smiles. He looks extra handsome when he smiles. He was smiling at you in your dream. He was doing a lot of good things in your dream. If only you could fall asleep and jump right back in– you were so close and his cock was filling you so well. 

“What was I doing in this dream?” Quinn crosses his arms and takes a step closer to you. 

You move closer to the door, keeping your hand on the doorknob, ready to slam it behind him as soon as he heads back to his apartment. “I don’t remember,” you lie. “You know, most people forget their dream within ten minutes of waking up.”

Quinn nods, still smirking. “You didn’t forget this one, though, did you?” He teases knowingly. 

“Bits and pieces.”

The next thing Quinn says is Earth-shattering. 

“Were you dreaming last time, too?”

You wish you could melt into the floor or camouflage yourself against the wall. You had a theory that Quinn had heard you getting off through the wall the night that you were drunk, although you don’t imagine that he understood your wanton noises. That was why he was running away so much. 

But… he’s not running away this time. He’s here and he’s pressing you for more and more details.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swallowing hard.

“The last time you were saying my name,” Quinn prompts. “Were you asleep then, too?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t think so,” You reply, scrubbing over your arms. It’s a sign of being uncomfortable. Hopefully Quinn picks up on that and goes, sparing you any further humiliation. You’ll never talk to him again. He’s heard you make sex noises twice, and now you know that he knows. It’s embarrassing.

Quinn takes another step forward. He’s right in the doorway now, inches away from stepping across the threshold and entering your apartment. “If you have another dream,” he says, pushing his long sleeves up to his elbows and revealing his arms. He dips his head, lowering his voice to a timbre that has you growing damp again. “You know where to find me.”

Like a final stamp of approval on an official document, Quinn touches the knot at the front of your robe. It’s a brief, fleeting touch and it’s so close to where his hands were originally planted in your dream.

He turns to leave and gets all of three steps away before you call him back. “Quinn.”

“Mhm?” He asks, knowing smile on his face. 

“How, um… how much did you hear?” You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. 

“The first time?” Quinn asks. “Or this time?”

You don’t really want to know the answer, but you nod anyway. “Uh...both?”

“Well,” Quinn says. “Today, you didn’t seem to get very far.”

No thanks to you, you think bitterly. I would’ve liked to see how that dream ended.

“But the first time, I heard everything,” Quinn informs you with a little shrug. “You… you sound really pretty when you come.”

It’s a sheepish admission and it has your jaw dropping. You fishmouth at him for a second, unable to think of something to say. He can just say shit like that? What? How?

“I guess I was hoping…” Quinn licks his lower lip, then looks you up and down. “That if I interrupted you this time, I’d get to… experience the real thing. Not just listen in through the wall.”

“You want…” you trail off, overwhelmed by the information he’s giving you. Quinn wants to have sex with you? But he’s your neighbor crush– this is a new development in the dynamic that you were not expecting. You’re not usually the kind of girl whose little crushes are reciprocated, at least, not like this.

Quinn raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to complete the sentence. When you don’t, he asks another question. “What was I doing in your dream, Y/N?”

“We, um, we were in bed,” you stammer out, feeling unsure. He wants to know– he’s made that very clear. Still, you’re somewhat reluctant. It might be coming off as coyness by accident.

“Can I come in?” Quinn asks. “I need to get the full picture. I don’t know what your bed looks like.”

You stand aside and allow him in. You close, and, out of habit, lock the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom. You try to see it through his eyes for the first time, although you���ve been living here for a while, so it’s hard. It’s just your bedroom.

“So this is where we were,” Quinn says. “Then what?”

“We were laying down,” you explain.

Quinn starts to take off his shoes, then his socks, then he climbs into your bed. “Like this?”

You feel lightheaded. What is he doing? This is so bizarre.

“Kind of?” You reply. You join him. “It was more like– this?” You pull at his arm until he lays on his side, facing you. You face him, bringing his elbow up so it rests on the pillow. 

He asked, you remind yourself. He wants to know. He asked. It’s weird, but you’re just showing him. 

You resolutely avoid his eyes, which have been trained on your face this whole time. Your cheeks are probably going to remain stained pink from the constant blush on your skin. You lay your head on the curve of his arm, then touch his cheek. Just his cheek. You’re still avoiding his eyes. It’s getting harder. “And then, um, my leg was over your hip, too.”

“Like this?” Quinn asks, bringing his warm palm to the curve of your knee and guiding your leg into place. He leaves his hand there.

“Like that,” you confirm faintly. 

All of your neurons are firing like crazy, making you question if this, too, is a dream. Has your subconscious gotten so meta that you can’t decipher what’s real and what’s fake?

“What else did we do?” Quinn’s voice has dropped to a whisper. His hand is still on your thigh.

“Well, your hand was here,” You say, correcting him and bringing his hand to your waist. “And you…”

Quinn gives your waist a little squeeze. “I… what?”

“You were kissing me,” you say, your voice barely a breath. This can’t be real. 

Quinn surprises you. “Good,” he murmurs. “I’ve been waiting to do that.” He leans in, letting his lips ghost over yours before he meets you completely. He’s hesitant, waiting for you to relax with him. 

You don’t fully, still confused from waking up and the fact that this happened so quickly and in such a bizarre way. When he pulls away, you voice your confusion. “Are you real?” You question under your breath.

Quinn chuckles, leaning in to kiss you again. “I’m real.”

He continues to kiss you. Over and over, until you finally melt into his touch and start to do exactly what you were doing in your dream– grinding against him. 

“Were you doing this in your dream?” Quinn asks. He’s helping guide your movements and you can feel him swelling beneath you. He’s not wearing underwear– you can tell. You want it, bad, and now that you’ve been kissing him, you’re more willing to explain the rest of your dream to him.

“More,” you breathe out. “I needed your cock inside me.”

Quinn makes a noise of surprise, but the way he kisses you after you say that reveals his enthusiasm.

“And you were talking to me,” you reveal as Quinn starts to meet your rolling hips. “You were– you were teasing me for being so needy.”

“What was I saying?” Quinn’s hand twitches against your waist, pulling you closer. He licks into your mouth briefly, then pulls back. “What had you begging for me, sweetheart?”

“Making fun of me,” you exhale. “Saying– I couldn’t get enough of you. That I was greedy and that I couldn’t be satisfied with just warming you–”

“Warming me,” Quinn repeats quietly, interrupting you.

You talk over him. “So you had to fuck me, but you weren’t really fucking me– you were just, inside, barely moving and your thumb was on my clit.”

“As if I could hold myself back like that,” Quinn scoffs. You grab the sides of his shirt and tug petulantly, bringing him in for another kiss. You’re addicted. 

“Show me,” you invite. “Show me how you’d fuck me. Show me what you’d do differently. Please. You came all the way over here– I want to make it worth your time.”

Quinn groans into your mouth, bringing his hand from your waist to the tie of your robe. “Really?”

“Don’t make me ask again,” you say. “I was so close in my dream.”

Quinn reacts to that in the same way. “Fuck, let me get my fingers in you first–”

“No.”

“No?” Quinn repeats, pulling away from you. 

“Not no,” you correct, bringing your hands to his waistband and snapping the band impatiently. “Just– I want your cock. Just your cock. Please fuck me, Quinn.” You kiss him sweetly one more time. “Please?”

“Undress yourself,” Quinn says. “I want to see all of you.”

“You too,” you reply. “Take your clothes off.”

As you undress, untying the knot of your belt and tossing the robe to the floor of your bedroom, you talk. You take your big t-shirt off, asking, “Condom?”

Quinn digs into the pocket of his sweats, having shed his shirt. He pulls out a foil– just one, sadly– and tosses it to you. 

You catch it, tearing the edge of the packet and taking out the ring of plastic inside of it. You push your panties down with one hand, while Quinn loses his sweats. As soon as his cock is revealed to you, hard and pink at the tip, you jump into action. You’re rolling the condom on quickly, unable to help yourself from pumping his shaft a few times.

“Quit,” Quinn remarks, batting your hand away and laying back down. He’s on his side, pulling your thigh back over his hip and resuming the position from before. He puts his hand under your jaw, then guides his cock to your opening. He pushes in, rolling his hips until every single inch is sheathed inside of you. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good.”

“You’re big,” you reply, holding his shoulders and tilting your pelvis forward to encourage him to move. “Filling me so nice, Q.”

“Q,” Quinn echoes, his voice sounding a little strangled. “That’s– that’s nice.”

You wonder if he’s holding back. He always seems to when it comes to talking to you. After a while, maybe he’ll give you something more than his shy words and his hesitant admissions. He’s in your bed now, but he’s still holding back.

He starts to rut against you, finding a rhythm in which his cock slides in and out of your heat. The movement is smooth because you’re so wet from dreaming about him, then kissing him, and now having him inside. Even though there’s the barrier of protection between you, he’s warm and you can feel the way his skin stretches over his veins and his tip. That, combined with the scrape of his member against your fleshy walls, creates something so warm inside of you that you can’t help but ask for more.

Quinn gives you everything you ask for like he can’t imagine doing anything else. Soon enough, he’s holding himself up slightly by his elbow so he has some leverage to fuck into you harder and faster. 

You’re moaning, pulling him closer and threading your fingers through his hair. “Quinn,” you’re saying, repeating the word that inspired him to come over in the first place. 

He’s saying your name, too. He’s whispering it into your ear and into your mouth as he presses kisses wherever he can reach. He thrusts, he says your name, he kisses. He thrusts again, he says your name again, and he kisses you again. It’s an endless cycle, a perpetual loop. It’s soft and sweet, even though the way he’s fucking you is anything but. His thrusts are sharp and pointed, hitting the right spot inside of you as often as he can. 

The kiss to your neck is your undoing. He’s sucking a bit, biting down just barely, and his tongue works against your pulse point. It’s too much, too full of something deeper. You let go, making the noise he likes so much– the noise that he said was pretty, and he meant it, even as bashful as he looked when he said it. Your moan mixes with his name again.

Quinn spills into the condom shortly after, touching you reverently and letting his hips jerk and twitch through his release. 

You feel innately close to him, like you’re part of him. It’s bizarre how one hookup with your cute neighbor leaves you feeling satisfied and unsettled– ‘unsettled’ because, well, why would you feel so close to a man you’ve slept with once and only had a few genuine conversations with?

Quinn eases your thoughts by letting you know that he feels, at least, a little bit similar to you. 

“Can I take you to dinner?” He asks. “I’m busy most of the time, but I want to take you out. Let’s make time to have a real date.” Quinn pauses. “Unless you don’t want to– if you just want this, that’s okay. I just– I’d feel stupid if I didn’t ask.”

You touch his mouth, effectively silencing him, even though you hadn’t meant to. You just wanted to feel his lips move while he spoke. “I’ll go to dinner with you,” you agree. “If you sleep here tonight.”

Quinn smiles. “Done.”

[queers-gambit]

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice

title citation: Hamlet

prompt: similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: The Truth Will Out collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 18.3k+

note: SLUTTY ANGST CLUB, COME GET Y'ALL JUICE!

warnings: not edited. heapings of angst, hurt and no comfort, fuck your feelings. tweaked timeline, cursing, Bridgerton influenced, Aemond's both a bestie and an outstanding, fucking asshole - so is this vilified Aemond? eavesdropping trope, nicknamed reader, insecurity, insults, betrayl, abundance of ye ol' misogyny, self destructive tendencies; a single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure. there's men being men, men being gossipy little bitches, and the most random Lord of the Rings quote that kinda breaks the fourth wall?

Bridgerton - available to watch on Netflix 🍒 this fic was written before season three premiered

Jacaerys Velaryon version: coming soon

Tonight was a celebration that echoed across the entire Realm. Lords and Ladies alike with their service maids, House guards, any available singletons flocked to King's Landing for the courting season. They did this annually. Three solid months for eligible singles to make a match and attempt to secure their bond in matrimony.

Ladies wore layers of multicolored fabrics. Lords dressed in embellished tunics. Ladies tied on tight corsets to push their breasts to their necks. Lords shaved their facial hair, appearing "cleaned up". Ladies smelt of exotic perfume and Lords stood in shiny boots. All wore sparkling, gaudy jewelry.

While the Starks of Winterfell and the Umbers of Last Hearth traveled over a month to reach the capital, your family, the Tyrells from Highgarden, had a much more comfortable commute. Greyjoys and Mormonts sailed in from the Iron Islands and Bear Island, Tullys from Riverrun, Royces and Arryns from the Eyrie. Single, available, eligible Hightowers returned under Queen Alicent's sponsorship, Lannisters prowled in from Lannisport, and select few Martells arrived in gorgeous, gloriously golden carriages from Dorne.

Everyone who was anyone descended onto the Red Keep, eager to earn King Viserys' stamp of approval - being that he only granted one couple his presence at their ceremony. It was the highest of honors, a prize to be won, a chance to show off and show out; giving the two bonded families bragging rights until the next season. Plus there's a superstition that all weddings the King attended were prosperous, healthy, and long lasting marriages. There was a buzz in the air, a static of excitement and mystery; tension brewing when the members of court arrived and sized each other up for that first week. You thought they were silly for this energy, akin to strutting peacocks, treating their own like competition, treating bloodlines like currency.

You never realized how many purists there were.

While the other Houses had to travel, you were most lucky to already host residence in the Red Keep. Your uncle, Evin Tyrell, had once been in line to assume lordship over Highgarden, but after losing his son to the War of the Stepstones, Evin turned away from his inherited responsibilities; forcing it onto your father's shoulders. You had several siblings, both younger and older, and eventually got lost in your bustling, busy, arguably large family. Evin had no more children, wife long departed from this life, and was excited by the prospect of being a guardian; insisting you come with him to King's Landing, where he accepted a tutoring position for the King's children and grandchildren.

You were absolutely romanced by the idea of existing among the royal family, telling your father it was your one chance at a decent, higher education - an opportunity to study under the Targaryens being once in a lifetime. Truth be told, you're not entirely sure Lord Tyrell even processed your words, approving with a distracted grunt and a wave; gone by the next morning without even breaking your fast with your family. Evin hooked both your beloved horse and one of your father's young stallions to a wooden cart you shared, using the journey to King's Landing to prepare you for the life you were soon to live.

You had always been a little wild child, so, Evin felt it necessary to remind you of your manners; brushing up on your etiquette, quizzing you on members of the Royal Family, explaining what would be expected of you now that you were a guest to the royals.

For well over a decade, you were the single wildflower blooming through dragon fire, earning the moniker Rose of the Realm; living under Queen Alicent's good grace. She seemed to like you well enough, going as far as to invite you to family events after noticing the bond between you and her openly favorite son, Prince Aemond. Years ago, when you were fresh and new to the Capital City, your uncle brought you to attend Lady Laena Velaryon's funeral on Driftmark at the King's invitation. You already had a friendship with the young royals; keeping Helaena company, trying to sneak Aegon's chalices of wine out of his grip, and when the time came, rushed off over the sandy dunes with your best mate after he told you his plan to lay claim on Lady Laena's dragon, Vhagar.

After the King's heir, Princess Rhaenyra's (rumored) bastard son, Lucerys, slashed Aemond's eye from his socket, you became incredibly close. Impossible close. Like unbelievably close; being thick as thieves, joined at the hip, magnetically pulled towards one another before clicking into tight place. You were his pillar of support, his anchor to reality; and he was your salvation.

You realized you were in love with him when you turned ten-and-six. It was something strange, the two of you studying together in the library and when you looked up from your book to meet his eyes, you just understood. Something in your brain clicked, heart cemented in knowing, guts twisting in sudden realization, words caught in your throat and only letting out an inaudible gasp. Ever since that day, you were acutely aware of anything the Prince did; from the way he would caress the back of your head at each embrace, to his eye darting to look at your lips during conversations. From how he took almost every meal with you, to the way he insisted upon your invitation to family, public, and / or royal events. From the way he absorbed your secrets and opinions, to the way he shared his own - getting back what you put forth, forever mutual.

Being friends - best mates, even - with Aemond was easy. So easy, in fact, that nobody ever batted an eye when they saw the two of you unchaperoned. Your friendship was wholesome, endearing, supportive, enlightening, and pleasurably challenging in the sense that Aemond liked pushing your envelope; testing your boundaries. He set new standards and helped lift you to meet those goals, made you think harder, consider new points of view, expand your humanity.

What more could anyone ask for?

About half way through the current season, your uncle sent for you to join him for afternoon tea in the gardens. "Do you recognize these?" He asked when you arrived at the pavilion he sought shade under, admiring the bushes of florals surrounding the bannister.

"Of course," you smirked, hands behind your back as you stood at his shoulder, "they're honeysuckle."

"Native to only Highgarden, just like I called you in your youth," Evin added, plucking a bloom to admire. "Do you know why they're planted here?"

"I imagine through pollination?"

"A sound guess, but no," your uncle handed you the flower. "These were imported years ago, but have only bloomed now."

You nodded, sucking the bud to extract its honey-sweet taste, asking through puckered lips, "Imported by whom?"

"Do you remember your 17th nameday?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess, it was only a few years ago. You weren't here, you were on some diplomatic matter, right?"

"Inna way. After I concluded my affairs, I returned to Highgarden. You see, Prince Aemond confided in me how he wished to do something special for your birthday and knew you missed home. He asked me to bring these seeds back."

"Aemond asked you to plant honeysuckle?"

"Specifically here," Elvin grinned, "so they were within easy reach."

"So why have they only just now bloomed?" You tried to keep the jittery excitement out of your voice; baffled yet giddy from hearing about Aemond's kind gesture.

"There's an old legend," Evin gestured you to the patio table and chairs that was dressed for your social visit. "It's said, when the honeysuckle is gifted from lover to lover, they will only bloom when love surrounds them. I believe they have come to life this season as a portent to an impending match to be made."

"You spend too much time with Otto, Uncle, you're starting to sound like him - veiling your words and talking in riddles. Tell me why you called me here, Uncle, I know it's not for a botany lesson. Out with it, please, for the sake of my sanity."

Evin chuckled, watching you lean forward to pour two mugs of tea. "I was wondering, sweet niece, what the nature of your relationship is to the Prince Aemond?"

"Oh," you blinked, adding a sugar cube to your brew before stirring in a bit of milk, "well, I hate to disappoint, but I don't know what to tell you, Uncle. We're friends, nothing more or less."

"You seem real chummy."

"We're close, yes."

"Romantic?"

You scoffed, "Uncle, please - "

"Tell me the truth of it."

"Nothing inappropriate or unseemly nor nefarious has occurred between us, Uncle, I promise you. The Prince and I are just friends."

Evin sipped his tea, nodding slowly, "Well, humor me. If I asked who you would marry, who would you choose?"

"Well, as of right now, I'd choose myself since I don't know the men at court yet, only rumors and whispers."

"And if the offer of marriage presented itself, would you marry the Prince?"

"I would do my duty to our House, no matter the suitor."

Evin nodded slowly, "If I said I had struck a pact with the Queen and Hand, what would you say?"

"That despite what I've just said, if you marry me off to Aegon, I'll pitch myself from a window."

Your uncle's head tilted back as he belted short laughter. "I would never condemn you to such a fate, honey girl! Have more faith in me. I speak of Prince Aemond - it's why I asked about him."

"Uncle, speak plainly. Have you attempted to make such a match between the Prince and I?"

"Pending a few logistics, the Crown's interested in the match."

The words echoed in your mind on an obnoxious repeat for the weeks to come, surely living a dream. The longer you dwelled on the impending match, the giddier you felt; a secret smile brightening your features, small spring in your step, an air of positivity hanging around you that even the tiresome Rogue Prince wouldn't be able to taint. The One-Eyed Prince has long been your best mate for a decade, surely, this match would've been offered sooner or later; it was a smart choice, the definition of compatibility.

Some might've referred to this elation as "cloud nine", though you'd say it was cloud 10, 11, 12, 100! You were flying high, feeling good, and mistakenly allowing your hopes to heighten while imagining what marrying your best friend would be like.

You prepared for that evening's courting session with a dreamy, dazed look in your eyes. Even your ladies-maid picked up on your joyful spirit; questioning through her smile, "What's got you so distracted, my Lady? You've been staring off into nothing with that smile for an hour now."

"Huh?" You met her eyes through the vanity mirror, the woman standing behind you to intricately braid your hair. "Oh, no, no, nothing, I'm only lost in thought."

"Which thought?"

"It doesn't matter, it's just a thought. When it becomes a notion, I'll tell you, my friend."

She repeated with a grin, "'Yeah? When's that? Are you expecting good news?"

"Perhaps."

"Fine, fine, keep your secrets," she playfully tugged your hair. "Do you know which dress you'd like to wear tonight?"

"The lilac one," you answered, lips stretching your smile.

"You mean the dress that matches Prince Aemond's eye perfectly?"

You both giggled girlishly.

When you arrived at the Throne Room, there was already more than 75% of guests in attendance; getting a jump on their mingling. You greeted several familiar faces, locating your best mate standing at the side with his arms crossed and shoulder leaning on a pillar. "Well, you certainly look happy to be here," you teased when at his side, leaning on the other side of the intricate column.

"It was Mother's idea, Rosie, you know I do not dance," he frowned. "She's not given up the hunt to make me a match. She's adamant this is the year."

"Perhaps if you participate, you could organically meet your future wife."

"Hmm," his eye rolled, thin lips quirking in a smirk; gaze turned on you, watching you scan the room.

There was another 20 minutes of mingling before dinner was called, laid out on tables that stretched the entire length of the Throne Room. Naturally, like every single day, you and Aemond took side-by-side seats together at a risen table that hosted the royal family which provided an incredible view of those in attendance this eve. With your elbow, you nudged Aemond's bicep, making him lean over instantly so you could speak in his ear quietly. "Looks like Lady Fell and Lord Blackwood are gonna jump each other's bones," you mused, smirking, adding, "though I heard she's already hiding a growing belly and is trying to nab herself someone more mature in age with the intent to trick the Lord into thinking she's having his baby."

"No," he scoffed in amusement.

"Yes!"

"That's diabolical. Blackwood's the father? Truly?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Good for him, good for Blackwood - didn't know he had it in him." He paused to take a pull from his goblet of wine, continuing, "Hm! Look, look," he grinned coyly, "do you see what I see?"

"It's packed in here, so... No, I don't see whatever you're seeing."

He snickered, "Lady Mormont looks smitten with Lord Greyjoy, looks like she wants to eat him."

"I thought he was romancing Lady Redwyne?"

Aemond hummed in amusement, "Perhaps he is considering options, courting more than one lady. Are we taking bets this season, again?"

You grinned, "Of course."

"Lay out the criteria, what're the parameters?"

After thinking a moment, you answered, "The pairing and timeline of impending weddings?"

"The stakes?"

You just shrugged, "Bragging rights?"

"Oh, c'mon, Rosie," he tisked.

"Fine, uh, how about... 10 Gold Dragons?"

"Both our families have enough money."

"Then you decide the rewards."

He lowered his voice, ensuring his family couldn't eavesdrop, "If you win, I'll go to Highgarden with you next time you visit. But if I win, you have to come flying with me on Vha - "

"No," you snapped instantly.

Aemond smirked, "Those are the terms, my Lady. Do you accept? Or will the Rose of the Realm shy away from challenge?"

Well, when you put it that way...

"Fine," you relented. "You're eager to lose so bad, let's do it. Who do you think will couple first?"

"Does it count if I get at least one correct? Such as, if I predict Lord Umber and Lady Lannister, but Umber marries Lady Tully, does it count that I still predicted Umber?"

You mulled his idea over, humming, stabbing a piece of roast goose from your plate to place in your mouth and chew thoughtfully. "Hmm, no, no, you gotta get the couple completely correct."

Aemond nodded, accepting your terms, "You really don't wish to go flying, do you?"

"What gave me away?"

Sharing a chuckle, Aemond finished, "All right, Rosie, bring it on."

When dinner concluded, once more, patrons were allowed to mix and mingle; dancing to the live band, drink spiced wine to their heart's desires. Like the common wallflowers you were, you posted at the side of the room with Aemond, content to watch the sea of vying adults trying to establish and rush courtship. It was the most comfortable you could be at these events, being anxious in judgmental crowds and seeking salvation from Aemond's domineering aura.

"Lady Tyrell," Jason Lannister purred as he approached you with his chest puffed out, "I was hoping to hold your ear tonight. Your father was telling me about your love to ride horses."

"Oh, my father said that?"

"That's who he said he was - "

"My father's in Highgarden, my Lord," you corrected, knowing for fact that Evin always described himself as your uncle.

"Ah, well, right," Jason cleared his throat in embarrassment. Did this pompous arsehole just lie about talking to your father to give the illusion he was an honorable man? That your father approved of the golden headed Lannister? "Perhaps you would honor me with a dance?"

"Perhaps not," Aemond cut in sharply, bringing the tension to focus.

"My Lord," you distracted, on behalf of Aemond's anger, "uh, thank you for asking, that's very kind of you. Though I'm afraid, I'm all, uh, danced out. I won't be on my feet much longer."

"Means fuck off, Lannister," Aemond growled, appearing positively murderous at the honey blonde's audacity.

Jason eyed Aemond, stiffly bidding, "I see. My Prince, my Lady, enjoy your evening."

You bid the older widower the same, Aemond chuckling the moment the lion was swallowed by the crowd. "As if you'd ever dance with a Lannister, let alone court him," he mused, looking down at you. "But he had the right idea, you need to dance at least once. Shouldn't waste this dress standing on the side with me."

"I'm quite comfortable here with you," you shrugged off, seeing your uncle at the royal banquet table exchanging hushed words with King Viserys and his Queen, Alicent.

"C'mon," he held his hand in offer, palm up.

"What? No, no, Aemond, I'm not dancing - I've two left feet!"

"You can break every toe on my feet and I'd still ask you. Just one dance. With me, Lady Tyrell."

"You don't dance!"

"Perhaps the mood has taken me. C'mon, petal."

Your head turned from left to right as if looking for someone spying on you. The moment your hand laid daintily in his, you melted right there on the spot, not having any coherent recollection about how you ended up in the middle of the overzealous contenders. You realized you'd follow this man anywhere.

Beating off your immense anticipation and overwhelming excitement to join The One-Eyed Prince for an intimate activity, you kept your composure amongst everyone else. But, my Gods, did you want to scream in delight the moment he placed one hand on your waist and the other clasping yours to raise in the air at your side. But in this position, you could feel the ridges of his stomach - making you briefly feel embarrassed, wondering how you must've looked to the members of court.

"You sure about this?" You whispered nervously, but you had a feeling that was due to the intense concentration he pinned you with.

"We'll be fine, Rosie, just breathe and follow my lead. I got you."

So launched your dance with Prince Aemond Trgaryen, second son of King Viserys. You couldn't divert your gaze from his porcelain, angled face to save you from overthinking your dancing skill - or lack there of. A few times, he'd smirk and whisper how good you were doing, mind flashing to an image of you and he, married, tumbling in bed sheets together while he praises you. Everything he did became sinful to you; every touch, every glance, every smile, every private studying session setting your skin on fire and heart to beat rapidly.

It was a longer song, string instruments creating a pleasant, ideal, slow-paced, soft environment. Yet you couldn't hear the music, too focused on Aemond's single piercing eye and quirked lips. It was as if the two of you existed outside of time and reality, forgetting the people packed in the stuffy room. Aemond told you softly, "See? You're not so bad at dancing - you just need the right partner."

You wanted to be partnered every single dance from now until your death with Aemond.

"I thought you couldn't dance?" You coyly questioned.

"I said I don't dance, not that I couldn't."

To your idle shock, Aemond gave you a few twirls that made your hair and dress fan around you in an angelic motion. Dare you say it, you even laughed with mirth when you found yourself enjoying the courting season more than ever before - all thanks to your best friend and hopefully, soon-to-be intended. You were acutely aware of his hot and heavy hands holding your flesh, knowing this feeling would burn into your skin to remind you of his closer-than-close proximity. To remind you of his gentleness, to remind you of this dance and the way he gave you his complete and undivided attention.

When the musicians concluded the song, you were grinning authentically while joining in the applause to show appreciation towards the artists.

"Gods," you panted, "that nearly winded me. Think I'm out of shape."

"And you said you had two left feet," he mocked with a scoff, head shaking, but the smirk on his lips told you he wasn't serious. "You're a natural, Rosie."

"You're not such a bad dancer yourself, my Prince," you complimented, the applause subsiding as a new song began. "Though you'll have to excuse me while I get a drink."

You parted way in search of two empty goblets and one of the servants carrying decanters of spiced wine. After being served, you rocked on your toes to try and gaze over the heads populating the room. You were unsuccessful, so, you backed up to the edge of the crowd and moved around the involuntary empty loop along the wall, behind the pillars. There was no reason finding the white haired prince with an eyepatch would be this difficult, yet, you got more than halfway around the room before finally locating him.

Once again, he was leaning on a column, but he wasn't alone. No, there was a gaggle of Lords around him, all exchanging chatter about the Ladies they had to choose from this season.

"Well, c'mon, what about you, Aemond?" Cregan Stark pondered. "Things with The Rose look like they're escalating - congrats. Are wedding bells on the horizon?"

Hearing your name, you quickly scurried behind the same pillar, just out of sight but able to still listen. Look, eavesdropping was highly frowned upon, you knew it was bad manners, but if you heard men gossiping about your name, you would've done the exact same!

Aemond scoffed in pure amusement, "Come off it, Stark."

"No, c'mon, mate, I saw you two," Cregan continued, "dancing together, pressed all close."

"You two make a handsome match, logistically speaking," Paxtan Florant labeled. "Could marry someone abundantly worse, I think you two are quite the pair."

"Handsome and logical as it may look, there's no possibility I'd court the Lady Tyrell, let alone marry her," Aemond declared with a chuckle, your heart stalling and brows wrinkling together. "The Tyrells only just obtained their name in court, they're still too low born for a prince to entertain. Peasants like that are uneducated, prominently not intelligent enough to be my counterpart; uncultured, unwise, unable to retain most information we study during lessons."

You blinked in shock. If anything, you were Aemond's ONLY intellectual counterpart!

"So, she's not as smart as you, mate, so what?" Cregan cocked his head. "You don't need smart, you need fertile and capable."

Though he was attempting to defend you, Cregan's words made your skin prickle. How could they think you weren't intellectually on their level? Was it because you were a woman? You read the same books, attended the same tutoring sessions, was questioned on the same material they were and hardly ever answering incorrectly! And yet now you're reduced to your reproduction system?

The Prince scoffed, "Think about it, if I married a Tyrell, their lowly standing would taint the Targaryen bloodline."

"So, it was all an act?" Paxtan snickered, "C'mon, mate, you two looked dazed, all enamored with each other. Can't convince us there's nothing there, not after that."

Aemond chuckled, "You want the truth?"

"Lay it on us."

"I shared a single dance with her because I pity her. Don't any of you? The way she all but repels suitors? Surely, you've noted her dresses as well? They're terribly revealing, unlike anything a proper lady would don. No self respecting woman nor future princess of mine would wear something like that. It's as if she's so desperate for attention that she has to flaunt her flesh just to get a man to look at her since her personality surely doesn't reel suitors to her."

The men laughed, your mouth dropping open in offense. You're not chasing men away - look what happened with Jason Lannister! It was Aemond who told him to fuck off! After years of friendship, was this truly what Aemond thought of you? How did it come to this - the man you loved, the man you considered your best mate, slandering your name to any able ear willing to listen? How could he speak such calamities about you? Was this entire friendship a folly, just a cover for his pity? Was he only your 'friend' to entertain his own selfish boredom?

Was everything just in your head?

"I don't know, I like how she dresses," Tyler Lannister mused, the teenaged son of Tyland Lannister, Jason's twin brother.

"None the less, I find desperation unattractive in a woman," Aemond rejected, tears gathering in your eyes to silently stream down your cheeks. "Besides, Lady Tyrell isn't my type, she talks far too much. Truly, there's never a moment of silence, I cannot even hear my own thoughts when she's prattling - and it's never anything of substance, just useless nonsense. It's as I said, it was a pity dance, I felt sorry that she has little to no suitors."

"Seriously, mate, have you considered the reason she has no suitors might be because of her proximity to you? They might stay away because they feel threatened by your friendship, thinking she's spoken for - and trust me, no man here would dare compete against a prince for a lady's affection," Cregan scoffed, mildly disgusted by Aemond's choice words.

"The courts know there's no affection shared between Lady Tyrell and I. We are simply friends - no more or less - and that's as far as our relationship will ever progress."

Cregan hummed, nodding his head sarcastically. Then his curiosity questioned, "Answer this: are you attracted to her?"

"Truthfully, I just don't think she's... Attractive enough to be my wife. She's a pretty lass, I'll admit, but if she's called the Rose of the Realm, I fear to learn the appearance of other ladies from Highgarden." A few lads chuckled. "Additionally, there will be public outings I must attend, and as my wife, the people will expect to see someone alluring - someone qualified and fit for the position as a princess of the Realm. Someone stunning and worthy of the title, able to fulfill royal responsibilities."

"Gods, why're you so against this match? You're being terribly superficial, judgmental, and defensive - she's your friend, after all. Wouldn't this be a love-match? Do you know how rare those are?" Luras Arryn snarled, sounding genuinely distraught and jealous.

"And if you're so against her, why do you constantly escort her to formal events?" Arnas Blackwood tacked on. "It creates the illusion that you're courting, my Prince, surely you're aware of that."

"As I stated, her blood isn't pure, but she's also criminally clingy. She's always lingering around and I feel awkward not inviting her to royal events - since she's right there, all alone, in front of me. I only invite her out of obligation. Again, I take pity on the girl, knowing when she leaves the Red Keep, she'll never experience this life again."

"Well, if not the Rose of the Realm, who do you have your sights on?" Luras Arryn asked stiffly.

Aemond's smirk was clear as day, answering swiftly, "The Lady Floris Baratheon is appealing enough."

The lads obnoxiously cheered in supportive approval, directing the conversation in a new direction about how bloody gorgeous Floris was - one of them even mentioning she deserved the nickname, Rose of the Realm.

You heard enough, more than enough, more than you ever wanted to know in an entire lifetime; rightfully insulted past belief and violently nauseated, feeling cold and mechanical. As swiftly as you could, you rushed to set the goblets down and speed walk towards the doors, shoving past both individuals and couples; not wanting to linger where you're clearly not wanted. Where you were apparently not welcome. After making your inconspicuous getaway, tears fell faster than earlier, mind replaying Aemond's words while sprinting to your chambers.

Describing you as clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Dubbing you an improper lady who lacked self respect. Thinking you talk too much - that you prattle nonsense. Labeling you unworthy and unqualified to be his wife or assume the title princess with all the relating responsibilities. How he pities you and doesn't ever want to be more than your friend; thinking you're uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Declaring House Tyrell peasants who would taint his family's pure bloodline. How you 'have' to flaunt your flesh to attract suitors - since your personality did you no favors. Marking you a friend out of obligation...

Were you even friends? Did you even understand the definition of a friend? Have you been operating in a delusion this whole time?

In the words of King Théoden: how did it come to this?

Feeling utterly humiliated, you ran away from your peers; lungs heaving, huffing and puffing, panic ready to overflow. You burst through the wooden door, fully sobbing by now, engaging the iron lock and dropping to lean your weight against it.

Most, if not all, of your insecurities were aired out like soiled bedsheets for all eligible bachelors to know. Aemond might as well have hung a painted wooden sign around your neck: DESPERATE AND CLINGY LOSER - DO NOT ENGAGE.

Nothing about this situation felt normal, it all felt terribly impossible; absolutely heartbreaking and vile, like it was some kind of bad dream. But everyone woke up from dreams. You'd never wake up from this, you'd be forced to remember and relive it day after day. Tonight would haunt you, cast a dark shadow around you as if a thick, temperamental, torrential storm. Yet every storm eventually breaks, but tonight, there was no remedy, no shelter, no protection - you had to weather this alone.

It felt foreign, enduring anything by yourself. For years, Aemond was your partner, always at your side, level headed, insightful and wise; supportive, protective, calming, and something like a safety net when you faced trouble. Now, he's left you devastatingly alone; where after tonight, the very idea of being in the same room as him made you nauseated and anxious, fearful and small.

In that moment, your brain screamed that you were no longer welcome in the Red Keep - Uncle Evin's position be damned.

You sat on the stone cold floor for the better part of half an hour before your bottom turned painfully numb. After sluggishly hiking up your dress skirt, you removed your shoes and tossed them aside, standing to swollen feet to unhook your jewelry and place everything in their safe and proper place. Then, a particular necklace made of red rubies set in a thinly crafted Valyrian Steel chain caught your eye and mocked you. It was Aemond's gift on your ten-and-eighth nameday, laid in a plush velvet case for adequate preservation. This simple piece of jewelry was your absolute favorite in your collection, a treasure beyond words of appreciation that you greatly admired, now rusting in salty tears.

Being gifted this necklace had once convinced you Aemond might've felt the same for you as you do him. You remember even trying to rationalize it as a sign that the One-Eyed Prince was at a loss and didn't know how to confess his feelings. That he was shy, perhaps afraid to ruin your friendship if you didn't feel the same.

Angry tears of betrayal fell like acid over your cheeks, gritting your teeth, clenching your jaw as you snapped the velvet box closed and with a barbaric grunt, hurled it (with impressive strength) across the room. You felt so confused, so lost; deceived, lied to, and puppeted - and then the anger flared again when you realized what family you were angry with.

Why bother being upset, emotional, distressed? You had no right because your feelings truly didn't matter - not in the grand scheme of things. Nobody cared about your trivial feelings! You were just a Tyrell and by comparison, a peasant nobody who never deserved, earned, warranted, or was bestowed respect. In fact, to the Targaryens up on their mounted pedestals, none of you mattered - not a citizen in all Seven Kingdoms.

In fact, it was almost treated as a curse to not be a Targaryen. Some kind of punishment for daring to exist amongst the privileged royals as a lowborn - which, despite your family's newly established status in court, you were still characterized as. In their eyes, anyone NOT a Targaryen was lowborn; deemed unworthy to the white haired bloodline, being merely tolerated for the sake of politics, strategy, and reproduction. It was a sick game, and the Targaryens always won.

They do what they want, when they want, with no consideration towards other people's safety, emotions, wellbeing, stability, or comfort. The Targaryens were always stationed above everyone because, after all, they were closer to Gods than men; entire family spoiled, entitled, narcissistic, holier than thou, avoidant of any and all consequence.

They're legendary. Untouchable and worshipped.

And you? You're just a Tyrell, the tiny beetle trampled under the God's boot. Beetles were essential to any ecosystem, similar to the Tyrell's providing to the Realm productions of wheat, grain, barley, and corn. Similar to your family, beetles are also disposable - meaning the Targaryens might tolerate you, but they never need respect you. They could stomp you into the ground whenever they wanted because where one beetle died, three more takes place. Where one House might falter and fall, become doomed, eradicated, or subcomes to tragedy, others step up in an effort to establish their usefulness; prove their House's necessity to the Realm's ecosystem, attempt to diminish the threat of being razed to the ground by dragon fire.

Why be so upset with the Targaryens when they can do no wrong? What right did you have? And how could you ever think a Prince of the Realm would remotely be romantically interested in you?

You felt delusional and pathetic, crying over a man who was never in your league. Yet betrayal gutted you like a fish, a bright reminder that your friend would expose you like that; offer loud disrespect, speaking hatefully, to finally voice hidden malcontent. It felt impossible to stomach that your first friend, your favorite person, secretly hated you.

Because how could he not? You did not love anyone you could speak so lowly of.

Sobbing harder, you yanked pins out of your hair, working at break-neck speed to strip from your gown, then freezing when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The reflection looked distraught with exhausted red eyes; glowing in defeat, in a desperate need for a long, hot soak in the washtub. With shaking hands, you tossed a spare blanket over the mirror, despising the sight of yourself as Aemond's words continued to ring on a loop in your ears.

Clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Improper, lacks self respect, talks too much, lacks suitors. Unworthy, unqualified, pitiful, never desiring to bloom past friendship - which is constructed around obligation. Uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Unfit, tainted, lowborn blood with a lowly personality. Revealing, tempting dresses.

Your mind, heart, and head screamed that no matter how hard you hoped, prayed, and tried, you'd never have a place among the Targaryens. Yelled that Aemond's right: you're ugly on the inside and out; damaged goods, undesirable - all because you were not born amongst fire and blood. Bellowed about your lack of quality, purpose, contribution. Reminded you that the one person you trusted unconditionally never truly wanted to be your friend; that he spoke horrendously on your name when absent, didn't value who you were - and never did.

He took every insecurity you confided in him and weaponized it; used it against you, made it into a joke with people you didn't trust nor want to know about you...

You sunk into the bath water, submerging as if to hide from your own thoughts.

The knock at your chamber door didn't surprise you. Servants and your uncle had been coming and going since you first refused to leave the morning after the ball. You figured Aemond would come around eventually, too curious for his own good and still under the impression he had to play "friend", thinking his deceit was unknown to you.

Aemond called your name through the door, asking, "You awake? Could I come in?"

You didn't answer.

He sighed, "C'mon, I know you're there. You haven't been seen in four days, you have to eat. You should get some air, feel the sunshine."

Silence.

Aemond frowned, "When you're ready, come find me, petal. I'm worried about you."

You wiped the tears off your cheeks, pulling your knees to your chest. For four days, you couldn't stomach the idea of running into the Prince, just wanting to avoid anyone or anything that would remind you of what Aemond said. You understood there were several decisions left to be settled, lost in an endless rampage of confusing emotions, maids bring you full trays of food and removing them with more than half still left.

Humiliation knotted in your chest, the harrowing thought of punishing yourself for being so stupid something you couldn't fight. All you registered was the feeling of betrayal, something that inked into every single thought you had, but with it came sinking realization that you were done. Simple as that.

On the sixth night, you sat with Uncle Evin, forking through your full plate and blurting, "Don't do it."

He paused to finish the bite in his mouth, "Do what, honey girl?"

"Don't - Don't make a match with Alicent and Otto. Don't make the arrangement with Prince Aemond."

Evin nodded slowly, washing his bite down with a mouthful of wine. "There a reason for your change of heart, love? The Queen thinks it's a handsome pairing. Just before, you seemed content with the match - dare I say, you seemed pleased?"

"Things change, Uncle," you spoke evenly, "and I can't shoulder this responsibility. In fact, I... I do not think I'm capable of making my own match. I will be stepping away from courting for the time being."

Your eyes seemed distant and dark, proving serious. So Elvin agreed easily, allowing you to withdrawal from the current season officially. He understood something was deeply amiss and didn't want to make worse whatever turmoil you teetered in. He didn't want to upset you and make things worse - you obviously had enough going on.

Aemond knocked again the next day, "Petal? You awake?" But you didn't answer. He sighed, "You've been missing lessons, love, and I just... I brought you some books. Thought maybe you'd like to catch up?" When there was no answer, he ended, "I'll just leave them here for you, petal... I'm not sure what's wrong, but I hope you're all right in there... I miss you."

You scoffed quietly, wiping your tears.

Ten days after withdrawing from the courting season, you left your chambers for the first time. But it wasn't like anything changed - it was still as if you were invisible, like a ghost. Losing your best mate turned you silent, refusing to attend lessons and since Aemond was your source for solace, had turned to seeking shelter at the Sept. It was the easiest way to avoid everyone - mostly Aemond.

He had shunned the religion the older he got, though respected his mother's devotion to it in trying times. He couldn't remember the last time he was in the Sept... So, it was perfect for you; a safe space.

You were no longer seen in the library - a once daily occurrence. If you ever wanted to read, you sent your ladies maid to collect content for you; but the drive to learn and read had abandoned you as swiftly as Aemond's loyalty. The stables grew cold in your absence, refusing to ride; something that troubled your uncle gravely. No longer did you take meals with family or Aemond, always seeking solitude to eat alone in your room or the physical kitchens; the Red Keep growing dark over your lack of sunshine - that had shone so brightly in the previous weeks. Even then, when you ate, it was in small quantities to only sustain yourself; mostly feeling nauseous when food was put on your stomach.

The first time Aemond saw you, you were returning from the Sept in a dress that reached close to your pulse point of your neck. He tried to get to you, but you slipped through the cracks of the Keep and disappeared when he dodged around a set of Kingsguard. Yet it was still a comfort to him to know you had left your room finally.

He knocked on your door about half an hour later, but like usual, you didn't answer.

"Rosie?" Aemond called, sighing. "I know you've not been feeling yourself, but, uh, tomorrow's Helaena's nameday. We're having dinner for her on the terrace..." He waisted, not hearing a single thing from within your chamber. "You're invited, as usual, petal. Your uncle said he'd attend, wanted you to know you're always welcome at our table."

But you didn't show up, you couldn't bear to see any of them.

You didn't eat that night, you were far too anxious and spiteful against yourself that you refused to allow yourself to indulge in celebrating your companion.

Despite withdrawing, you still heard rumor of all the matches being made and the courtships established through your ladies maid. A cord struck in your gut when you heard the couples you had bet upon were public and engaged, but so were Aemonds... Which meant you both won; and if things were different, would mean a flight on Vhagar to visit Highgarden. On nights of merriment, you would sit alone in the Godswood sometimes; attempting to connect to the Old Gods, but they never spoke back. They never connected with you.

Tonight, you were under the blood red leaves in earnest curiosity; quiet, just as you had been since the day you found out Aemond's betrayal and discouraged your uncle from making a match. It was there Elvin found you, frowning as he took a seat beside you in the grass.

"The Old Gods do not speak to me," Elvin offered softly.

"Nor I," you whispered.

"Yet I always feel at peace here," he nodded, sighing deeply. "I must ask you something, honey girl."

"Hmm?"

"Do you... Do you wish to depart? From King's Landing, I mean?" He questioned. "I ask because I intend to ride for Highgarden, your father's nameday nears. Your mother intends to throw him a grand celebration, since turning 50 seems such a milestone."

"You ride for home?"

"Tomorrow morning."

You paused, then answered, "I would like that... There's nothing left for me here."

Aemond's words had done irreparable damage, making you feel worthless and alone. Bitter. Damaged and unworthy of any such match; forever worrying if your best friend could harbor such ill will and hatred for you, surely, a husband would as well. Yet you were not new to being a woman; you knew the role you were to play, how marriage was strategic and calculated. Political. You could be a wife, you were so sure of it; but would you ever feel worthy of love? You feared you never would.

"We will stay a few weeks."

"I don't know if I would like to return, Uncle."

He offered a sad smile, "I figured as much. But should you want to, feel able to, you may return. You, my sweetling, are always welcome at my side."

You leaned into his shoulder, sighing softly. "I should thank you," you whispered in the wind.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me all these years," you lifted off him to meet his eyes. "You didn't have to, but you wanted to... And you've shown me a father's love when I thought it gone from my life. Thank you, Uncle."

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, humming, "Don't tell the others but you were always my favorite. I consider it a great pleasure to raise such a gorgeous young lady - and I mean that, honey girl. Inside and out. Now," he pulled back and found his feet, offering his hand to you, "come, we've packing to complete."

"Of course."

However, while in the midst of packing, you felt a jolt in your heart. This had been your home of a decade or more; these people were who you grew and learned with. Who influenced your life in the best and worst of ways; they did not deserve to read your praise and thanks for friendship in a letter... So, you swung a cloak on and ventured out of your room.

Otto was first since he was the easiest to say goodbye to. He was gracious of your parting words of thanks; telling him how much you appreciated his wisdom and riddles.

Aegon was next. He insisted you share a last goblet of wine together - since you did not intend to delay your parting. It turned into a bit of a drinking game with his mates, but you didn't mind; far too used to the company of these debaucherous lechers. Dare you say, you enjoyed yourself.

Helaena was after, your words harder to say as your emotions strangled you. She was a sweet girl, an endearing companion, constant and dependable, albeit a bit strange and unorthodox. But you loved her all the same and cried tears of sadness when hugging her tightly as a last ditch effort to convey your gratitude for her authentic and generous friendship.

You only offered Ser Criston Cole a soft, "Farewell."

Alicent was perhaps hardest to say goodbye to. After Aemond, you were probably closest with the matriarch and found her wisdom and lessons a privilege to learn. She was kind to you; usually with a stern hand, but that was because she could recognize the little girl you once were who missed her mother tremendously. She introduced you to religion, another common bond. She encouraged you, supportive and curious; sharing affinity for the histories, often reading to one another for moments of peace.

Saying goodbye to Alicent hurt. You both shed tears of sorrow, the Queen wishing you the very best and insisting you return for her nameday and other celebratory events. She told you to write, told you to keep in touch; insisting if and when a match was made, to invite her since she would love to attend your wedding. Truly, Alicent considered you one of her own and to know you were departing in pain wounded her.

King Viserys was last. He was already in bed, half-asleep, a Maester at his side; but still, he accepted your audience. You thanked him for his hospitality and kindness - especially to your uncle. You thanked him for hosting you, for allowing you residence at the Keep and the for the years living under royal privilege. You told him you'd not forget his generosity.

You returned to your chambers after that and finished packing. You didn't sleep.

When morning broke, you stood in the courtyard with Elvin; packing the wagon you would use, your horse tacked and waiting as you both intended to ride. Alicent and Helaena came to see you off, hugging you tightly one last time before the Queen offered you a handheld velveteen case. "Just a little something to remember us by," she smiled lightly.

"Oh, as if I'm in a hurry to forget you?" You mused. "My Queen, this is too much, I cannot accept."

"You have not opened it."

"I do not need to, I know you," you smirked. "Your leadership these years is enough gift, my Queen."

"I'm not taking it back, you might as well accept it," she insisted. "Helaena and I picked it out together..."

You lifted the case lid, blinking in shock and gasping lightly. There laid a gorgeous chain necklace of Valyrian Steel, a dragon pendant dangling from front with gems of bright emerald - surely a representation of the Hightower side.

"Thank you, Your Grace, my Princess," you breathed, closing the case and caressing it to your chest. "It's more generous than I deserve but will treasure for the decades to come."

Queen Alicent nodded and pecked your forehead, leaving you alone with Helaena to speak with Elvin. The moment her mother was gone, the Princess asked, "Did you say goodbye to Aemond? I'm surprised he's not here."

"No," you spoke softly, "I cannot, Helaena, it is too painful to even look at him - let alone share words of parting. I have nothing left to say, no more words for him."

She frowned, "You know... I don't think he meant what he said. He says things he does not mean when anxious or feeling as if he's cornered."

Your head cocked, "What? H-How do you know what's been said?"

"I saw it - in one of my dreams."

You sighed, "I know you mean well - "

"I just do not wish for you to think that is his honest opinion about you."

"If it wasn't, he would not have spoken so loudly for so many to hear. Your brother has never sounded so sure, Helaena, I do not wish to relive it."

She sighed and nodded, "Will you write?"

"Every week," you promised, the two of you meeting foreheads and breathing as one. "Take care of yourself, Helaena."

"You, too, Rosie," she smiled, letting you depart. Alicent clipped your new necklace in place and gvae you a final hug, watching you mount your horse, stare at the pair for a moment longer, then follow your Uncle Elvin out of the courtyard.

As you rode down the streets, Aemond came sprinting out of the Keep in a blind panic after running into Aegon in the hall. Normally, Aemond wouldn't have bat an eye at his hungover brother, but he had said something about you drinking him under the table and demanded to know what Aegon meant. Upon hearing you had "left", Aemond sprinted to your bed chambers and didn't even knock - just burst in.

Never before had the Prince felt such anger as when he learned you had left King's Landing without saying goodbye. Without a single word to him - as if the past decade+ hadn't meant anything! He needed to know, Aemond needed to see for himself the truth because surely, someone was mistaken. His brother, surely still drunk and misremembering because there was no possible way you could've left! Not without Aemond! Not without a word! He refused to believe it.

He panted, tears gathering in his eye, finding your room bare and stripped. Aemond's breathing picked up in panic, hands shaking as he stepped into your room; looking, desperately, for any sign of life. But there was nothing... Nothing, save for a letter addressed to him left on your table with the ruby necklace he gifted you for your 18th nameday.

Gingerly, Aemond reached out and plucked up the necklace. He frowned, petting the jewels in disbelief; noting the way a few were missing, some loose - evidence of your anger. Slowly, Aemond sunk into a chair and with the necklace still in hand and his heart hammering in his chest in a rattle, opened your letter.

Aemond ― I know you'll be the one to find this, of that, there's no doubt. Sooner or later, you will learn of my departure and come looking, and for that, for being unable to say anything in person, I am sorry. Though this might come as a shock, it shouldn't as I would hate to give you the satisfaction of being right by burdening you with a desperate goodbye. I would hate for you to think I am clingy, even after our friendship died. So, I figure a letter is better than nothing. Goodbye, Aemond. Though all a lie and dedicated ruse, thank you for the years of friendship. You made time in the Red Keep pleasant enough. ― Rosie

Aemond sprinted to the courtyard, flinging open doors and shoving past patrons; desperate to find you, understanding you overheard him all those weeks ago and needing to apologize. He needed to explain himself, the confirmation now that Aemond was the cause of your pain and reclusion? His heart was about to burst. He skidded to a halt in the dirt, turning left and right and in a circle as he realized the gates were open and you were not in sight.

"Aemond?" Helaena questioned softly, Alicent taking to her side. "Brother?"

"Wh-Where is she?" He panted. "Rose - Rose - Rosie, where is she? Where is she!?"

"She's gone, Aemond," Alicent frowned, shaking her head slowly; startled by his desperate tone, "gone with her uncle back to Highgarden."

"When? When? When did they leave!?"

"She's gone, brother," Helaena snipped, sending him a look of disappointment; ears ringing from her dream, repeating what he had said to you.

Aemond swallowed harshly, asking his sister, "She heard me, didn't she? I know you know, Helaena, please, tell me. She heard me?"

The Princess nodded and walked away, the One Eyed Prince turning to his mother in desperation and for the first time in 10 years, perhaps more, he collapsed in her arms. Emotion clawed at his chest and into his throat, starting to tremble, sniffing heatedly; his mother's arms tight and comforting.

"I love her," he whispered.

"I know," Alicent answered, "but she should've been the one you told." A pause and her hand lifted to caress the back of his head, just like when he was a child. "It's too late now, Aemond. She's gone."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

does this count towards the Clingy Baby collection? since Aemond technically calls her clingy amongst other things?

[johnbrand]

BACS

With @mrrharper

“Hopkins,” the coach said curtly to the buff guard at the gate. The security officer barely seemed to register him as a person, rather just an item on his list to check off. Once he was allowed to proceed, Coach Hopkins entered into the corridor and proceeded to the farthest room. Quite frankly, the coach embodied everything a man should be at his age: big, strong, rich. Running one of the country’s top collegiate teams meant he was often provided with ample checks. But an investor had been hinting that the meeting he was about to attend would only raise his profits higher. And now standing before the other guests, Coach Hopkins believed this investor was not mistaken.

Feeling mighty pleased with himself, and honestly a bit haughty, the coach scanned the room, taking in all the other broad, strapping men. There was Coach Larson from one of the major east coast schools, Coach McNamara from the private military academy that swept the competition every year. Coach Hopkins recognized another prominent coach from California, but could not place his name. There were a few more men in the room, engaging in casual conversation about work, but the atmosphere in the space was mildly tense. Instead of acquainting himself with others, Coach Hopkins took a seat and remained there until the presentation began. 

“Gentleman,” the host began. The suit that covered his large frame appeared painted on, tight against his skin. A former collegiate athlete who had stayed in shape; Coach Hopkins could not help but take a moment to respect the work. “Invited amongst you today are some of your finest colleagues in the field. Hopefully you all know why you are here, so we will skip past the pleasantries and get right to the presentation.”

Behind the host, the wall suddenly began to glow. A soft light filtered upon it before focusing on colors and images. Eventually, the display became clear, showcasing live camera footage inside an empty male restroom.

“We believed the best way to explain our product was to show how it works,” the host started slyly. Coach Hopkins watched as the door to the restroom opened, revealing a young college-aged male. By his medium build and uniform, the coach assumed he could have been in lacrosse, baseball, or even a non-tackling football player. His third guess was correct.

“Before us is Dawson Welch, a decent transfer from an undisclosed Division III school. Originally holding potential, he has not yet conformed to our nationwide protocol, otherwise known as BACS for short.”

The four words were then flashed in red at the bottom of the screen. A silly acronym, but one that worked nonetheless.

Beefy          Aggressive          Cocky          Straight

“Our case study is about to demonstrate the results of our program,” the host smiled.

There were a few murmurs from the other men. The California coach even shifted a bit, slightly uncomfortable at what he was about to witness. Coach Hopkins remained silent, observing the subject. By his size and careful actions, he could already identify that three of the required four set standards were missing.

“Tyler?” Dawson called out into the room. “Baby, it’s alright, I’m here now.” The coach nodded with confirmation for the fourth characteristic. Grabbing his phone, the host then sent a simple text message. Thanks to the live camera, the men could all watch as the subject’s own device buzzed. Timidly opening it, Dawson checked his phone.

“Ok Tyler, I am going to open the link you sent me,” Dawson called out, unaware the link was not actually sent from his romantic interest. As if already suspecting the lurking danger behind the text, the subject slowly tapped the link and let it proceed forward. The room lit up in a flash, even blinding the live camera temporarily. The audio did not shut off, but the stream went quiet. Moments later, the men were reoriented back into the restroom.

Murmurs flew around the space once more. A few of their faces displayed shock at the screen presented before them. Coach Hopkins held stoic, but his eyes bore straight on. The scene before him was almost entirely the same. Nothing had changed, except for the subject.

“Gone are the days of your players attending frivolous seminars and engaging in anti-anything protests. Thanks to our technology, we can now guarantee your boys will be real, undeniably American men.” 

Where once stood the rather average athletic young male was now a bulky creature. He was taller, brawnier, and brutish. His uniform had been replaced with a tight, all-black outfit to better display his offerings. The sleeveless tank outlined massive pecs, broad shoulders, a thick core, and made his cannon-like arms bulge out of his sides like an oversized action figure. The running shorts appeared more like briefs, searing into the monstrous thighs that led down to steel calves and feet so large they could not be accommodated at most shoe outlets. Speaking of briefs, Coach Hopkins noted the subject was no longer wearing any; a thick python and a low-hanging set were peeking out of one of the leg holes. 

By the gigantic size, the host could easily confirm his product met the first criteria. And by the backwards cap, arrogant grin, and constant man-handling, the men in the room were all able to confirm the second and third on their own. They had been around these types long enough to know the signs.

“What was I doing anyway, bro?” Dawson asked himself in a voice deeper and duller than his previous offerings. After scratching at his thick pubes and giving it a sniff, an idea suddenly sprung into the subject’s head. Coach Hopkins could sense the process of thinking was a more difficult procedure now then it had been before. “Right, I was gonna see if that chick from last night still wanted to get laid tonight. What was her name, Jenna? Brianna? Maybe she’d be a good lil girl and bag me a threesome? God, that’s so hot…”

The stream cut off shortly after, but not before the subject’s continual groping started to awaken his massive dong. The last image was frozen onto the screen, with Dawson preparing the classic flexed picture his predatory nature utilized to ensnare victims.

“So what do you say, gentlemen,” the host sneered. “Would anyone like to try our trial package?”

[wispstalk]

ok u know what? Objectively correct ranking of skyrim's cities is coming out of the drafts. Listed from best to worst.

1. SOLITUDE: no one should be surprised by this. this is a list for real city lovers, and solitude has all the shit a city is supposed to have.

2. WHITERUN: same deal as above. palace is pretty sick but it's not perched on an enormous rock arch over a harbor, so points deducted.

3. MARKARTH: now we're venturing into controversy. If you don't like Markarth, you're a wimp. "wehh there's a demon house wehhhh I saw someone get murdered and had to slaughter my way out of prison" skill issue. I'm gawking at waterfalls and feats of ancient civil engineering, I'm eating delicious mystery meat at a food cart, I'm buying a badass dog, I'm ingratiating myself to the local crime family, I'm breaking into the temple so a drunk can crank off to a statue, I'm secure in the best-fortified city in the province. I am having a GREAT time in Markarth. Get on my level and by "my level" I mean six flights of stairs.

4. RIFTEN: Extremely cool layout and great location. Would be ranked higher if guys stopped fighting guards and random citizens to the death over a stolen candlestick. I figure after a while you just get used to that and stop caring.

5. WINDHELM: none of you rubes can appreciate architecture. Also, do YOU live somewhere that you can beat a racist's ass without the cops getting mad at you? Do tell

6. FALKREATH: it's fine.

7. MORTHAL: this is where you see the integrity of my infallible judgments, because personally I think Bog Is Best, but I have taken its small size and shit economy into consideration.

8. WINTERHOLD: in shambles, and probably super boring if you're not a wizard, but I could have a decent time poking around in dangerous condemned buildings and failing to impress Faralda.

9. DAWNSTAR: Awful climate, broke-ass museum, unimpressive port, Jarl is a dick, host to a murder cult torture hole, nightmare plague, miserable mine with child labor. Only redeeming feature is one guy and the nightmare plague is kinda his fault.

I was right about daedra-fucking and I'm right about this. Disagree with me in the tags at your peril

[artificial-transmutations]

The Last Chance!

My head was throbbing, and lights danced in front of me. Distorted music was blaring and for a moment, I felt like throwing up. When my sight cleared a bit, I could see a slim metal lectern in front of me and grabbed it to stabilize myself. Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly, the nausea subsided enough to look around. I was not alone, far from it. I was bathed in bright lights from above and from the sides, and I had to squint to be able to discern my surroundings. There were three more lecterns, arranged in a half circle, and behind that, three more people who didn't look any better than I felt.

In the middle of the circle, there was a big leather chair that was currently empty. Still, most of the lights - artificial lights, headlights - were directed at the empty chair. To all sides, behind the big island of brightness, I could see grandstands with people in the dark, producing a constant loud chattering noise. The room was huge, but had, apparently, no windows.

Even though I've never been in one, it looked a lot like a TV studio to me. The setup looked like a game show of sorts, which means the empty chair was for the host, and I was at one of the contestant's spots.

Which brought me back to the most pressing question: How the hell did I get here?

Let's see, what do I remember... I am Evan, kindergarten teacher, 32 years old, and...

Right. I wasn't very well right now. My boyfriend broke up with me, it was pretty ugly, and then, I went to a bar. I was pretty drunk, but I think I remember leaving the bar again, in the middle of the night and then...

No, total blackout. Nothing that could explain how I got into a TV studio.

I looked at the other contestants, who seemed to be in various states of confusion as well. At the front of the lecterns, I could read their names:

Right next to me, there was Victoria. She looked like a librarian, or a secretary of some sorts. Pretty unremarkable. She seemed perhaps the least uncomfortable and eyed the rest of us with sharp intelligent eyes, nodding slightly as she caught my gaze.

Then, there was Lucas. He looked like he worked as a security guard, or maybe a bouncer, but not one for an exclusive club. His face was broad and his jaw strong and adorned with a goatee, and he wore a tight t-shirt and loose cargo pants. His posture was intimidating, but his eyes were friendly, if perhaps a bit simple.

At the far end, behind the lectern was Blake. He looked a bit like a teacher or a scientist, to be honest. He was slim and tall, had a brown pony tail and wore pretty unfashionable clothes.

For the sake of completion, my own name read "Evan", as expected. I was a pretty normal guy, wearing jeans and t-shirt. I was quite average looking, neither very good nor very bad, and had a bit of a tummy. In short, a very typical guy.

When I looked up again, there was suddenly a man sitting in the chair, wearing a fancy suit, looking into the cameras with a wide smile. I was sure I had not seen him entering, which seemed strange.

Immediately, the chattering from the audience ceased, and the man, who must have been the host, began to speak. So much for trying to escape the situation before the show started.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, and all creatures! Welcome to this wonderful, bombastic, extraordinary episode of 'The last chance'! I'm your host, the magnificent Mr. Mephistolon."

There was a moment of applause and cheering from the dark grandstands, before the man continued. What an odd introduction! Being inclusive is good and all, but 'all creatures'?

"And today, we have our best contestants ever. Give me a cheer for Blake, Lucas, Victoria and Evan!"

Again, there was some applause, which was nice, but I was still confused. What kind of game show was this?

"The rules are simple! Here at 'The last chance', everything is possible. In three exciting elimination rounds, our contestants will fight for the grand mystery prize. You, the audience will vote after each round who you like the least, and the one with the most votes has to leave, never to be seen again."

I decided I didn't like the humor of the host very much, but the explanation continued.

"Whoever survives the third round is the winner of tonight's show! They will receive the grand mystery prize"

He held up a sealed red envelope.

"And, of course, gets to go home."

It would probably have been funnier if I remembered how I got here. The charming host made it sound like we were kidnapped, but that was hardly possible, not on live TV. So, it was probably just a joke.

"But! How can you sway the audience to not vote you out, you ask? What is the game, you want to know? It's easy! In each round, each and every one of you gets a spin on our wheel of fortune. In addition, you will be dealt three cards. In every round, you must use whatever the wheel shows and one of your cards to *change* yourself and one other contestant of your choice. It doesn't matter who you choose for what, as long as one change applies to yourself and one to another one. And remember: All changes are always permanent!"

The host chuckled as if his last statement was especially funny. I didn't quite understand what 'changes' he meant, but the rest was pretty clear.

As soon as the host finished explaining, a gorgeous woman with a long flowing dress and a big deck of cards approached us. Her eyes sparkled, and her skin was smooth, and the long dress made it look like she had a tail under it. She gave every one of us contestants three cards. Mine read "Masculine", with a big blue mars symbol on it, "Submissive", depicting a figure looking down at their feet, and "Chubby", a pink pudgy figure.

After we had a moment to look at our cards, the host spoke up again.

"And without further ado, let's get started! This round begins with..."

The drum rolls in the background sounded very stereotypical.

"Victoria! Ladies first!"

With a fanfare, a big wheel of fortune was unveiled, and set into motion with one swift motion from Mr. Mephistolon. I couldn't make out what the labels on the wheel said until it slowed down and landed on the symbol of a large eggplant. It read "hung".

It had to be one of these late-night game shows with a sexual edge to it. I didn't feel very comfortable.

"Alright, Victoria! The wheel shows 'hung'. You need to choose one of your cards, and then apply both changes, one to you, and one to another contestant!"

The woman studied her cards carefully before choosing one. She held it up and smiled.

"Okay. I pick this card here for myself. It says: 'Big-Chested'. And I'll apply 'hung' to..."

She looked around her three male contestants before finally settling on me. "Evan!"

"Alright, a good choice, Victoria! Remember, the changes will apply after everyone has chosen. Let's continue with Lucas!"

The wheel spun and landed on the picture of a pink, hairless arm, which said "Smooth".

Lucas had looked into his cards up until here and scratched his head.

"Okay, so we're supposed to be nice to each other, right? Okay, so, I... Can I give both to the other guys?"

"I'm sorry Lucas, but the rules are that you have to change yourself as well!" The host smiled with endless professional patience.

"Oh, okay." The guy really wasn't all too bright.

"Then... I take 'smooth' for myself and give Victoria my 'Slim'. That works, right?"

"Yes, Lucas, that's possible! Great job!" The host cheered before looking at Blake and spinning the wheel. It finally settled on "Nerdy", adorned with a pair of glasses.

Blake's eyes darted between his cards and the rest of us. Finally, he decided.

"Okay, I don't think we're supposed to be nice to each other, here. At least, I only have rather negative cards. Since I have to play one on myself, I choose 'Dominant'". He held up a card showing a figure with held up high head and a broad stance.

"And the 'nerdy' from the wheel goes to... Lucas."

The audience murmured and the host nodded approvingly.

"It seems like you have understood pretty quickly! Alright! Let's get to our last one for this round. Evan!"

He set the wheel in motion, and I watched until it stopped at the picture of a broad chest, reading 'muscular'. I looked down on my cards. So, even if I didn't understand the whole 'change' part, it was obvious I should give positive things to myself and negative things to other people. The wheel showed 'muscular', which was obviously positive, and 'masculine' in my hand was positive as well. So, I needed to choose between 'submissive' and 'chubby'. The thought of the big bouncer having the 'submissive' card was pretty hilarious, so I decided on that.

"I'll take 'muscular' for myself and give my 'submissive' to Lucas." I announce.

"Great choices, all around. Alright. So, we get to the changes! Victoria, you got 'Big-Chested' from yourself, and 'slim' from Lucas. Let's see how you look like!"

Whatever I expected, it was not that. Before my very eyes, Victoria's modest breasts swelled until her blouse was bursting. Her body lost any excess fat, and her hips became narrower as well, forming a perfect hourglass shape. If I had been straight, I would have surely started to drool.

"Very nice! Now, let's see the guys. Lucas! You have your own 'smooth', and Blake's 'nerdy' as well as Evan's 'submissive'. Quite a lot, if you ask me!"

As expected, Lucas lost all body hair, except his head and face. Then, his eyebrows thinned out and his nose grew a bit more pronounced. I thought I heard the word 'sissy' being called from the audience. A thick pair of glasses snapped into existence, and his clothing shifted to an awkward, nerdy look. And something seemed to happen behind his eyes. Where before, he looked the host in the eye, he suddenly looked at his shoes.

"I'm sorry, master." He muttered.

"What was that, Lucas?" The host asked, smiling.

"I'm sorry, Master. I don't deserve to look into your eyes." Laughter from the audience.

Lucas was still pretty broad, but his new posture and clothing veiled that pretty well. He looked pathetic all in all.

"Alright, Lucas. Let's switch to Blake. Here, we have your own 'Dominant' and... That’s it! Your antagonists decided to go easy on you, as it seems."

The shift in Blake's demeanor was subtle. His body stayed the same, but his posture changed, as he spread his legs a bit wider and raised his shoulders. His facial expression shifted, and I was sure to see traces of cruelty or arrogance in it, now.

"Aaand, finally. Evan. 'Muscular' from yourself and 'hung' from Victoria. Seems like the other contestants like you, Evan!"

Victoria, the new, busty, Victoria leaned over and smiled as she whispered: "You're welcome."

Suddenly, my body felt tingly and weird all over. I watched in a mix of amazement and horror, as my muscles grew all over the place, quickly filling out my clothes that shifted subtly to make way for the new bulges.

The crowd cheered, and I looked at them for a moment. Then, I was distracted by a feeling in my groin. It took all my self-control not to check with my hands, but I could clearly see the bulge of my cock grow in my pants. I wasn't getting hard - although the feeling was pretty erotic - but my dick was just quickly gaining size, until the bulge was clearly visible through my pants now. I could even see the soft rod hanging down one leg and make out the shape of my balls. With my head red, I stepped closer to the lectern.

"That's all changes for round 1!" The host announced. "And it's time to say goodbye to one of our contestants now. Please, cast your vote."

While the audience voted, I looked around. Busty Victoria was probably pretty safe, as was I - I didn't have a mirror, but I must have looked pretty good. If the audience voted by looks - which I suspected - then it would either hit Blake or Lucas. Since Blake had changed the least, he was probably the most boring one, so I suspected he would be voted out.

It was Lucas, by a small margin.

"Well, then, Lucas! Here goes your 'Last Chance'!" The host smiled, a smile I would describe as cruel, and all of a sudden, a flame shot up where Lucas had been standing just a few moments ago. When the flame was gone, so was Lucas. Wow. That was either a pretty cool special effect or... No, it was a special effect.

As the host turned to Victoria again, I got the feeling this game show was more serious than I thought.

The wheel stopped at the word 'needy'. Victoria looked into her cards and whispered to me: "Let's work together this round."

Since the spot next to her was empty, I was the only one she could whisper to, even though I must have been the bigger threat in her eyes. Her plan was to concentrate on Blake this round and then eliminate me in the next.

"I give 'Needy' to Blake, and I'll take..." She flashed a smile to the audience. "'Big Behind'" The card showed the rather unsubtle outline of a large ass. Victoria was *dangerous*. She had adapted lightning fast and knew how to manipulate the audience.

Blake looked at her with contempt, possibly due to his new dominant demeanor, until the wheel stopped in front of him. It showed a naked male chest, heavily adorned with tattoos.

"Oookay. I take 'Tattooed' from the wheel for myself, and I play this card on Evan."

My heart sunk as he produced a card showing a naked figure that read 'Exhibitionistic'. Crap. The smile in Blake's face was cold. He, too, was dangerous. And from his announcement in the first round, I knew he had more negative cards in his hand.

"So, Evan, take your pick."

I hadn't even realized that the wheel had already stopped, and I looked at it quickly. It showed a pelt of hair on a breast and read 'hairy'. I quickly looked down on my cards. I had 'masculine' and 'chubby'. It was probably a good idea to keep chubby for the last round, so I had to play 'masculine'. The apparent solution was to play it on myself and give 'hairy' to Blake, if I wanted to do what Victoria suggested. However, hairy probably wouldn't hurt Blake much, and neither would 'masculine'. I could sacrifice my 'chubby', but then I'd probably lose the next round for sure. I pondered. No, Victoria was more dangerous. I could play 'hairy' on her... But wait! She was slim and busty, and she was about to give herself a big ass. Combined with hairy, that would be strange, but what if I took out her feminine advantage?

"I take 'hairy' for myself." I began. It didn't make much difference if I was hairy or not. "And I play 'masculine' on Victoria."

The audience went crazy as Victoria's transformation began. Her ass ballooned out, making her even more beautiful by heterosexual standards for a second. But that changed when her body shifted and crossed the gender boundary quickly. A bulge formed both in her throat and in her groin, and her clothes shifted to a masculine style. However, just as I had planned, she still had the other traits. Her - no, his - chest formed decidedly male but rather big man-tits, and his ass was fat. The rest of him, however, including the arms and legs, were thin and slim, looking decidedly grotesque on his male frame.

"I guess we should call you 'Victor' now" smiled the host before the attention shifted towards Blake.

"Let's see how Blake looks after his new changes: 'Tattooed' and 'Needy'".

Blake's skin quickly filled with ink, giving the man an even more dangerous aura. For a moment, I was afraid that Blake would get a stronger position due to his changes, but then, a loud moan came out of his mouth.

"Please! I need someone to..." he was confused as hell, I could see that, as his dominant and his needy side came to a weird compromise.

"... to order to fuck my hole. Please!"

The audience erupted in laughter, and even the host had to smile. It was pitiful.

"And now for Evan."

Crap, what were my changes again? I had completely forgotten that I was being changed as well.

"Let's give you... 'hairy' and 'exhibitionistic'!"

Fuck, and it was all negative. I looked down on my muscular body and I could see body hair growing in, all over my exposed arms and legs, even some in my face. However, the worst was yet to come.

My mind was filled with an overwhelming need. I *had* to show off my body. I *had* to put it on display for everyone to see. Accompanied by the laughter of the audience, I pulled off my shirt and exposed my furry, muscular chest for everyone to see. It felt good, but I wasn't finished. Next, the shoes, socks and pants came off. My underwear was filled to the brim with my large cock, and a thick bush of hair erupted from it as well. And my underwear got even tighter as I felt the rush of satisfaction it gave me to expose myself like that. I could stop now, I probably had enough self-control. However, I hesitated. It was all about the audience vote, right? Perhaps I had better chances if I played the role, to the end. So, I hooked both my thumbs into my strained boxer shorts and, with a quick motion, pulled them off, freeing the absolute python of my semi-hard cock. I even took a few steps back from my lectern, so everyone could see me in all of my hairy, muscular glory.

The audience went wild. With some satisfaction, I noticed that almost no one voted me out. Instead, most of the votes fell on Blake.

"So long, Blake!" said the host, and Blake, too, disappeared in a sudden flame.

"Seems like it's just Victor and Evan left. Let's see who survives this round and takes the grand mystery prize home! Let me spin the wheel for Victor!"

The wheel slowed down on the sweaty face emoticon. However, it didn't read 'sweaty', but instead 'horny'. Victor smiled and shot me an apologetic look.

"Sorry, big guy, but that's it for you. Let's see how needy you get. I choose 'horny' for Evan and for me... 'Charming'". The new man produced his last card, which showed a handsome prince. Crap. That was a good combination.

I looked down at my 'chubby' card, and only as the wheel stopped, I realized my mistake. I had kept the strongest negative card until the end, but I didn't anticipate that the wheel might *also* show something negative. I stared at the head-scratching figure on the wheel and the word below that. 'Dumb'. Shit.

What were my options? I could give myself chubby and Victor dumb. Perhaps, hopefully, chubby wouldn't look too bad on my muscled body, but it hardly mattered if Victor was dumb or not. Charme worked regardless of intelligence.

Then again, I could give Victor 'chubby', which would probably work well in making him even less attractive and grotesque. But that would mean I'd have to take 'dumb'. And all changes were permanent, the host had said so.

I thought back to the flame effect that had consumed Blake and Lucas. No, I had to win this, no matter the cost.

I forced a smile for the audience. "Perfect!" I exclaimed. "I'm big all over already, and hairy and naked. So, I'll gladly take the 'dumb' - make me a real himbo!"

I didn't want to be 'a real himbo', for sure, but it might still be better than the alternative. And it would fit into the 'horny' I was about to get.

"And Victor gets my last card: 'Chubby'!"

His eyes went wide, as he suddenly wasn't so sure of his victory anymore. And really, he immediately began to change. His thin body got softer and rounder, especially his stomach and butt. Even his man-tits grew even larger. However, at the same time, his face grew a well-groomed beard, and his eyes got a sparkle to it. Even though his form was bloated, he still looked nice enough. Fuck.

Then, all eyes went to me. I closed my eyes as Mr. Mephistolon announced my changes. 'Dumb' and 'Horny'. No bodily changes, thankfully. My body was still glorious and on full display. The first effect I felt was in my groin again. I grew hot and flustered, and my previously semi-hard cock quickly expanded into its full length, hard and throbbing, pointing directly ahead. That wasn't bad, I had to admit. As I was leaking precum on the floor, I enjoyed the attention of my body on display like that, and there was certainly a lot to see. But the next change hit my mind. My thoughts felt sluggish and slow. It was as if the gears in my head were covered in syrup or mud. Or that other thing, what was it... Cum, right. I had to grin dumbly. Yeah, my thoughts were slow as if they went through cum. That thought amused me and distracted me for longer than I would have been comfortable to admit before. But now, I just didn't care. When I opened my eyes again, all higher intellect was gone, and I was just happy for all the attention and was feeling horny. Well, I was always feeling horny, right? Automatically, my large right hand gripped my fuckstick and I started to slowly stroke it, while smearing precum into the pelt on my chest with the left one. The audience cheered.

"Alright, here are the final votes!", the host announced, ripping my attention momentarily from my own body.

"It seems like, with a *very* narrow margin, Victor has lost this round."

I looked at him quizzically. Was that good?

"That means Evan wins tonight's show!"

The audience went wild and clapped, and I felt happy. Apparently, I had done something right!

"Congratulations, Evan! Now, let's see what tonight's grand mystery prize is."

With a big gesture, the host opened the envelope and read out the contents.

"The winner - that's you, Evan - gets to transform the host freely, to his liking. Now that's something we haven't seen in this show for a long time!"

Even though that meant I was allowed to change him to my whim, Mr. Mephistolon didn't seem unhappy. Instead, he licked his lips.

"Go on then, Evan! What do you want to change about me?"

"Uhhh..."

I thought hard about it.

"Make you... Make you big. Big and... strong. But not as strong as me. More like lean, but sturdy. I still want to be the one to fuck you. And... uh, make you... Make you have big dick and big balls."

I was a bit confused about the last two points. My mind had trouble thinking, but I also had a big dick and big balls, and those were good, right? So, I wanted them for him, too.

"Alright, let's see what Evan gets."

I watched curiously as Mr. Mephistolon slowly began to change.

He gained muscles, but nothing like I had. He stayed rather thin, but his arms, chest and abs looked very nice. His feet grew, and lean muscle set in, making him able to withstand a lot of force when I would pound his hole, later. I could hardly wait and was stroking my cock again.

As expected, his cock and balls swelled, and grew hairy. He was not as hung as me, but that was probably good. After all, he wouldn't really need his cock, his ass was the important part.

After his transformation was finished, I saw him look at his new body and his cock, and then into the crowd, before his eyes landed on me.

"Well then, that's all for tonight, folks! I guess I'm going home with Evan now!"

And with the last round of applause, our surroundings shifted until I was in my apartment again. Still the same bull of a man, with my target right in front of me. I licked my lips as I approached the host. I would fuck him silly, that's for sure.

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART I

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). mentions of sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! this turned out pretty long so i will be splitting it into parts so it's easier. next part will be posted soon. i hope you all have as much fun reading this as i had writing it. enjoy!

part two

The breeze riffled through your hair as you drove, the sun warming your skin through the open windows. The Irish countryside stretching out before you, lush and green, with rolling hills and quaint villages dotting the landscape. The scent of wildflowers and the sound of nothing but the wind in the trees filled your senses.

It was rare, really. The silence, the feeling of complete freedom, and the solitude that enveloped you. A fleeting escape from the chaos of your everyday life.

The ping of your phone interrupted the peaceful moment. You tapped on the pop-up notification after briefly glancing at the directions to your destination. It was a message from Cillian. Well, two, actually. One was asking how far you were, and the other was a Spotify link followed by a question mark. Ever since he started hosting his bbc radio show, he's been sending you potential songs for his playlists to get your opinion. Not that he needs it anyway. But you always appreciate being included in his process.

Your lips curled into a smile as you clicked on the link. The familiar sound of The Blue Nile's "The Downtown Lights" flooded the car, instantly making you feel a wave of nostalgia. It's been ages since you've listened to that song. The synth-pop melody carries you up the pine-dotted path to where his house perches atop a hill, overlooking the crashing waves below. You've been here a couple of times, and yet it never gets less breathtaking. The Victorian architecture contrasting beautifully with the rugged coastline, creating a scene straight out of a painting.

The car glides right past the wrought iron gates, and you cut the engine in front of the stone steps leading up to the grand entrance. You shoot Cillian a quick text letting him know you're here, unbuckle your seat belt, and hop out of the car.

The June sun beats down on your skin instantly, heat radiating off the cobblestones as you open the backdoor to look through your bag for a hair tie. The smell of saltwater mingles with the sound of gulls overhead, sending you into sensory overload. "Gotcha," you mutter to yourself as you finally find the hair tie and pull your hair back into a loose bun.

"You drove here?" you hear him call out from behind you, his voice tinged with surprise. "And you're alone?" you turn around to see Cillian walking towards you, a curious expression on his face.

"I actually had to throw a tantrum to convince them to let me come alone," you reply with a chuckle, feeling a sense of pride at your small victory. "I was like, It's Ireland. What's the worst that could happen?"

Being who you are means being guarded against any potential danger or harm at all times, being driven to almost everywhere, and always having a security team around.

Cillian laughs, a sound that makes your heart flutter and makes you want to hear it again and again. "Well, I'm glad you made it here in one piece, love," he says with a grin. "You're not a very good driver."

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You did regret your decision to drive from the airport 10 minutes later when you realized you were on the wrong side of the road. But he didn't need to know that.

"I made it in one piece, didn't I?" you playfully retort, trying to salvage your wounded pride. Cillian chuckles and shakes his head with a twinkle in his eye. You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. He looks good, you thought. Unbelievably good. Well rested. His jet black hair was perfectly styled, even though you know he didn't put any effort into it—the slightest hint of silver at the temples, his sharp jawline, and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. Though they looked a little tired, as if he had been through a lot since the last time you saw him.

You quickly avert your gaze, feeling a rush of heat on your cheeks.

"It's good to see you," you finally manage to say, trying to sound casual. Cillian's smile softens, and he replies, "It's good to see you too." He opens his arms, inviting you in for a hug. The soft fabric of his t-shirt brushes against your skin as you embrace him, and for a moment, everything feels right in the world.

"Come on, let's get inside," he says, leading you towards the house. Once inside, you make your way to the kitchen. The house was quiet; you wondered if anyone else was home. Cillian's family wasn't by any means loud or boisterous, but the silence felt heavier than usual.

"You hungry, love?" Cillian asks, opening the fridge, pulling out a white ceramic container, and setting it up on the kitchen island. You take a seat on one of the stools while he stands across from you.

"For something sweet?" you smile, seeing the container filled with what seems to be a piece of strawberry sponge cake. His mom must've made it. "Always," you reply. He hands you a spoon and takes one for himself, the two of you sharing the dessert in comfortable silence.

Until he broke it.

"How was Madrid?" he asks softly.

"It was good, great crowd," you reply, taking another bite of the dessert. "But tiring," you add, feeling the exhaustion of the long trip settling in.

"How many nights did you perform?"

"Four."

"Jesus, that's quite a lot, isn't it?"

Your eyes meet his; confusion clear in your expression. "You think that's a lot? Didn't you used to do four or five nights in a row of the same play?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "for months…?

"Yeah, but that was a different kind of exhaustion," he explains, taking another bite. "Performing the way you do in front of a live audience for three hours is a whole different ball game, love."

Love.

There it was again. That godforsaken term of endearment that he seemed to throw around so casually. It made your heart race every time he said it, even though you knew it probably meant nothing to him. But the way he looked at you now, with a hint of admiration in his eyes, made you wonder if maybe—

"Want the last bite?" he offered, taking you out of your thoughts. He pushed the container towards you, a small smile playing on his lips. His gaze was intense, as if silently urging you to take it.

"Oh, hello," a voice exclaimed from behind you, breaking the moment. You drop the spoon on the counter, a little startled. As if you were caught in the act of something forbidden. You turned around to see Yvonne, Cillian's wife. She said your name with a surprised tone, making you feel guilty for some reason. "I didn't know you were here," she continued, her eyes flickering between you and her husband.

You started to rise from your seat, confusion clouding your thoughts. That's weird. Cillian usually lets his wife know when you're visiting, but this time it seems like he didn't. She walked towards you, enveloping you in a hug. "When did you get here?" she said.

"Not long ago," you replied, relieved that she didn't seem upset. "I, uh, wanted to take a break and thought Ireland might be a good place to do that," you added, hoping to diffuse any tension that may have arisen. She nodded understandingly. "And you're staying here?"

"Oh, no, no," you quickly assured her. "I rented a place nearby, so you don't have to worry about me."

"Nonsense," Cillian interjected. "You can stay here. There's plenty of room."

"She's already paid for it, Cillian," Yvonne retorted, giving him a stern look.

Something was definitely off.

This was the last thing you wanted. You've specifically chosen the cottage for two reasons. First, to have space. The whole point of this trip was to finally have peace and write music. You've been stuck for months, not being able to find inspiration in your usual surroundings. Everything felt dull inside you all day—an emptiness that was smothering.

Second, you needed to stay the fuck away from Cillian. Being close to him was dangerous territory, one you didn't want to navigate right now. The plan was to come and visit and occasionally hang out and that's it. The thought of being in such close quarters with him was overwhelming. Staying here meant risking your heart and sanity.

You hesitated, also not wanting to intrude on their space, but Cillian insisted.

"Okay…How about if I stay for a couple of days and then move to the cottage?" you suggested, hoping to compromise. "Sounds perfect to me," he said.

This was going to be a long summer.

For the next few days, you dream too much, don't write enough, and try to find inspiration everywhere. As you settled into the routine of staying at Cillian's, you found yourself enjoying the peaceful surroundings and his company more than you expected. The days seemed to blend together, filled with laughter, deep conversations, and stolen glances that left your heart racing.

But you also felt constantly distracted by his presence, making it difficult to focus on your writing or anything else, for that matter.

All you could think about was him.

The piano room surrounded you with its warm, inviting atmosphere, and you found yourself drawn to it more often than not. The big windows overlooking the garden let in streams of sunlight, casting a warm glow over the bookshelf. You felt the softness of the carpet as you sat on the grand piano bench, running your fingers along the keys absentmindedly.

You started humming a tune that had been stuck in your head for days, the words appearing softly and effortlessly as you played:

Please

I've been on my knees

Change the prophecy

Don't want money

Just someone who wants my company

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo

The prophecy?

The humming went on whenever you didn't know what to say next, filling in the gaps between the notes on the piano and the lyrics:

A greater woman has faith

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

I'm so afraid I sealed my fate

No sign of soulmates

I'm just a paperweight

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

Spending my last coin so someone will tell me

It'll be ok

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

The melody filled the room until you stopped abruptly, frustrated that the lyrics weren't coming as easily as before. You closed your eyes with a groan, trying to clear your mind. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, elbows resting on the keys of the piano.

"You good?" Cillian's rough voice broke through your frustration, causing you to look up and offer a weak smile. You don't know how long he's been standing there or how much he heard of your struggles. "Just hitting a wall with this song," you admitted, running a hand through your hair.

"Ah, I see," he nodded sympathetically. He moved towards the records stacked on the shelf and pulled one out, placing it on the turntable. "I don't want to mess with your creative process or anything, but maybe a break with some music will help," he suggested.

Radiohead's "Fake Plastic Trees" began to play, taking over the room with its haunting melody.

"So you play one of the saddest songs ever?" you deadpanned, "Thanks."

He chuckled softly, "You were playing some pretty intense stuff; I figured it would fit right in."

Oh, so he did hear you.

"Ah, I know it's different from my usual stuff," you said quietly, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about your music. "I might scrap that one. They might not be onboard with the change."

"And why's that?"

Thom Yorke's voice faded into the background as you contemplated his question, unsure of how to respond.

You shrugged, "I listen to sad music, not make it."

"I liked what I heard," he reassured you, "and change is good. It keeps things interesting."

His low voice was soothing, and you found yourself feeling more at ease with the idea of trying something new. Pop has been your comfort zone for so long, it's what stands out of you, but most importantly, it's what sells. At least, that's what's important to the industry. Maybe it was time to push yourself out of it.

"I guess you're right," you replied, a faint smile creeping onto your face.

"As always," he said, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. He stood leaning against the table where the record player sat, arms crossed, looking as if he had too many things to say and not enough words for them.

"Would this be a good time to ask you if everything's okay?" you inquired, noticing the weight of unspoken thoughts in his eyes. "With Yvonne, I mean," you added, nervous to bring up the topic.

That first day, when you arrived at the house, you could sense there was something going on between them. Something bad. The tension in the air was so obvious, but you didn't want to pry. However, as the days went by, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that she hadn't been around or the absence of a certain ring on his finger.

"And here, I thought you were never going to ask," he replied, his words laced with sarcasm.

"I was waiting for you to bring it up," your voice trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. "I-I didn't want to overstep."

He studied you for a moment, or at least, you assumed that was what he was doing. Finally, he averted his gaze and cleared his throat,"We've separated."

A cold feeling settled in your chest as you processed his words. The reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly everything made sense. "Cillian," is all you managed to say, the concern evident in your voice.

He still wouldn't look at you. Knowing him, in moments like this, he wouldn't want to be coddled or pitied, so you save your apologies for later.

"What happened?"

He waved his hand dismissively, still avoiding your gaze. "Nothing, really," he said, his tone final. He didn't look upset, but rather resigned to the situation. "It hadn't been working for a long time; we both knew it was coming. I guess we were holding on for the boys more than anything." You could see the sadness in his eyes, despite his attempt to appear nonchalant. The weight of his words hung in the air, leaving you feeling defeated and unsure of what to say next. You don't think there's anything you can say that will make this or him feel better.

And boy, did you wish you could take away his pain with just a few words.

Cillian walked slowly over the piano, stopping in front of it. He streched his arms over the wooden soundboard, gripping the edges tightly as if seeking some sort of solace in the instrument. He finally looked at you.

"Why didn't you say anything, Cill?" you asked softly, "I would've—"

"You would've what?" he interrupted, his voice strained with emotion. "I didn't want to worry you, you have more important things than my marital issues."

You could see the pain in his eyes, and it tore at your heart to see him suffering in silence. "You're my friend. These things are important to me, Cill," you said gently, reaching out to touch his hand in a gesture of comfort. He flinched slightly at your touch, but then relaxed, leaning into your hand.

He didn't say anything, but you knew he appreciated your words. You could tell by the way his shoulders slumped in relief and the way his fingers loosened their grip on the edge of the piano.

One morning, you woke up to the wind gently rustling through the trees outside your windows. The morning light was clear and clean, leaking through the glass and falling against the walls of the room in soft patterns. It felt too early to be awake, too peaceful to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

You roll over to look at the little clock on the bedside table: 6:20 AM. It wasn't worth trying to go back to sleep, so you threw the covers and climbed out of bed, feeling the cool wood floor beneath your feet as you walked to the bathroom.

You splash cold water on your face and brush your teeth, trying to wake yourself up fully. Holding up your hair, you tie it into a ponytail while walking over the bedside table to grab your phone and airpods. You put one in your ear and hit shuffle on one of your morning playlists. You couldn't function without some music. "Keep On Loving You" by Cigarettes After Sex starts playing.

On your way to the kitchen, you walked by Cillian's room and noticed the door was slightly ajar. Who the hell sleeps with their door open? Psychos, probably. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peeked inside to see him sprawled out on his bed, body illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the curtains—characteristic warm and cool shades revealing every hollow and speck of bare muscle. He slept with every limb stretched out, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. It was a rare sight, quite poetic.

He looked so peaceful, completely unaware of your presence. So you let your mind wander.

You imagined yourself crossing the room, pulling yourself on top of him. You imagined the way his bare body would look beneath you, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his dark hair messy around his face, his skin warm against yours. His hands—rough and soft at the same time—running over your thigh, your breast, your neck. You could almost feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze as he looked up at you.

But then reality snapped back into focus.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath. This was just a fantasy, a dangerous game to play with someone who was somewhat off-limits. But truth be told, the temptation was becoming harder to resist with each passing moment. It was all you could think about ever since he told you about his troubled marriage.

It took a long time for your heartbeat to slow. You headed to the kitchen to get some coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help clear your mind. As you rummage through the cabinets for a mug, his voice startles you from behind. "Need some help with that?" he asks, making you jump.

For a moment you thought you were still imagining things, but you turn around to see him standing there with a t-shirt on as opposed to five minutes ago. Great, him walking around shirtless in his kitchen, sleepy-eyed, messy hair, and rough morning voice would've been lethal.

"I've got it, thanks," you reply, shaking the mug slightly in your hand. You quickly pour yourself some coffee and try to focus on the task at hand: looking for the sugar.

"Sleep well?" he asks, voice still husky from sleep, his accent more prominent. He's rifling through the cabinet for a mug of his own. You can't help but notice the way his muscles flex under his dark t-shirt as he reaches up. You hum in agreement, trying to hide your blush as you take a sip of your coffee. "You?"

"Grand," he replies, pouring himself a cup of coffee and leaning against the counter. You exchange small talk about the upcoming day, but your mind keeps drifting back to how good he looks in the morning light.

"Any plans for today other than locking yourself in the piano room?" he teases, and you shoot him a playful glare. "Maybe I'll actually venture outside for once," you quip, laughing.

"How does the beach sound like?" he asks, "The boys are coming over, and they're bringing some friends, and I thought a trip would be a nice change of scenery."

"I could use some sun," you admit, feeling a smile tug at your lips.

"Let's make it a beach day then," he suggests, setting his mug on the sink. "We leave at 10, piano woman."

"Ha ha, very funny," you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "But I'll hold you to it, annoying man," you reply.

"Annoying man?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. "I thought I was your favorite person."

"Only on days that end in 'y'."

•••

"Are you done with your sad boy music?"

Cillian bursts out laughing, the sound taking you by surprise. He's been playing Radiohead on repeat for the whole car ride, and you were starting to feel like you were in a melancholy music video. "I like their music as much as the next person, but I think I need a break from the sadness," you say.

"Fine, fine," Cillian concedes, reaching for his phone to change the song. The bleak atmosphere in the car lifts as "Linger" by The Cranberries starts playing, filling the space with a more pleasant vibe. Cillian glances at you, he's wearing dark shades that hide his eyes, but you can still see his stoic expression softening as he catches you smiling at the change in music.

"Better?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Instead of answering, you start silently singing along to the lyrics, gesticulating dramatically for added effect. Cillian smiles at your antics, his own lips twitching in amusement as he watches you. The boys were so caught up in their conversation with their friends in the backseat that you were pretty sure they weren't even paying attention to the music or your impromptu performance. With a small smile on your face, you face out the window and enjoy the rest of the car ride in content silence.

When you arrive at your destination, all of you unbuckle your seat belts once Cillian puts the Bronco in park. You all pile out of the car, stretching your legs and taking in the sights around you. You close your eyes for a second and take a breath. The sea air—you loved that smell.

•••

A few hours later, after countless swims and some snacks, you find yourself lying on a beach towel, book in hand, feeling the warmth of the temperature on your skin. You're reading a book you picked up at an airport several months ago by Elin Hilderbrand, or the queen of beach reads, as many call her. You were completely engrossed in the story until you felt Cillian settling down next to you.

His hair was damp from the water, and his skin was slightly glistening. Gosh, he looked absolutely stunning. "Mind if I join you?" he asks.

"Not at all," you reply, closing the book and sitting up. "Having fun?"

"Lots," he says with a smile, reaching over to grab his sunglasses. The two of you sit in comfortable silence. The laughter and chatter of his sons and friends coming from the water redirects your attention back to the beach scene before you. You look back at Cillian, his eyes fixed on his sons.

"They love you, you know," you say softly, watching the genuine joy on his face as he watches his children.

"I don't know if I'm doing it right," he says, eyes still fixed on the boys. "I worry I might've fucked them up by letting my relationship with their mother fall apart."

He continues, "Sometimes I feel they resent me for it."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"I don't know, they just seem distant sometimes. Like they're holding back."

"Hey, that's normal for kids to have mixed feelings about their parents' separation. I was so happy when mine got divorced because it meant no more fighting, but it was also tough to adjust to the changes. It's very conflicting stuff," you say, huffing a small laugh. "Also, they're teenagers now, right? That's a tough age to navigate even without the added stress of divorce."

Cillian nods in agreement, exhaling out a yeah.

You squint against the sunlight beaming behind his head before continuing.

"You're a great dad, you always have been. Just show up and be there for them when they need you, even if they don't always seem to appreciate it. They'll remember it in the long run," you offer, remembering how much your own father's presence meant to you after your parents' divorce. "And I'm not a parent, but what parent feels like they're doing everything right all the time, anyway?"

Cillian turns to look at you. He studies your face for a moment before offering a small smile. "I guess you're right," he says sincerely.

"Fork found in kitchen," you retort, breaking the tension with a bit of humor.

He chuckles, "That's clever."

"Well," you continue, "I've been accused of many things over the years, but being unoriginal isn't one of them."

He laughs. Just like he did back in the car: a genuine, carefree laugh that makes you feel a little lighter.

"Want to go for one last swim, piano woman?"

You roll your eyes. "Will you stop calling me that?"

"Not likely," Cillian replies with a grin. "It's too fitting."

You stand up and stretch. You're wearing a one-piece teal-ish swimsuit that you swear you only chose based on comfort and not because it makes your ass and breasts look fantastic. Cillian's eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks away, and you swear you can see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. He doesn't move.

"Are you coming or…?"

"Right, one last swim," he finally says, standing up and following you towards the water.

Maybe that one last swim wasn't a great idea after all.

And why is that?

Because not even five minutes into the water, you thought it would be a good idea to jump from a high rock, and now you're sitting in the car with your knee scrapped, throbbing in pain, and regretting your impulsive decision.

•••

"You're so fuckin' stubborn."

You try to move into a more comfortable position while ignoring the pain shooting up your leg by pressing a hand against one side of the door to keep yourself steady. "And you're so clearly overreacting."

Cillian pushes his bedroom door open. He's also clearly pissed. The ride back to the house was deathly silent. Well, not silent. His sad boy music made a return, and this time with Broken Social Scene. You couldn't ask him to change the music without starting another argument. Even the kids were quiet, beyond asking several times if you were okay, which you assured them you were. Obviously a lie.

As Cillian walks around the room, you reach for your midi white beachy dress and look down at your knee in horror. It's no longer just a bruise, but a gash that is slowly oozing blood. Not as much as before, but still. It looks nasty underneath the shirt Cillian used from his car as a makeshift bandage.

He grabs the first aid kit from a shelf and turns around to face you.

"Take off your dress."

"Pardon me?"

"Take off your dress so I can properly clean and bandage the wound," Cillian repeats, his expression serious. You look down at the blood-stained fabric as if you needed any more confirmation. "Off, C'mon."

You stiffen at his demand, your body going completely rigid at his bossy tone. You watch him stride into his bathroom. He pushes aside some stuff on the counter and tosses the kit onto the counter.

Okay, yeah. He has good reason to be upset. You had no business jumping from that rock.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he'd said before, right when he went to get you. And now you can see the anger still simmering beneath the surface.

You can hear him shuffle in the bathroom while you remove your dress. You still have your swimsuit on underneath, but you feel exposed without the extra layer. Maybe the pain is catching up to you or the fact that you have upset him or that he's waiting for you in the bathroom to take care of you but tears sting your eyes as you try to process the situation. You take a moment to collect yourself. You cannot go in there like this, he cannot see you this vulnerable. At least, not now.

He's braced against the counter, head hung low, when you push open the bathroom door. You nearly back out to give him some space or time to compose himself, but his eyes meet yours and his expression straightens. He clears his throat and then freezes. "I—you're wearing your swimsuit."

"I am. Were you expecting me to change into something else?"

"No," he grumbles, "I mean, nevermind."

He turns back and starts grabbing sterile gauze, his movements slightly jerky. He gestures for you to sit on the counter. "Up."

"I'm not sure I can do that given my—" Before you're done speaking, he scoops you up and sets you on the counter. Your hands are locked around his neck, and his are firmly gripping your waist. They fit perfectly there, like they're made to hold you close.

He reaches behind him, both your faces close together now, and grabs your wrists, pulling them away from his neck and onto your thighs. He puts a hand on your uninjured leg, his touch gentle yet firm. "This is going to hurt." You stare at his impossible blue eyes and think to yourself: yes, this is going to hurt.

"Oh, shit shit," you gasp, gripping his forearm. "Holy fuuuck."

"I've got you, breathe," he commands, and you allow yourself to focus on his voice, letting it ground you. The antiseptic burns both your nostrils and knee as he continues to clean the wound, the pain shooting through your leg causing you to clench your teeth.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out.

There's nothing but silence in response.

"I told you multiple times not to go up there," he finally says, his voice tinged with frustration. "And yet."

"I know," you whisper, feeling guilty.

"Don't do that again," he commands, his accent thickening with emotion. "You could've hurt yourself even more."

"I know," you repeat, not sure how else to respond.

His head is bowed in concentration as he finishes cleaning the wound, his hands steady despite the anger in his voice. You can see his dark eyelashes fluttering slightly as he works. He applies a little more pressure to the bandage than he should've, and you let out a soft moan. This doesn't go unnoticed by him.

The air in the room seems to shift. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see something soften in his gaze before he looks away.

"You're not supposed to like that."

Your cheeks heat up immediately.

He's gotten closer to you, your hands somehow made their way to fist his navy blue linen shirt. His body is between your legs, the delicate material of his pants brushing your skin. His breath is warm against your cheek as he leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't say I mind it either." Your heart races at his proximity, unsure of what to do next.

His hands slide up your thighs, gently caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He's going to kiss you, and you can't help but wonder if it's the right decision to let him.

But now is not the time to be rational about it.

"I'm not gonna stop you," you say quietly, "I wouldn't know how."

His eyes darken, pupils dilating with desire. He doesn't move.

It's like you're both aware of the line you're about to cross, so neither of you moves.

You keep your eyes firmly on his face. His lips inch closer to yours, and you feel the heat of his breath on your skin. Your body is angled towards his, hand gripping the edge of the counter. Your slightly damp hair, now cold, making you shiver.

He's impossibly hard against you, the material of his pants is thin, and you're aware of every inch of him pressing against your throbbing core.

"And I wouldn’t know how to stop kissing you," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. He shifts slightly, causing his erection to press even more firmly against you, both letting out a soft moan. His mouth hovers just inches from yours, just kiss me, you thought.

There's a knock on the bedroom door, which is, by the way, open.

"Dad?" You both freeze.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, offering a sliver of privacy but not enough to shield you from any potential interruptions.

"Yes?" Cillian calls out, trying to sound casual despite the intense moment that was just interrupted. "We're ordering takeout, do you want anything?"

"No, buddy, we're good, thanks," Cillian replies, his voice strained as he tries to keep his composure. You hear the steps retreating down the hallway.

Cillian steps back, and the absence of his body against yours is jarring. It clearly would've been a mistake to take this further, but a mistake that would've felt so fucking good.

"We shouldn't do this."

He clears his throat. "Yeah."

He moves towards the door, his movements tense and purposeful. "I'm gonna—" he says, motioning the door.

"Yeah," you quickly reply, "I got it."

You watch him leave, the air heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.

a/n: thank you for reading! please share your thoughts with me, let me know if you guys enjoyed it :)

part two

[daydreams-after-dark]

Billionaire Lee Minho and his Pretty Little Plaything

You're at billionaire Lee Minho's extravagant party at some fancy historical manor, where unbeknownst to you he want to make you his "Plaything".

Before you know what's happening you find yourself in a room with Minho, Changbin and Hyunjin. Minho has plans for you but he doesn't know you can play games too.

Pairing: Lee Know x fem reader, Changbin x fem reader, Hyunjin x fem reader.

Word count: 8k approx

a/n: This story was originally posted on my main blog @moonlightndaydreams called "Minho meets his match".

WARNINGS: NSFW // contains depictions of explicit sexual content // some m x m stuff // unsafe vagina sex // vaginal fingering // explicit language // oral sex female // oral sex male // nudity // sex in front of others // mild blood kink // choking // anal fingering // attempted anal sex // plaything kink // ejaculation // female ejaculation // cum eating

You felt the dark rappers eyes watching you as soon as you stepped into party, making the hairs on your neck stand on end.

He was weighing you up, you could tell, making you feel self conscious and short of breath. Trying to compose your racing heart, you smoothed down the satin fabric of your long slinky black dress (the one with the thigh high split) as you made your way to the make shift bar across the room, hoping he’d lose interest in you.

But his stare bored into your back, burning into your skin and through your flesh melting your insides.

“A sparkling wine please.” You said to the bar tender, and he passed you your glass of alcohol.

You hadn’t intended to come to the party but your boss said it would be a good idea to make an appearance and so here you were, begrudgingly. You preferred a quiet night with your stories.

You sipped your drink and took in your surroundings. The party was being hosted by billionaire Lee Minho, one of the most eligible bachelors of the moment. The man had an impeccable reputation as a respectable gentleman. You hadn’t ever heard a negative or scandalous thing about him. Not even a whisper. “Hmmm” you scoffed, either he was incredibly boring or incredibly careful.

But, he was intriguing, you thought to yourself. Look at this place. Who would host a glamorous party in an historical Manor instead of the newest and flashiest club? You cast your eyes around the room. The place was pulsing with people and the music was pounding through the sound system that had been set up.

The manor felt more like a castle, and you loved the stone pillars and architecture. You admired the grand staircase that made it’s way up the second floor, to what you could only assume were offices or accommodation. You didn’t really know what was up there, and you didn’t get a chance to wonder either because when you dropped your eyes from the upper level you locked eyes on the dark rapper leaning against the wall next to the staircase.

Changbin was his name, and he was a popular music artist. A well known rapper and producer. He was also Lee Minho’s right hand man. Or security guard. You weren’t quite sure what his relationship with Lee Minho entailed, but he was never far away.

You didn’t realise you were biting your lower lip as you watched him watch you, his arms were crossed over his broad, chest and he had one booted foot resting against the wall behind. He opened his pouty mouth slightly and you felt your cheeks reddening as he unashamedly looked you up and down.

Your melted insides now felt like they were pooling in your vagina and moistening your panties. You shouldn’t be turned on but you were. You clenched your vagina walls and you felt an ache to be filled and stretched. How dare he stare at you like this? How dare he make you feel this way?

You downed the remainder of your beverage and slammed the empty glass on a nearby table before you boldly walked towards him. He didn’t budge. He didn’t even look away. He just kept his eyes locked on you as though your were the tastiest thing he’d ever seen. You didn’t take your eyes off him either and you found it thrilling to be challenging him like this.

You had almost reached him, but at the last second you turned to your left and went up the stairs.

You didn’t even know where you were heading, but there was no way you were going to give Changbin the satisfaction of you approaching him. He would have thought that his dark stare had somehow cast a spell on you and that you needed to be his, and that you’d fall straight into his trap… or lap. But you didn’t like giving in to people that easily. You were agitated that your body was betraying your thoughts and challenging your willpower. That’s why you went upstairs. To get away from the situation, and you hoped he wouldn’t follow you. Well your brain was hoping that he wouldn’t follow you… what your body was hoping for you weren’t so sure.

The landing presented you with two options - a dark, narrow hallway to the left, or a long, somewhat lit hallway directly in front of you. You decided to go with the second option. The hallway was wide with many doors along both sides, and a large window at the end. There were wall lamps between each of the doors lighting the way.

You suddenly felt a surge of panic when you realised that if Changbin had followed you then where would you hide? What if all of the doors were locked? You felt trapped as your heart rate increased and your hairs stood on end (again). You were about to look over your shoulder to see if he had followed you, but before you could even turn your head a hand grabbed your arm and pushed you back hard against the wall. You let out a squeal and your eyes widened as Changbin stood close to you, trapping you with his arms resting on either of side of your head.

“This…” he whispered “is an out of bounds area. You shouldn’t be up here.” His voice was cold and stern and his eyes were dark and challenging.

“I was just looking for the bathroom.” You said defiantly. Who could argue with the call of nature, right?

Changbin clicked his tongue as it to say that’s the oldest excuse in the book.

He stepped even closer to you, his body pressed against yours making you feel weak in the knees. You could feel his length hardening in his trousers and your molten insides were really seeping out of you now. You weren’t about to let on that he was affecting you this way.

He released his right hand from the wall and his fingers ghosted your cheek, your neck, the side of you breast and stomach, but he didn’t touch you until he placed it on your left hip. Your breath hitched and got caught in your throat, but you stared, no, glared at him trying to gain some sort of control or power over the situation. But he simply dug his teeth into his lip and dropped his gaze to your lips and then further to the top of your cleavage.

The hand he still had pressed against the wall softly landed on the spaghetti strap of your dress, slipping his finger underneath. But he didn’t slide it off your shoulder. He seemed to be contemplating what he wanted to do. What he could do. He knew all it would take was to slip the flimsy strap down your arm and you’d be exposed to him. He let out a long exhale.

Then his eyes snapped back up to yours as he snapped out of his thoughts.

“Anyway, I guess it doesn’t really matter that you’re up here. Mister Lee has asked me to collect you. He’s requested your presence.”

He’s what? Why would Lee Minho want to see you? How does he even know who you are?

Your intuition kicked into gear. Something didn’t seem right. There was absolutely no reason for him to need to see you. What could he possibly want with you? Minho seemed far too squeaky clean on the outside to really be squeaky clean, and that made you suspicious.

You felt the urge to get out of there. Fast.

Adrenaline kicked in and you kicked Changbin in the leg as hard as you could, startling him and making him step back. Now was your chance, but he was blocking your way back towards the stairs.

That left you having to run up the hallway, testing doors. Most of them were locked. What were you going to do?

Chanbgin quickly recovered and was slowly closing in on you. But he didn’t seem rushed or panicked. It was like in those horror movies where the victim would be running away from the serial killer who would simply walk calmly in pursuit, and then eventually... you didn't want to think about that.

In your frantic attempt to get away, you managed to find an unlocked door. Thank Fuck. You felt a wave of relief as you stepped inside and closed the door, locking it from the inside. You leaned your head against the door panting. You were safe for now.

Once you caught your breath and calmed your racing heart, you turned around to see where you were. That’s when you saw him. Lee Minho sitting on a brown leather couch, arms outstretched along he backrest, and in his lap was a man’s head, sucking his cock.

“Look Hyunjin, my plaything has arrived.” He said amused as he smirked and gave you the deadliest glare you’d ever seen.

———

You stood fixed to the spot. What the actual fuck was happening?

Hyunjin lifted his head and looked up at you. You didn’t know where to look, your eyes darting between Hyunjin’s puffy, slobbery lips, and Minho’s throbbing, angry cock before snapping back up to meet Minho’s deadly stare.

“Do you like what you see, pretty lady?” He sneered.

This was messed up. You had to get the fuck out of there. You spun around and went for the door, hoping to God that Changbin had given up on you and gone back downstairs. But as you opened the door ready to bolt you ran smack bang into a hard chest. Changbin.

He’d been standing outside the door and now he was edging you back into the room.

You didn’t dare let the three men see your fear that was coursing through you, or that other feeling that you were ignoring, as you were backed towards the edge of an unoccupied couch.

“Sit.” Changbin instructed and gently pushed you into the chair and then he proceeded to sit in the armchair opposite you, crossing his arms and staring you down.

You look to the two men on the couch on your right. Hyunjin had now sat up and was sitting with his legs crossed, leaning on his hand and watching you curiously. He had his tongue poked out between his plump, red lips and strands of black hair had escaped his pointy tail, making him look disheveled.

The way he looked at you made you feel like you were the most interesting and unique creature he’d ever laid eyes on, while at the same time that’s how you were looking at him too.

Fuck, he was stunning, you thought. He was wearing a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he’d paired it with black dress pants. Designer for sure.

If Changbin’s eyes bored through your skin and melted your insides, then Hyunjin’s eyes set you on fire.

You folded your arms across your chest, fully aware that it pushed your cleavage up, and crossed one leg over the other, the split in your dress exposing almost the entire length of your leg. You might be scared, but you certainly weren't shy.

Although you were directing a death stare Minho, you registered in your peripheral Changbin stiffen and grip the chair arms, and Hyunjin slinked down like a feline onto his side to lean on couch arm to continue watching you.

Minho just stared right back at you. His eyes were dark, like Changbin’s, but there was something else there. There was a sinisterness, a glimmer of evil behind his eyes, like this was a game.

But you were good at playing games too.

Minho was about to meet his match.

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

“Okay. Look. This…” you gesture around the room “is well and truly fucked up. I don’t know who you are, or what you want. And what do you mean by ‘plaything’ anyway? And what makes you think that I’m it? You don’t fucking know me!” you ranted, not pausing, not giving them a chance to interject. You were absolutely fuming mad. "Who the fuck are you people?"

Hyunjin silently laughed to himself, and Changbin didn’t budge. Minho smirked, one corner of his mouth curling up.

“Are you quite finished?” he sounded amused as you continued to glare at him.

“Of course you know who we are,” he scoffed. “And we know who you are.” You swallowed hard.

“And… by ‘plaything’” the smirk and amusement leaving his face and replaced with a cold expression. “I mean I am going to fuck you however I like, as many times as I like, and… as hard as I like. And when you beg me to stop… I’ll just keep going…and when I do stop, well” he paused for a moment then whispered “you’ll want me to do it again.”

Your mouth hung open in disbelief as you let his words sink in. What a presumptuous asshole! How dare he be so fucking cocky. How dare he think he can request your presence and then do whatever the fuck he wants with you?

“But,” Minho’s calculating voice broke your frantic thoughts. “I’m not going to fuck you until you beg for it.”

You couldn’t help yourself but burst out laughing. What the actual fuck?

“So,” you tried to control your condescending laugh “you’re not going to do anything until I beg you?” you shook your head. Wow. “Don’t you think that’s a bit, I don’t know, up yourself?” you raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. He was actually very attractive, but there would be no way in hell that you would ever beg him to have sex with you. Out of principle. But you were intrigued, and you were curious to see how this would unfold.

Minho said nothing, but his equally condescending stare told you he that he thought he knew better.

His eyes silently challenged you. “You can try to fight this all you like, but you will beg me to fuck you. That, I can promise.” He said, whispering the last part. It sent chills down your spine. You glared at him for what felt like a whole minute.

“Not if you beg me for it first.” You said coldly. Minho looked taken aback. He wasn’t expecting you to challenge him like this. He might’ve expected you to simply leave, but actually dare to suggest that he’d be the one doing the begging? Well this sounded interesting to him and you could see it in his facial expression.

He nodded his head “Okay, I get it, your a feisty one. I should’ve expected that. But I think you will be sorely disappointed.”

“Yes, well we’ll see won’t we?” you responded.

Hyunjin looked thrilled with what was unfolding as he looked wide-eyed between the you and Minho. Changbin just continued to sit silently like a stoic statue.

Now you needed to think of a way to get Minho to beg you to let him fuck you. Just that thought alone jolted you into the realisation that what if he did beg? Would you really want that? Would you really let him do that to you?

You studied Minho while you contemplated what to do. Physically he looked fucking sexy, his face was pleasant when he didn’t have a sinister expression (which by the way the sinister expression did do things to you that you didn’t dare want to admit). His body seemed toned and fit, although it was hiding under a dinner suit. Then there was his cock, which had been put back in his trousers. You could tell from that quick glimpse earlier it was impressive, and you were certain he knew how to use it well.

But his arrogance and self assuredness really pissed you off and fired you up. It ignited your competitive side. You liked to win, and you fucking hated to lose.

So yes, you would let him fuck you if he begged you.

And with that you made your first move.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly. His eyes darted to yours curiously. “Come sit on the floor in front of me.” You ushered him down to the floor, and like a slinky panther he slid to the floor and sat at your feet.

“You’re really pretty close up.” He giggled.

“You think?” you smiled back at him. Hyunjin’s eyes followed your exposed leg from the ankle all the way up to the top of your thigh and he licked his lips.

“Do you like what you see?” you taunted. Hyunjin nodded “Hmmm…yes.” He whispered.

“You can touch me if you want, Hyunjin.” And you snapped your eyes up to Minho who shrugged and made a face like he didn’t care.

Hyunjin brought a finger to your ankle and traced a long, delicate finger slowly up your shin, over your knee and along the top of your thigh. It sent a shiver through you and you could feel yourself burning up.

“I know you like sucking cock, Hyunjin, but… do you like eating pussy too?” Hyunjin’s head snapped up and he nodded excitedly. “I fucking love eating pussy.”

You leaned in close to Hyunjin’s ear and whispered “Do you want to be a brat to Minho and eat my pussy?”

You leaned back on the sofa and Hyunjin slid your dress up to spread your knees wide. He let out a wobbly exhale and his tongue hung out of the corner of his mouth. And for a long moment he just admired you, gazing between your legs before sliding your underwear off. You looked at Minho and you caught him swallowing hard.

From where Changbin sat across the room he had a full view of your pussy and you could see it was having an affect on him. His mouth had parted again and his eyes had that same hungry look that he had when he watched you earlier downstairs.

Hyunjin dove between your legs and it took you by surprise, making you squeal. Minho laughed from the side.

Hyunjin knew what he was doing, building you up to three long, slender fingers in no time at all. His wicked tongue doing obscene things to your lips and clit. His fingers expertly pressed into your g-spot and it made you come undone within 5 minutes, shaking and clenching around his mouth and fingers.

Once you came down from your high, you pushed Hyunjin away and instructed him to lay on the shag rug in front of the couches. You knelt between his legs to undo his trousers and released his long cock. How the fuck were you going to suck him off? He was simply too long! You quickly worked out that the best way to tackle this was to straddle Hyunjin’s chest, that way his cock would enter your mouth at a much better angle to take him in your throat.

But you still couldn’t get him all in. But boy did you try. You fought back the urge to gag, tears ran down your face, saliva dribbled out the corners of your mouth and down his length. You used your hand to take care of what you couldn’t take with your mouth, and you found a steady rhythm that seemed to be driving Hyunjin wild.

You felt his hands land on your ass and then slide your dress up over your hips so he could get another good look at you before pulling you back to sit on his face. His tongue dove into your pussy and his perfect lips sucked on your clit again. He lifted you off his face slightly so he could run his thumb along your folds, slicking it up, and pushing it into your second entrance while pulling you back down onto his face. You groaned at the burning stretch and rolled your hips, grinding and sliding your wetness all over his face.

Hyunjin was losing control under you, grunting and bucking his hips up into your face as he painted your throat in cum, making you literally choke on his cock and semen.

You were so close to orgasm but you had other ideas and you lifted yourself up off of Hyunjin.

“Naww… but I haven’t felt that pussy around my cock yet.” He whined as he laid spent on the floor.

“Patience, Hyunjin.” you reassured him.

You stole a glance up at Minho. His eyes were nearly black with rage as he scowled at you disapprovingly.

So he didn’t like what you were doing? Good.

You set your sights on Changbin next. You crawled towards him and he parted his legs so you could kneel in between them. With hooded eyes you looked up at him. His eyes were cloudy with lust, and his fucking pouty lips were driving you crazy. And he was hard, so fucking hard in his trousers. You reached for his belt. You wanted to relief him of his erection, but he grabbed your wrist and shook his head.

“I don’t want your slutty mouth around my cock until you’ve kissed me.” He said gruffly, and pulled you up to straddle his lap.

Wow that sentence started off so dirty and ended so… sweet, you thought and you leaned in to gently kiss his mouth. He tasted like whiskey and toothpaste, and it didn’t take long before you were devouring his mouth and sinking your tongue in to connect with his. You lifted your dress out of the way so that your bare pussy rubbed against his trousers, the friction feeling delicious. His hands roamed your back, caressed your ass, guiding you as you ground against his hardness.

You were shaking with desire and you were dying to come again “I need you inside me, Changbin.” You panted. You shifted back so you could access his fly and hastily released his cock, and slid yourself down over his shaft.

Changbin grunted and he looked like he was in pain as you rode him slowly.

“Fucking hell you feel so good.” He grunted and he buried his face in your neck.

Changbin definitely had some girth to him and you mewled at how stretched open he made you feel. He reached up to your spaghetti strap and this time he tucked a finger underneath the flimsy string and tugged it off your shoulder. He repeated the action for the other strap and allowed the top of your dress to slip down to reveal your breasts.

Changbin’s mouth latched onto a nipple, nibbling and flicking it with his tongue. His other hand giving your other breast a meaty squeeze.

“Turn her around, Changbin.” Hyunjin suggested. “Let Minho see her face while she’s being fucked.”

With one last growl and a bite of your nipple, Changbin easily lifted you off his cock so you could turn around.

With one foot on placed on the seat either side of his thighs, you lowered yourself back down onto his dick and leaned back against his chest.

“Take off her dress.” Hyunjin prompted.

Minho remained silent, but never looked away.

Changbin lifted your dress over your head and tossed it to the side. Now you were fully naked and completely exposed. You felt a rush of adrenaline as Hyunjin watched you with fascination. Changbin’s hands roamed your naked form, before landing back on your breasts. He seemed to love your tits. And you loved the way his hands felt as he fondled them.

You leaned your head right back against Changbin’s shoulder, offering him your neck. He took it willingly, sucking your pulse.

You felt Hyunjin’s hands under your thighs, lifting your legs up so that your knees were pushed against your chest. You had no control of the thrusting now, and you were at the mercy of the two men.

Hyunjin would slide you halfway up Changbin’s cock and Changbin would roll his hips up into you completely, then he’d roll back out. Then Hyunjin would slide you up part way and drop you back down full force onto the rapper’s cock. Sometimes they’d work together where Hyunjin would lift you up almost the whole way off Changbin and then forcefully ram you back down at the same time Changbin would snap his hips up. It made you cry out in pleasure.

Then Hyunjin found your clit with his tongue and that was truly more than you could bare. With one hand around Chsngbin’s neck, the other in Hyunjin’s hair, your gaze drifted to Minho. His mouth was hung open and his eyes now had a different look to them. You couldn’t quite pick what it was about them, but the way he looked a you sent you hurtling towards orgasm.

It sent Changbin over the edge too, and you felt his cum spurt up into you as he screamed out an animalistic growl.

As you came down, you realised how truly exhausted you were, and it took you a while to stop shaking.

Hyunjin wasted absolutely no time pulling you off Changbin. He was hard again and he was dying to fuck you.

He laid you down on the carpet and you felt Changbin’s cum seeping out of you onto the rug. You hoped no one would notice.

“Let me fuck that back into you.” Hyunjin whispered deviously. The man was beautiful, but fuck he was bratty too.

He hovered above you and gazed at you momentarily, then he dove into your neck at the same time he drove his cock into you. You winced as he hit your cervix, but it didn’t seem to bother him, and he kept trying to inch as much of himself into as he could with every thrust. He was immersed in his own world, as he smashed into you, and as much as it wasn’t comfortable, you were still willing to take it.

Just when you thought tears were going to spring from your eyes, Hyunjin flipped onto his back, taking you along with him so your were on top. This new position allowed you to control the depth of Hyunjin, offering your cervix some respite. Before you had time to register it, you felt Changbin at your side offering you his cock. You took it in your mouth, and enthusiastically worked it like your life depended on it.

“Fuck that’s hot” Hyunjin sighed underneath you as he watched you sucking Changbin off.

“Changbin, come fuck her with me…help me tear up her insides.”

Your eyes widened in fear and you knew that Minho and Changbin saw your reaction. You accidentally bit down on Changbin’s dick, and he pulled out with a yelp.

“S-sorry.” You whispered desperately to him.

“Come on Binnie, I’m not going to last long.” Hyunjin whined.

Changbin looked like he’d seen a ghost. “No… I can’t,” he shook his head. “I..I don’t want to.” And with that he abruptly did up his trousers and hastily left the room.

“Well I wanna fuck your ass even if he doesn’t.” Hyunjin announced, not in the slightest bit fazed that his friend just stormed off. He lifted you off his cock and pushed you down onto your stomach and rubbed the head of his cock through your lips to line himself up with your back entrance.

But before he had a chance to penetrate you, he was suddenly thrown off you.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Minho roared. Hyunjin looked up at him bewildered. Minho glared furiously at Hyunjin. “I said get the fuck out of here. NOW!” and he dragged him by the collar and thew him out the door.

Minho turned back to you, and you saw an expression you hadn’t seen before. It was concern.

You felt like such a fool, and so fucking pathetic sitting there naked on the rug with cum still leaking out of you.

You didn’t want to look at Minho. He went to the corner of the room and returned with a throw blanket and wrapped it around your naked body.

“I think you’ve done more than enough, don’t you?” he said sternly. He lifted you up and carried you to the couch and sat you beside him.

He reached to the table next to couch and poured a glass of water. “Here.” He said pointing the glass at you. You took it begrudgingly and drank it down in one gulp. You were absolutely parched.

“Look, I just want to check…” he started, but you looked away. Minho took your chin in his hand and turned it back forcing you to look directly at him. “I want to know you’re okay.” His eyes searched yours, looking for any indication that you were hurt.

The walls you had up when you entered this room suddenly felt like they were going to crumble. You sucked in your bottom lip, squeezed your eyes closed and nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.” Your voice was so small.

Minho stroked your cheek, moving some loose strands of hair off your face. There wasn’t a hint of malice in his expression now.

“That’s better.” He said as he pushed the last strands of hair behind your ear.

His touch felt tender, as he tightened the blanket more snugly around you.

His eyes were warm as they drank in your lips.

You hated it. You wanted to scream at him. How dare he suddenly be so… so kind?

Then you kissed him.

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

You pulled away abruptly, shocked at yourself.

Minho held your gaze with soft eyes but you could tell his mind was at work.

Then he reached around the back of your head and leaned in to kiss you. His kiss was a mix of urgency and care and you melted into it fast. His tongue dipped delicately into your mouth to catch yours. The man knew how to kiss, and the way it made you feel you knew you didn’t have much hope of resisting him.

It set you on fire, and without thinking you climbed onto his lap and straddled him, not breaking contact with his mouth even for a moment. The blanket slipped off you as one hand cupped his face and other one grabbed him greedily around the back of his neck. Minho’s hands were all over you, frantically trying to be everywhere at once. Everywhere except where you desperately wanted him to be. You unbuttoned his shirt, practically ripping it from his body, and explored his chest with your hands. You tried to grind on his crotch and you could feel he was aroused. He was so hard in his trousers, you thought it would somehow unzip his pants and spring free by itself.

“Minho,” you sounded so desperate and you hated it.

He leaned back and took a good look at your naked body then tilted his head up to meet your eyes. He brushed your jawline with his thumb.

He knew what you wanted. You knew your eyes were begging him to touch you.

“Say it for me, beautiful.” He said with a strained voice and dark, hungry eyes. The need in his voice took you by surprise. He gripped your hips and ground his crotch against you. “I can’t do it unless you beg, remember?” he panted. He was basically begging you to beg him, and you knew he was on the verge of giving in.

“Beg me to be your plaything, Minho” you cooed in response.

Minho snickered. “That’s not how this works.” He hissed, and leaned up to nibble your ear. “But you are making it so very hard.” He sighed.

You reached down to palm his trousers. “I know I am.” You smiled devilishly.

Minho, with what looked like all his self control, pulled right back and stopped touching you completely. It seemed he hoped this move would make you cave. And you nearly did. But you decided to take a gamble.

“Fine, Minho.” You huffed. “I said from the start I wouldn’t beg. And, I said if you begged me to, I would be your plaything. But if you’re not going to…” You slid off Minho’s lap and covered yourself with the blanket.

Minho winced at the sudden loss of being able to see and feel your body that was literally in his lap a moment ago.

You picked up your crumpled dress and panties and turned your back to Minho so you could get dressed.

The blanket pooled around you feet as it dropped to the floor and you struggled to untangle the dress from the mess Changbin made when he took it off you. How the fuck did he manage to get it half inside out?

You almost had the dress back the right way, and was about to step into it when you felt Minho’s arms wrap around your waist.

“Please stay,” he whispered into your ear and holding you close against his bare chest. “Please be mine tonight.”

You felt his hot breath on your neck and it sent your head in a spin.

“I need you.” His hands slid down your sides, your head fell back against his shoulder. “I have to be inside you.” He licked a trail from your shoulder up to your ear and then took the lobe in his mouth.

“How badly do you want it.” Your voice was barely a whisper. You were enjoying what his words were doing to you. He was fucking seducing you. And it was working.

“I’m fucking begging you to let me taste you. And feel you. And. Fuck. You.”

Every single part of your body was begging for him to own you, yet he was the one who said it first. It didn’t make you feel like you’d won. It made you feel wanted.

Minho spun you around to face him and stared straight into your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“I wanna be your plaything, Minho,” you said. “Fuck me however you want, as long as you want and as hard as you want. I wanna feel what you can do to me.” You said silkily and undid his trousers and dropped them to the floor, allowing Minho to step out of them. He looked God-like. “I need you to-”

Minho kissed you slow and deep and you wrapped your legs around him as he lifted you up and placed you lengthwise on the couch.

He was on top of you, pinning you down and devouring you in the most tender way possible. You thought he’d just throw you down and fuck you stupid.

His kisses were firm but careful and the pace slow and steady. It was like he was making love to you with just his mouth and it sent tingles down your spine. His hard cock pressed against you but he didn’t attempt to penetrate you. You wanted him to though.

As the kiss continued, little moans escaped both of you and your bodies began to react by writhing against one another.

Minho smiled against your mouth and peeled his lips away from yours “I’m gonna kiss your pussy like this now.”

He kissed his way down your body, slowing down when he reached your pubic bone so he could pay extra attention there. He kissed the crease where your thigh joined your body and he nibbled your inner thigh.

You whimpered when his precious lips made contact with your labia and clitoris. He kissed you in exactly the same way he kissed your mouth. Soft. Tender. Slow. Intentional. His tongue gently dipped in to caress your clit while his lips pressed against your swollen labia. Every now and then he’d gently suck or flick your clit with the tip of his tongue.

You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could watch this mysterious man do these wickedly sensual things to you.

He looked up at you with smiling eyes and you were certain he was actually smiling. You were melting into the couch, you’d never been given this type of attention from any of your previous lovers. It was heavenly.

You watched as Minho moved his kisses down to your entrance, where they became hungrier and more urgent. But still so gentle. You must have been dripping wet by now. And you absolutely ached for him to be inside you.

“Minho… you’re so soft…and careful…” you could barely speak.

“And…is that a problem?” he teased playfully.

“I…just… don’t… understand..” Why couldn’t you talk properly?

Minho licked a stripe up through your lips and lifted his head. But he didn’t take his eyes off your pussy.

“You see… If I go softly and give your sweet pussy proper attention,” he dipped his head and kissed you. His voice was low and husky and his eyes became so dark you thought they’d turned black. “You’ll be able to take more of what I’m going to give you,” he sucked on your clit. “you’ll be able to stretch wider…” He slid a finger through your dripping folds and brought it to his mouth to suck it clean.

You thought you were going to come on the spot.

“You’ll be able to take it deeper…” he brought his finger back down to tease your entrance. “And…” he paused. “it’ll make the pain feel more….exquisite when I hurt you.” And he slid his finger into you and pressed against your g-spot bringing you almost to -

He removed his fingers just as you were about to come. You clenched your fists and squeezed you vagina hoping to bring on the release. But you’d lost it. Fucking bastard!

He knew exactly what he’d done. The satisfaction on his face was as plain as day.

“Now beautiful,” he blew cold air on your lips to deliberately make you squirm. “You’re gonna take four fingers for me, okay?”

Your eyes bulged. You’d never take four fingers before. Minho saw your horrified expression. “You’ve never had anyone stretch you open like that, hmm?” he lifted an eyebrow.

You shook your head quickly.

Minho reached down to the floor and picked up the blanket and placed it under you body. Then he found a stray cushion and placed in under your head, kissing your mouth then shimmying his way back down to get to work.

He brought two fingers to your entrance, as his mouth found your clit again. You moaned as he slipped his digits inside of you.

“Trust me beautiful. Your body can take it, I promise. You want to be a good plaything don’t you?” He purposefully avoided your g-spot as he slowly fucked you with his two fingers. You began to move your hips against him. Two fingers wasn’t enough.

Minho removed his fingers only to find you again with three. You sucked in your breath as he squeezed into you. This was the kind of stretch you loved and you mewled as he started to slowly pump you with them.

“Baby, shhh… slow your breathing…I need you to relax. Can you do that for me beautiful.” He slowed down his thrusts even further and kissed your stomach before looking up at you.

“Are you ready to take the last one? Can you be a good plaything and take it for me?”

“Mm-hmm… please.” You wanted to feel whatever he was willing to give you. Even if that scared you a little.

Minho pushed one of your legs to hang off the side of the couch, the other he pushed up towards your chest, and brought all four fingers to your entrance. “You’re such a good girl. Trust me, your body knows what to do.” And he edged the tips of his fingers into you.

You cried out at the stretch. It was like nothing you’d ever felt. You had friends who talked of doing this easily, but it was new for you, and you weren't one hundred percent sure you could manage it.

Your threw your hands above your head and gripped the top edge of the cushion your head was laying on. You felt like you were going to suffocate, and your pussy felt like it was going to split in two.

Minho moved slowly. He wasn’t in a rush. “Fuck you are taking me so fucking well.”

Were you? You dared to steal a glance at his face. His mouth hung open and his hazy, dark eyes were fixated on what his hand was doing to you. You could see how aroused this was making him, and it made you want to take every inch of him.

Laying your head back down on the cushion you immersed yourself in the feeling of him stretching you further as his fingers buried deeper. It was overwhelming, but addictive. You allowed yourself to moan loudly and cry out as the sensations intensified. You thought he was buried all the way in, but somehow he inched in even further.

“Fuck! Oh…uh…shit…” you cried out louder than ever.

You had lost any sense of your surroundings, the only thing you could focus on was the sensations in your body. You felt drunk and light headed as all the blood flow was down the other end. You felt like you were swimming in euphoria.

“That’s it… you look so fucking beautiful taking this. But I think you can take more.” Said Minho.

Then you registered his fingers on your other entrance. Jesus Christ, what was he going to do?

“Your pretty little hole is begging me to stretch it too.” He said smoothly, and he pushed his finger past the rim.

It seemed it really was begging to be stretched because you moaned with such relief that you were almost about to cry tears.

Satisfied, Minho moved up to two fingers. It burned, but it felt incredible.

“I told you the pain would feel exquisite, didn’t I?” He cooed.

“Yes!” you practically screamed. In fact you were sure that the party downstairs could hear your cries of pleasure.

You squeezed your eyes tight and gripped the cushion, and now that he was fully inside of you, your hips started to rock for more friction.

“Hmm you’re ready for me to really finger fuck you now?”

God. Yes.

You expected him to start thrusting his hand in and out of you, instead it was more of a grind, aiming and digging his fingers forcefully into your sensitive g-spot.

He removed his fingers from your ass and you whined, but he was back with more, you weren’t sure how many, and you didn’t dare to look. Instead you lost yourself to Minho, surrendering to him as he played with you.

His mouth somehow found your clitoris, his mouth hot and hungry. You were writhing and bucking up into his face and hands. You felt like you were going to choke because your could hardly breath. Your back arched and your cries became screams as your body stiffened then convulsed around the man between your legs.

You felt a sudden, forceful release on top of your orgasm. Shit! You thought you’d peed yourself. Your eyes shot open and you looked down to find Minho who was lapping up all of your juices. You were horrified.

Minho looked up pleased with himself. “Fuck, I’d never seen a woman squirt before!”.

Holy fuck. You ejaculated?

Before you had a chance to process what had just happened, Minho removed his fingers from you and crawled up to you face and hovered above you.

“Taste yourself.” He whispered and crashed his lips on yours. This was the first ravenous and messy kiss you’d shared.

“Lick these clean for me, little plaything.” He said and pushed all four fingers that had just been buried in your pussy into your mouth. You eagerly took them, greedily sucking your wetness off of his perfect fingers.

“Minho?” you held his face in your hands.

“Yeah, beautiful?” he smiled and kissed your neck.

“I need you to fuck me. I…just…just can’t get enough of you.” You couldn’t help admitting how you felt. It wasn’t like you to be this vulnerable, but Minho had literally and figuratively opened you up, exposing you and there were no more walls to hide behind.

Minho’s smile turned into a smirk.

“Okay,” he kissed your cheek. “But I fuck rough.” He said stroking your face.

“I can take it.” You pant.

Minho raised an eyebrow “Of course you will, beautiful. I’ll make you take it.” He said low.

With one hand Minho gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head. You looked down as he grasped his cock in his other hand, giving it a few good pumps, not that he needed to. His cock was throbbing and so hard it looked painful.

He was probably around the same length as Hyunjin, but a with a little more girth. You remembered how hard it was to take him, and you swore you felt your cervix beg you to stop this instant.

But you didn’t want to stop. For some reason you trusted Minho with your body. You knew that he’d know how to fuck you properly.

Both you and Minho watched his cock slam into your vagina in one thrust. He cried out a low groan and closed his eyes. He absolutely ravished your neck, your breasts, your mouth, sucking and biting you as he slammed into you at a brutal pace. You tasted blood on his mouth as he kissed you. He must have broken some skin, but you weren’t sure where. You didn’t care. The pain felt good. The pain did feel… exquisite.

Minho hovered above you, your hands were still pinned above your head as he stroked your cheek with the other. He locked his eyes on yours as he slid his hand down to your neck and loosely gripping it.

His mouth was hung open again, and you could see a tiny smear of blood on the corner of his lip. His cheeks were flushed pink like he was drunk, and his eyes… they weren’t evil or malicious, but they were deadly.

You weren’t frightened, you were excited. Having this man’s hand around your neck while he was pinning you down and fucking you was the most erotic and thrilling thing you’ve ever experienced. How would you ever go back to vanilla sex?

“Choke me, Minho.” You didn’t recognise your voice. It didn’t sound like it came from you. But every fibre of being wanted him to completely own you. Every part of you wanted to be his plaything.

A flash of doubt crossed Minho’s face, but it was only for a second. The deadly expression returning as his fingers squeezed around your neck. He let go of your hands to prop himself up on his elbow so he could focus on your face properly. You felt lightheaded, but you could still breath, you just couldn’t get a full breath in. Minho didn’t take his eyes off yours, and when he was satisfied that he wasn’t squeezing too hard, he began to fuck you again. Brutally. Relentlessly. Unforgivingly.

He slammed into your cervix and forced his entire length inside of you on each thrust. But it didn’t feel like when Hyunjin was bruising your cervix, you wanted this, you welcomed it. It felt good.

Your hands explored Minho’s sweaty body, his muscles flexing and moving underneath your fingertips. The man was strong but also flexible, and he moved like a dancer above you, while he grunted like a wild animal on every thrust. And you mewled every time he punched into your cervix.

Minho experimented with his grip on your neck. He’d squeeze a little tighter and watch you reaction, or he’d loosen it and caress you tenderly. You felt yourself go tingly and thought you were going to float away. Other times you thought you were going to pass out. But you never did. Minho somehow knew your limits, and would only dance on the edge of them, never taking you beyond what you could manage.

“Come for me.” He commanded softly, and you fucking did, pulsing around his cock and shaking uncontrollably. It was like you really were his plaything, responding to his every whim.

Suddenly, Minho growled like a beast, and leaned back on his knees, letting go of your neck. He hooked your legs over his shoulder and lifted your hips up to meet his.

You thought he was fucking you rough before, but he kicked it up to another level as he chased his orgasm. Just the sight of him losing control brought on another one for you and then you felt him. His hot pulsing release, marking you, owning you. Ruining you.

He slumped back down on you, laying there wordless for a full five minutes.

Eventually, he propped himself up above you and kissed you just like he did earlier. A slow, careful, meaningful kiss. He peeled away and smiled like he was the luckiest man alive, and you grinned back at him. He looked happy. You were happy.

“That was pretty incredible.” He said kissing you again. “I’m not sure I could ever have someone else after that. I think you might have wrecked me” He added.

You felt your heart race, even though you knew he was just saying that because he'd just had sex with you.

“Well… it was the most incredible sex I’ve ever had!” you laughed.

“Aren’t you glad I let you be my plaything then?” he teased.

“Aren’t you glad you begged me?” you challenged.

Minho pulled out of you and got up to get his phone, the sat himself back on the couch, pulling your legs across his lap.

He dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. “Hey! Yeah, can you bring some food and drinks up to me? Yeah anything’s fine..” He said, then hung up.

“You’re probably starving after that. I know I am.”

Now that you thought about it, you were hungry, and thirsty. You sat up and made for your clothes, but Minho caught your arm. “Hey, we’re far from finished you know?” he said.

Oh. “But I thought… with the food coming…”

Minho chuckled softly and shook his head.

“We’re gonna eat, catch our breath…” he leaned in close. “And then you’re going to do to me exactly what you did to Hyunjin and Changbin.”

@channieandhisgoonsquad @itshannjisung @noellllslut @kangnina @weareapackofstrays @newhope8 @sunshinesquokka @queenmea604

[simplybakugou]

Worth It | Mystic Academia: Kaminari Denki's Route

↝ The day of the MFA party had finally arrived and despite all of setbacks you and your members faced, it all led up to this day. 

© simplybakugou — all rights reserved. DO NOT REPOST/REUPLOAD, TRANSLATE, OR EDIT ANY OF MY CONTENT ON HERE OR ANY PLATFORM

⋆ PAIRING: gamer!kaminari x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: fluff :) ⋆ WORD COUNT: 2K

A/N: here's the written part for kaminari’s route! don't pay any mind to how dog shit the banner looks, tumblr hates me. hope you enjoy!! :) the kaminari cap is from @eraserhead-transparents

Mystic Academia: Kaminari Denki's Route

The stairs leading to the venue felt longer and more prolonged than you expected as you nervously climbed each step carefully. The day had finally come after much anticipation despite all of the traumatic events that had occurred to you and your friends. 

The MFA party was finally here and you were filled with both anxiety and utter excitement. You were finally going to meet your fellow MFA members whom you had been conversing with for over a week. To say you were excited was an understatement to say the least, especially to see a specific blonde gamer.

The anxiety you were facing slowly subsided as you began greeting the guests at the main doors, checking off people from your clipboard as they arrived. The security Bakugou hired had arrived and were stationed at every door and any possible entrance into the venue as he had instructed. Two burly men stood on either side of the doors, making you feel safe but also slightly scared at how intimidating their presences were. 

The first guest, a romance novel organization recommended by Mina, arrived, greeting you with a bright smile as they expressed how elated they were that the MFA parties were back. You smiled and thanked them for coming, continuing to do so as eventually a line formed as people waited to be checked in.

About half of the guests had arrived before you heard a shrill, high-pitched squeal, causing you to snap your head up to the source of the sound. A woman sprinted up the stairs, throwing her arms around you, nearly making the two of you topple to the floor. The two security guards to either side of you, knelt to your side, concerned that a random woman had essentially thrown herself at you but they eased up once they recognized the woman.

“Y/N?! I can’t believe it’s you!” The woman squealed, squeezing your shoulders in excitement. 

Thankfully since there was only one other woman in the organization, it was very easy to tell that this was Mina. You smiled. “You know you could’ve told me who you were before you jumped me, Mina.”

Mina laughed. “What can I say, I was too excited to see you.”

“Mina, I told you not to go too crazy,” a man scolded from behind Mina as he slowly climbed the stairs, clearly limping.

From his injury, you recognized him easily. “Hey, Kirishima.”

“Whoa you knew it was me?” Kirishima asked, slightly bewildered. “Was it the hair?”

You pointed to his leg and he laughed. “I guess that makes more sense.”

Your eyes darted to the long line behind your two friends, snapping you back to reality and your hosting duties. “Sorry guys, I’d love to chat but we still have all of these guests to check in.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can do it for you,” Kirishima reassured, taking the clipboard from you and immediately getting to work, smiling brightly at the next guest.

Mina looped her arm into yours, keeping an eye on Kirishima since his reputation made him popular and there was still a threat out there potentially still coming for all of you. “So, are you excited?”

You nodded. “I was definitely nervous before but I feel better after being here.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re nervous to see your boyfriend.” Mina stretched out the last word, poking your shoulder teasingly, prompting you to roll your eyes. “Speaking of Kaminari, what was it like seeing him in person?”

You shrugged slightly. “I think I was more worried about whether or not he was okay more than anything.”

You were purposefully leaving out a major event that had occurred when you visited Kaminari since you knew how Mina would react if she found out. However, she was not going to let you off the hook that easily, suspecting that you were hiding something. 

Mina narrowed her eyes at you. “So something did happen, didn’t it?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Y/N, this is our first time meeting in person and I can already tell you’re lying.” Mina grinned. “Oh my god, did you guys hug or did he cry when he saw you? Wait!” She paused to gasp loudly.

“Mina, please calm down,” you muttered, smiling apologetically at the guests as they entered the building, taking notice of your energetic and overly excited friend. 

“Don’t tell me! You kissed, didn’t you?!” Mina exclaimed.

Your left eye twitched, confirming her guess and she squealed even more. “Oh my god, you did! I’m so proud of you!”

She tackled you into a hug once more and before you could calm her down as your face was heating up from embarrassment, an angry voice broke you away from your thoughts.

“Who the fuck is screaming like a little girl?!” A man bellowed as he climbed up the stairs. If it weren’t for his fashionable suit and matching vest, his scowl on his face definitely confirmed your assumption. This was definitely Bakugou.

“Dude, you’re not helping much either by screaming, too,” another man said, shaking his head at Bakugou. His black hair was combed back and he wore a white, plain suit. His eyes met yours and he smiled. “Y/N!”

The two men climbed the stairs until they reached the top. Bakugou looked you up and down shamelessly. “I guess you clean up nice even if you’ve got shit taste in clothes, new girl.”

“What the hell is your problem? I’m sorry about him. By the way, this is Sero and Bakugou,” Mina gestured to the two. 

“It wasn’t hard to guess which one Bakugou was,” you mumbled, causing Sero and Mina to laugh and Bakugou to simply glare at you. 

Bakugou moved past you and into the venue. “Let’s see if this isn’t a shitshow.”

Sero sighed, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry we had to meet again like this, Y/N. I’ll make sure he doesn’t harass the guests and the staff.” Sero went inside, following Bakugou.

“I guess we should head in there, too.” Mina moved to make her way inside as well, stopping once she realized you weren’t following. “You’re not coming?”

You turned to face the stairs, taking a look at the guests and seeing the number of people dwindle down. Glancing over at the clipboard in Kirishima’s hands, it looked as though most of the guests were here. Well… except for one.

“He’ll make it, don’t worry,” Mina said reassuringly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and smiling softly. “You know he wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

You reciprocated the smile, nodding your head as you headed inside with Mina. 

The guests filled the once empty venue with their presences, numerous voices conversing and filling the once quiet air. The guests looked satisfied and happy, holding champagne flutes and plates of hors d’oeuvres. You smiled and briefly greeted them as you passed them, Mina doing the same. From afar you could hear Bakugou scolding one of the kitchen staff followed by Sero scolding Bakugou and apologizing for his friend’s brash behavior. 

“Y/N!” Kirishima called out to you. He handed the clipboard to you as he gestured to his phone. “There’s three more guests we have to sign in. Could you check them in for me? I got a call from my agency and I’ve gotta answer it.”

“Of course.” Kirishima thanked you as he made his way to one of the back rooms to answer his call. 

You made it back to the entrance, apologizing briefly for keeping the remaining guests waiting, and quickly signing them in. You sighed as you crossed the last guest name off the list, turning to thank the security guards who were keeping watch and keeping you safe.

One of the guards’ attention flicked over to someone behind you. “There’s one more guest you have to check in, ma’am.”

“Another guest?” You looked down at your clipboard and flipped through your guest list. “But that was our last guest…”

“Aw, come on, you already forgot about me, beautiful?” A familiar voice teased from behind.

You whipped your head around to the sound of the voice you wanted to hear the most, your heart nearly skipping a beat as you laid your eyes on Kaminari. He had adorned himself in a black suit, his blonde hair combed back with his black streak still in view and he somehow looked even more handsome than you could’ve imagined as he stood at the bottom of the stairs. 

The guards recognized him as the last MFA member as they greeted him. “You guys can head inside. We’d like some alone time if that’s alright.” The security acknowledged Kaminari’s request, closing the main doors and deciding to guard them from the inside. 

The sound of the doors shutting snapped you out of your initial shock and you rushed down the stairs and threw your arms around his neck. Luckily he caught you, preventing the two of you from falling. He laughed. “Did you miss me that much? We saw each other yesterday.”

You pulled away from him, moving your hands up to cup his face in your hands as you scanned him for any sign of pain or further injury. “Are you okay? Did the doctor say anything else? Is your arm infected? Did–”

“Okay, let’s slow down now,” Kaminari said with a laugh, moving his hand to hold one of yours in his. “I’m okay. The doctor said everything looks good which was why I was discharged today. You know I would never miss this.”

You smiled shyly, nodding your head as you knew he wouldn’t. “I know. I was just… worried.”

“You’re really cute, you know that?” Kaminari whispered, moving his hand to caress your cheek.

You felt your face heat up furiously from his words and he chuckled, knowing he successfully made you flustered. “Shut up, Denki.”

“I like the way you say my name,” Kaminari uttered softly, the pad of his thumb grazing down to your chin, hovering over your bottom lip. 

“Denki?” You repeated, feigning innocence as your eyes met his and moved down to his lips. 

Kaminari didn’t say another word as he wrapped his arm around your waist, bringing your body even closer to his and ducked his head down to close his lips over yours. You couldn’t help but smile against his lips, maneuvering your arms to wrap around his neck, as if you couldn’t get enough of him. 

That moment was everything for you. Despite how terrifying things had been the past week, your worries dissipated in an instant as your lips moved in unison against his. That is until the sweet moment was cut short.

“Hey! Are you two fucking idiots gonna keep sucking face or are you gonna talk to our guests?!” Bakugou yelled down from the top of the stairs.

You and Kaminari pulled away from one another, looking up to the top to see Bakugou, Mina, Kirishima, and Sero all grinning down at the two of you.

You laughed, surprised that even Bakugou had a small smile on his face. “Get up here, you two!” Kirishima called out as Mina was clutching Sero’s side and squealing furiously. 

Kaminari sighed. “Those idiots always get in the way.” He turned to you, extending his hand out to you. “You coming, gorgeous?”

You smiled, accepting his hand as your fingers laced into his and the two of you made your way back up.

This past week was a difficult one. Your life and the lives of your friends were continuously tested and you couldn’t help but feel as if you had made a mistake in joining this random organization that you happened to stumble upon, or rather were led to. But the sight of your friends looking down at you with genuine joy and the presence of the man you knew you wanted to be with for a long time made it all worth it.

Yeah… it was all worth it.

A/N: AAAHHH SHE'S FINALLY DONE! only took me two months hehe. thank you for all of the love and support for this route. i really enjoyed writing and editing this all out and i can't believe it's all done! if you're done with this series and are not interested in reading the other routes, thank you so much for reading kaminari's route! sero's route will take some time so for those of you waiting, please be patient :)

[thezombieprostitute]

Dragonfly

Summary: Steve has just about everything he could ever want in life. He's got you, a baby on the way, and a successful Family. No one would dare interfere with that. Right?

A/N: Reader is female, pregnant. No other descriptors used.

Warnings: Death threats, Implied violence, Pregnancy. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 2

Series Masterlist

Steve was feeling on top of the world. He had you, the most beautiful, amazing wife in the world and soon enough you’d both have a son. He was definitely in higher spirits than usual for hosting a political fundraiser. 

He spotted you coming back from the bathroom. One of the sacrifices he had to make was that he couldn’t actually be at your side as often because of the frequent bathroom breaks you needed to make. One of the things neither of you thought about when planning for the pregnancy. But it was a worthy sacrifice. He quickly took his leave of his current discussion and went straight for you. 

Every day of your relationship Steve had made sure to tell you how beautiful you are to him. As you see him walking towards you, his face projecting nothing but love, you’re grateful. Pregnancy was already taking its toll on your body and you were regularly feeling less than attractive. But the fact that Steve’s loving expression never changed towards you really helped.

His protectiveness had also amped up considerably but that was understandable given his actual work. Ever since you started showing he also became a lot more possessive. Someone shakes your hand and Steve has to fight the urge to punch them for touching you. It’s taken some time but he’s learned to save it all for when the two of you get home and he can fuck your brains out. Possessive sex with Steve was so much fun you almost went out of your way to make sure to greet the men who insisted on kissing your hand. Steve had caught on, though, and would run interference as much as he could, giving you a look that promised some kind of funishment.

As soon as you were within reach he wrapped his arm around your waist and brought you in for a kiss.

“Missed you,” he sighed.

“I was gone for two minutes,” you laugh quietly.

“And?”

“And I love you too,” you grin before kissing him. 

Now that your back at his side Steve can focus. There’s more planned idle chatter about upcoming bills and tax reforms. Boring as usual, but necessary for your community. You take pride in knowing how much Steve and his Family put into helping people. 

Steve notices some of his security team moving quickly and he instinctively brings you in closer. He trusts Bucky to handle whatever it is, but he’s ready to move you out of harm’s way at a moment’s notice. 

The talking continues for a few more minutes when Bucky approaches, giving Steve the silent signal that it was urgent. Excusing the two of you from the discussion, Steve walks with you to Bucky. 

“We’re getting you out of here,” Bucky says before turning and walking towards the exit in the back. Steve gently pushes you to follow and you do so. You focus on keeping pace with Bucky and don’t notice how alert Steve is. Even after your usual security guards take their places around you, he keeps looking around for danger.

It isn’t until you’re in the car and see Bucky take the driver’s seat that you realize how serious the situation is. 

As the car gets to moving Bucky starts talking, “we found a hitman in the upper levels of the place. Had a small smoke bomb and a sniper.”

“How’d he get that past security?” Steve’s voice is tight with anger.

“He camped out,” Bucky explained. “Some time between our initial sweep yesterday and the party starting he set himself up. He got found by a couple of our guys doing a patrol. He wasn’t able to clock how much time between patrols,” Bucky’s voice tinged with pride on that last part. He’d been a proponent of patrolling at irregular intervals to throw off would-be threats. 

“So why are we heading out,” you ask. “You secured the threat, right?”

Bucky sighs, looking at Steve in the rear-view mirror. “Yeah, but then we found the contract. It’s an open contract, with an incredibly high price tag.”

Steve sighed, “any idea who wants me dead this time?”

“It wasn’t for you,” Bucky tells him. “It was for her.” Steve’s blood runs cold as you gasp at the news. “That’s why we’re getting her out of sight. Knew you’d want to come along so I brought both of you.” Bucky looks at you in the rear-view mirror. “We’re going to find whoever put out the contract but it’s gonna take time. During that time you’re in significant danger. I’m gonna advise you stay inside, away from windows. Open windows, at least.”

You’re barely registering what he’s saying. The hit was for you. The thought makes you weak and nauseated. Staying inside definitely sounds like a good idea. You feel Steve’s arm pull you even closer to him. He’s silent, a signal as to how furious he is. 

Once you're inside the safety of Steve’s home you relax a little. This is familiar. This is secure. You rub your belly, trying to calm yourself. Normally Steve would go to his office with Bucky to discuss business but since it involves you, they sit you down in Steve’s comfiest office chair before talking.

“What intel do we have,” Steve asks, pacing the room.

“Garbage Men are getting with GBH to see if he can get them more info,” Bucky replies. “Until then, all we know is the hit is out for Mrs. Steve Rogers and the reward is almost 7 figures.”

“We’re most likely dealing with someone who wants to hit me where it hurts,” Steve reasons. “Who’ve I pissed off that’s got this kind of money?”

“Too many to really help us,” Bucky retorts. “I’ve got some of my men asking their contacts with the other families, confirming who would and who wouldn’t kill a pregnant woman just to hurt you.”

His comments have you crying. If the stress of knowing you were in danger wasn’t enough, the pregnancy hormones made everything worse. Steve is immediately at your side, holding you while Bucky brings over a box of tissues. They hold off their conversation until you’ve calmed down and caught your breath. 

“I’m so sorry, Hummingbird,” Steve gently tells you. 

“It’s not your fault,” you assure. “It’s whoever put out that contract.”

Bucky’s phone beeps with a notification and he checks it. “Well, GBH was able to provide the name that issued the contract but I don’t think it’ll help us.”

“Fake name,” Steve growls.

“Yup,” Bucky confirms. “Dragonfly.”

Part 2

Series Masterlist

Tags are based on the Hummingbird Series. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@alicedopey; @aryhyuuga; @cynic-spirit; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jamneuromain; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @ktficworld; @leryg0; @rayofdawnworld; @rebekahdawkins; @texmexdarling

[callmelyc]

Twitter loves hockey Keith soooo

Au where Lance is dating the captain of Keiths hockey team so he's around a lot

He'll bring snacks, be at any hangouts, help host cookouts and celebrations when they win games. He's the teams biggest fan with the biggest heart and most fiery passion.

Lance has been around for years now, he's a team staple. Even the press knows who Lance is, their fans, their families.

So it's only fair that the entire team loves having Lance around even if Keith was initially reluctant....

Here's the thing. Keith likes lance alot actually, probably too much. He isn't blind to Lances beauty or how kind the man is or how smart, funny, ever so slightly annoying he is.

But he also isn't blind to the annoyed sighs their captain gives when lance texts him sometimes. He isn't blind to how little free time Lance has because the captain always wants lance around as a little trophy bf.

So when lance excitedly announced to everyone he's going on a half year, once in a lifetime, research trip stationed at sea? The first person Keith looks at is their captain.

The man has his press face on. It's thoroughly painted with fake joy for Lance and the news he'd be out of his sight for a long period.

It irks Keith enough that he asks Lance genuine questions about his trip he was clearly so excited for. The other team members follow suit best they can since most don't fully understand what exactly it is Lance does.

And look, Keith knows Lance isn't stupid. He knows Lance can see his long-term boyfriends distaste at the idea. He still finds himself worrying about the man when he sees them leave together, a clearly purposeful space between them as they go.

On the day Lance leaves he finds out the couple had had an argument about the entire thing that day Lance told them about it. Against his wishes Keith feels his blood boil on Lances behalf. It's that moment Keith decides. When Lance gets back he could use a genuine friend on his side of the ice and Keith is gonna make sure that's him.

So when Lance returns a week early after many long months away Keith jumps at the opportunity to help him.

Lance,like the sweet saint he is, said he'd wanted to surprise his bf so he hadn't told the captain he was back yet. Though Keith is bitter at the thought of the two reuniting he tells Lance they have a big team party tonight to celebrate their path into finals. He also tells Lance he can help sneak him right up to the captain.

Lance is understandably excited. The entire way there he's telling Keith how thrilled the captain will be since he'd never wanted Lance to go to begin with.

Despite it all Keith can't help but smile at Lances excitement. They're close to the back halls by then so Keith tells Lance to stick close and follow his lead.

Which he does.

Which he also regrets.

There's no romantic welcome home or happy surprise waiting for Lance. Instead, Keith leads him right up to the captain that's actively cheating on him with a woman in public.

Keith sneaks Lance right back out after he takes photos for evidence in what Keith can only assume is for a future fight. He takes a horribly silent Lance right back to the couples shared apartment. He guards the door as Lance packs and goes through their security system only finding more evidence of & confirmation of the cheating.

Keith escorts Lance to a trusted friends place and listens as Lance breaks down into sobs behind the front door as he leaves.

Their team doesn't see Lance again for a long time after that.

Their press team fought to keep the cheating scandal under wraps, claimed the breakup was due to mutual decisions. But Keith knows, the team knows.

They no longer trust their captain.

And as things continue through a rough patch of plays it turns out the cheating wasn't the only thing the man had lied about. Gambling, things that could be considered sabotage, outright lying to all their faces. Word was kept under lock and key least they be disqualified and have all their reputations destroyed. They had one final game to play.

So they do.

Winning doesn't feel the same without Lance watching the ice they skate on. It doesn't feel the same without his loud cheers and insistence on celebrating afterwards.

The only one happy with it is their captain who sits gleefully at the bar with his newest girl.

The rest of the team doesn't know how to feel. It doesn't feel like a win at all.

~•~

The next time Keith sees Lance is during his standard practice between seasons. He's alone on the ice today and is surprised to see those blue eyes looking at him through the glass.

Keith comes to a stop right Infront of him.

"Can I talk to you?" Lance blurts before Keith can even say a word.

Lance doesn't know this yet, but Keith could never deny him anything "yeah sure, I was done anyways"

He finds Lance waiting patiently in the locker room once he's done putting everything away.

"What's up?" He asks, watching lance look at him in question "You haven't been around. So I guess you have a good reason to be here now."

"I was looking for you actually."

"Me?"

"Yeah, I never got to thank you with all that happened....it-" Lance pauses looking down at his hands "it meant a lot to have a friend like you in the moment. I'm sorry for cutting contact."

Keith sits next to him bumping his shoulder playfully "you don't have to apologize for that, I get it. We all do."

"All....?"

"Yeah. The rest of the team, we all miss you but we get it."

Lance looks at Keith like he's surprised to hear such a thing "really?"

"of course? Lance- you do realize how often we hung out right? We all consider you a close friend and we were all furious with the captain for what he did to you."

"I-" Lance finally smiles, small but none the less genuine "and here I thought I'd be unwelcome."

Keith stands, holding out his hand to pull him up "your never unwelcomed Lance, not here, not around me. Why don't we grab some lunch and you can tell me about that trip you went on."

He pretends he doesn't see the tears filling Lances eyes as the man takes his hand and instead Keith focused on the joy radiating off him in waves

For the first time in almost a year Keith finally feels like he's feeling the sun again.

~•~

Keith sits through days and multiple lunch and dinner tales of Lances incredible research trip. It's thrilling to watch the man's eyes glitter in genuine happiness as he does so.

Keith realizes he's the first to genuinely ask after these details since everyone else simply wanted him distracted from the cheating fiasco. So Keith soaks up every detail, every stray insignificant video and piece of data lance is willing to give.

He's so greedy with it Lance laughs, thrilled someone was willing to finally listen. He actually sends Keith the initial drafts for the research (the non nda ones) along with the short writings that followed.

Keith is blown away by how hard Lance had worked. He's so incredibly proud of him, so thoroughly impressed by his intelligence and made Lance promise he'd send the published pieces once they're publicly available.

In return Lance starts attending Keith's hockey practices.

It starts with any that the ex isn't there and eventually spirals to any at all as the season grows nearer.

Lance diligently sits in the stands watching and critiquing the plays just how he used to if with a little more care.

The guys are thrilled to see Lance around again even if he's still reluctant to hang in the locker rooms and after.

Their captain ignores him in full and Lance does the same in return.

Once the games pick back up Lance slowly becomes Keith's personal cheerleader from the stands. It never fails to send a sharp spike of adrenaline through Keiths spine when he hears lance scream his name in support.

He roots for the entire team, minus one man, of course. But the team notes with amusement how Keith seems to be his favorite now.

And, well....Keith can't help but smile at that.

Lance is seen around almost all the time again with his focus mostly on Keith and Keith is smug the more it infuriates their captain as time passes.

He's enraged his ex is around again, he's enraged Lance had taken interest in someone else, he's enraged that that someone isn't him.

What the man doesn't know is Lance and Keith see way more of eachother that anyone knows.

Their captain doesn't know how Lance sometimes spends the night as his place and vice versa. How Lance text him everyday now and how Keith doesn't find it one bit annoying like he had.

He doesn't know how hard they'd fallen for eachother.

And when Keith wins their final game of the season he publicly dedicated it to Lance in their interviews afterwards.

Everyone but their captain follows in his steps saying that Lances support has been monumental to their moral as a team.

And Keith knows he's truly won when Lance pushes through the crowd and gives him a big kiss the moment he reaches him.

Lance smiles into that kiss with all the joy a ray of sunshine can provide and Keith makes sure to smile back just as big.

They go on their very first date the next day.

[chiffon-and-spice]

Silly Little Fantasy (Carlos Oliveira x Reader) 18+

Carlos x Fem!Reader 18+ MINORS DNI

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Concept- Carlos was dreaming again... dreaming of you. And he didn't know what to do with himself. You hadn't known each other very long, hell he didn't even know your name. All he knew was that you were driving him crazy. 

Content- NSFW 18+, masturbation, oral, degrading, reader has a thing for accents, reader also has a cute tummy pooch 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Carlos's eyes roamed across the room, though he wasn't entirely paying attention, just trying to make himself look busy. He hated these stupid things. It wasn't always Umbrella had to deal with national threats however, and he much preferred boring little parties than being sent out to wherever to extract people and secure overrun areas. That didn't mean Carlos paid much attention when it came to them. 

At least he usually didn't, but today he found something worth paying attention to. Rather... someone. Carlos couldn't quite explain how or why you stood out, there were several people that attended these things. Several people that could just have easily been perceived as attractive.

Maybe it was the way you carried yourself. Maybe it was the way you quickly snubbed one of the rich assholes that decided the seat beside you needed filling. Maybe it was the way your pretty little throat seemed to move, as you swallowed the drink in your hands. Or maybe even it was the way your manicured nails wrapped around the stem of your wine glass. Whatever the reason, Carlos couldn't stop staring. 

That's where it had started anyway. Despite seeing the many failed attempts of others, he knew he'd be a fool not to at least try and get your attention. After all, you had already effortlessly captured his. 

As a guard, he was supposed to patrol around anyway. It wouldn't look too suspicious to walk around for a bit, casually bumping into you. He made his way over to the bar.

While thinking about how to approach you however, you moved a seat over, sitting right beside him. Carlos was stunned but wouldn't deny it had given him a little confidence boost. Of all the guys that had attempted to swoon you, he was the only one to successfully have you move and sit by him. 

"You stalking me?"

Carlos felt his cheeks flush, all potential game he had flying out the window. He let out a nervous chuckle, embarrassment creeping up along his neck. He had thought he was being subtle checking you out... How long had you noticed his gawking? 

"What... I... No, I work here," he replied, hating how he seemed to stumble over his words.

"At the bar?" you asked, raising one eyebrow skeptically.

This only seemed to make him more flustered, as he shifted in his little bar stool, suddenly feeling much too big for the chair.

"No, for the host. I decided to take my break now... I... needed a drink."

He couldn't quite go into details. All guards were undercover tonight. While Umbrella expected for things to go smoothly, they could never be too cautious. You didn't seem to buy it, still holding that same unamused look on your face.

"You needed a drink?"

"Well... I don't exactly mind the company either," Carlos teased, giving you a crooked smile. He seemed pleased with himself, finally finding his words. 

You didn't say anything, only rolling your eyes, as you reached down, taking another sip from your glass. 

"Hmm..." was all you said in response. 

Carlos was usually good with people, and he knew it. He knew he was attractive as well, which certainly helped when it came to wooing those around him. Despite all these qualities, he was no stranger to rejection either. 

When it came to you however, he wasn't quite sure where he stood. Being good with people and attractive to most, didn't seem to carry over when talking to you. 

"You find me attractive."

It wasn't a question but a statement. One you weren't asking confirmation for. You didn't need it. The way his lingering gaze seemed to rake over your body, his fidgety movements in the bar stool, and his inability to find his words all but confirmed this. 

After not giving a response, you flashed him a teasing smile, and the look you gave him somehow terrified him and turned him on. Your head tilted slightly, as you ran your index finger around the rim of your glass.

"And you want to know if I find you attractive?" you continued. 

Carlos could practically feel his clothes clinging to him rather tightly, the material growing a bit uncomfortable in all the wrong places. It took everything in him not to come off as desperate. 

You didn't need an answer, only reaching over and squeezing his thigh lightly. 

The little movement drove him wild, as his pants suddenly felt a little tighter and his body felt a lot warmer. He was itching to get out of these clothes. 

You flashed him an inviting look, as you gracefully slid off the bar stool. You didn't have to tell Carlos twice, as he followed your lead, his heart pounding. 

If you had told him he'd be receiving the best head of his life, in the tiny bathroom of some hotshot at Umbrella's house, he would've laughed in your face. But here he was, having your pretty lips, carefully kissing and licking in all the right places, as your head bobbed up and down. 

Carlos's back was pressed against the wall, as he grabbed the shower curtain for support, unable to formulate any sort of word. It took all his focus to keep quiet, knowing the walls were pretty thin. That it wouldn't be impossible for them to get caught. Part of him also grew harder, thinking about being caught. 

Fuck... were you good at this. Every little sensation made his thighs shake and his back arch. Carlos was practically vibrating from your touch. Your cool hands against his warm flesh sent jolts down his spine. As your tongue ran along that spot, his hips gave an involuntary jut forward, hitting the back of your throat.

The gagging noise that came from your mouth only seemed to drive him further, as he felt that all too familiar heat build up inside him.  All the blood rushed down into him. 

You seemed pleased with his response, picking up speed. Carlos's grip tightened, as he threw his head back, biting on his tongue to hold back any potential noises. He wanted so desperately to let out a series of moans, as sweat formed along his forehead. 

Your tongue was rough, brushing against all the right places. He was surprised at how well you took in his length, knowing just which places to linger and rub against. Just as you built him to that spot, the shower curtain snapped under his large hands, crashing. 

You were startled at first, pulling your mouth back, as Carlos released all over the tile floor. The white liquid is a stark contrast in color against the sleek black tiles. He felt heat creep up his neck, as his cheeks flushed in embarrassment. 

After realizing what happened, you simply laughed, though the noise was short lived as a knock erupted on the door. 

"Is everything okay in there?" 

Carlos recognized the host's voice, his neck burning. Before he could speak however, your hand went to his mouth, as you spoke, almost effortlessly. 

"Yeah... just a bit too much to drink. I slipped and fell. I'm fine, but I broke your shower curtain. I promise I will replace it." 

"Don't worry about it, just... be careful in there."

Once you both heard the footsteps draw away, you removed your hand from Carlos's mouth, laughing once again. 

"I told you to be quiet..." you teased, eyeing the mess on the floor. 

Carlos only rubbed the back of his neck, smiling softly. 

"You know how impossible that is when someone as good as you is on my dick?"

You only rolled your eyes at him, however based on the coy smile you were, you were clearly pleased with yourself. 

Then... that was that. Carlos didn't see you again. You had slipped out of the bathroom as quickly as you came, disappearing into the crowd. He thought he would be content with that. He had successfully gotten you alone, unlike anyone else that had approached you that night. 

It had the exact opposite effect though. Many nights, Carlos found himself craving your mouth on him again. Wondering what it felt like to be inside of you, watching as he pounded into you relentlessly. You had given him the night of his life, and he was desperate to return the favor. Not to mention you had taken the blame for him damaging the shower curtain. 

Carlos went back to that night often, as he touched himself, but nothing could quite replicate the feel of your mouth. Hell, even sleeping with other people felt empty compared to that moment in the cramped bathroom. 

You'd even taken over his dreams, as he tried to imagine all the noises he could get to escape from your lips. Tonight was no different. 

He had awoken in a cold sweat, just before the release. All he could think about was you, as he let out an annoyed groan, running his hands along his face. It took everything in him to ignore the pulsing between his legs, desperate for any sort of contact. The clock on his bedside table seemed to blink urgently, as Carlos studied the number.

Too late to fall back asleep but too early to get out of bed. 

Carlos collapsed back into his pillows, letting out a breathy sigh. He couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of shame, imagining what could have possibly been hidden beneath your dress that night. Thinking about the way your chest bounced a little, as you moved against him. 

Reluctantly, he reached over, grabbing the lotion bottle he kept in his nightstand. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, as he applied some to his dominant hand. Carlos's skin tingled at the coolness. 

His hand made it's way into his boxers, as he once again fell back into the familiar memory. Your legs, carefully crossed, as you slid off the barstool. The color of your underwear that night. The way your eyes seemed to wander his, as you pressed him against the wall, immediately going for his pants. How quickly you managed to slip his belt off. The ferality you had attacked him with.

This was becoming an unhealthy obsession. 

Carlos started to gently stroke himself, eyes closed. The mattress beneath him, becoming the cool bathroom wall. Unlike before... he could make whatever noises he wanted.

With every tug, he felt his breath almost stop, his heart rate quickening. He tried his best to replicate your speed, squeezing himself a little tighter. The coolness of the lotion was nothing like the heat from your mouth, but it was the closest thing he'd get. 

He only seemed to grow hotter, when he pictured your lips making quick work on him again, letting out a low groan. Carlos's hips bucked into his hand, as he began to quicken the pace. 

The blanket suddenly felt too hot against his skin, as he moaned softly. Carlos was mostly annoyed with himself, annoyed that he didn't ask your name. Annoyed he didn't try harder. Annoyed that all you two had been was a sloppy blow job in some pompous asshat's estate. 

His frustration mixed with his desire, only built up to his orgasm, as he worked along the length. What finally did him in was imagining your throat, moving up and down, as you sipped on the wine. 

Carlos screamed at no one in particular, arching his back as he relieved himself on his sheets. The feeling was nothing compared to what your mouth had done, but it would have to do. 

"Fuck..." he mumbled to himself, as he rolled on his side, a panting sweaty mess. This was getting bad. Carlos would do anything to run into you again, but it was starting to feel damn near impossible. Not to mention, you'd probably find his obsessive behavior creepy. He just couldn't help himself. You practically had him in a chokehold. 

It wasn't until Carlos had started giving up on the idea, that he ran into you again. Well... sort of. 

Carlos followed after his supervisor, his shoulders tightened, as he kept alert, his gaze sweeping the area. They hadn't informed him of much about what was going on, just that the supervisor wanted to speak to him in private.

Part of Carlos was worried that his little secret about the party had been revealed somehow. He tried to ignore the tightening in his stomach, as he stepped inside the office.

The man that escorted him took a seat in the leather chair, turning slightly. 

"Mr. Oliveira..." he started stoically. 

Carlos only nodded softly in response, holding his gaze. He was practically frozen in his spot, his chest tightening. Then he exhaled a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

"You seem nervous."

"Just... a little on edge,” more like he wanted to get edged. “Haven't been sleeping well Sir," Carlos replied, trying his best not to move. He hoped he'd sounded more convincing than he felt. 

The man doesn't seem to care too much, shrugging, as he leant back in his seat. 

"Is that so? Do I need to change your patrol so you can get your sleeping schedule under control?"

"Absolutely not sir, I know I've been slacking a little, but I promise today I will redeem myself. Rogers and I planned on doing a bunch of extra exercises today in preparation for next week." 

The man shook his head, sighing.

"Scratch that, I have a task for you Oliveira. Normally I'd ask my second, but he's still busy with the Europe issue. It's a personal matter."

Carlos seemed to perk up, almost intrigued. Though, he stopped listening when he spotted a photo on the man's desk. His blood ran cold, and he felt all the color drain from his face.

It didn't take a genius to figure anything out. Without a doubt that was indeed you on his desk, smiling. 

Carlos's Supervisor seemed to take note, looking somewhat annoyed. 

"Ah... I forgot, you haven't been here before. That's my daughter... a pain in my ass. Here's a word of advice, kid, don't have children. Nothing but trouble. She embarrassed me last week at the party I threw. The audacity. Brought some stranger into my bathroom and fucked him. She thinks she was clever and quiet about it, but I know. The second I find the bastard that went in there with her..." 

Carlos's heart rate only increased as he let out a nervous laugh. Of course the one woman he'd ever been obsessed with would be the kid of his supervisor. Fuck... he was going to loose his job so fast. Maybe even end up dead in a ditch somewhere. 

"Sounds... like a mess..." he replied awkwardly, shifting his footing. "What... What was the task?"

The man nodded, waving his hand.

"Of course, it actually pertains to this. I want you to keep an eye out, anyone that so much as glances at her, I want you to report it to me. I'm having her come by today. I want to figure out which one of them disrespected me like that. Who just... right on the floor."

Carlos felt his eyes widen, as he sucked in a breath, chewing his bottom lip. Heat once again crept on his neck. Not his proudest moment. 

"Sounds like a real piece of shit..." Carlos replied, believing every word. 

After feeling lectured, despite the Supervisor never directly addressing him, Carlos made his way back towards the training rooms, with his head down. This of course did not go unnoticed by his colleagues, who were used to the charming and charismatic casanova practically bragging about his endeavors. 

"Oliveira's finally gone quiet, that's a first."

"He always locks up when he gets a really bad rejection. Things must've not gone well in Hardy's office." 

Their teasing only made Carlos smile awkwardly, as he waved a dismissive hand. 

"Nah... nothing like that. Rough morning, and Hardy is just on edge. Picked out a special task, just for me, but I'm not feeling so lucky about it," he replied. 

The first one that spoke, a blond Carlos remembered as Rogers, laughed slightly, as he began doing pull ups. Carlos settled at the work bench beside him, not really focusing on exercise. His eyes scanned the room, practically expecting you to pop up out of nowhere. 

"Yeah? Why's that? He sending you to Europe too? I wouldn't wanna touch that mess with a ten foot pole."

Carlos shook his head, unsure what to say. Surely, if he brought it up it would land him in hot water. Or... maybe he could get lucky, pawn his sins off on one of the other poor suckers here. He never was a fan of Terwilliger. 

"Nothing of the sort thank god, Hardy's pissed someone made off with his daughter at the last little party he hosted."

"Shit, someone managed to not get rejected by Hardy Jr.? She must've been super pissed off at her dad that night then. Any clue who it is? Lucky son of a bitch whoever it is, I gave up after the first two rejections." Rogers replied, still focused on his little exercise routine. 

Carlos absently lifted one of the weights, hoping he didn't look as red as he felt. 

"Hardy seemed clueless, whoever the perpetrator is hasn't been caught yet." 

The conversation didn't get to carry on, as a familiar head poked itself into the training room. It took every ounce of self-control Carlos had not to react, as you peered around, a mischievous look on your face. For a moment, Carlos was worried you'd approach him and give him away. 

"Good morning boys," You greeted, never once looking at Carlos. For some reason that upset him more than the potential of being caught did. 

Rogers smirks slightly down at Carlos, glancing around the room. 

"Who do you think she's looking for?" he whispered. 

Carlos doesn't reply, shrugging, as he moves off the workbench. 

"Hardy is in his office, though the view is arguably much better here," a brunette teased, leaning against the wall. Terwilliger.

You eyed him slightly, still not meeting Carlos's gaze, as you hummed quietly in response. 

"Really... I haven't noticed anything worth seeing." 

Carlos rolled his eyes, brushing past you, as he made his way out of the room. He wasn't sure what he expected, or why he even had expectations at all. It's not like you were obligated to feel any way about him. 

He sighed, making his way to the bathroom. No surprise to himself, he was already starting to feel himself get hard, just from seeing you. He groaned in annoyance, staring down at himself. He was a very weak man, and part of that made him feel pathetic. You hadn't even acknowledged his presence, and he was begging like a dog. 

Carlos couldn't help but also smile a little... he now knew your name. Dangerous information. 

He glanced around once more, and after realizing he was alone, he loosened his belt. Again? This is pathetic. As Carlos shamed himself, he felt his pants getting tighter against him, practically begging to be set free. 

Such a sad little bitch he was. Oh but how badly he wanted to be your bitch.

Carlos groaned slightly, as he slipped his hand into his pants, instantly getting a chill down his spine from the pressure. His once cool fingers instantly increased in temperature as he carefully started on the tip, massaging himself. All he could think about was you, standing in the doorway, taunting him with those devilish eyes. 

He felt himself twitch slightly in his hand, as he let out a quiet moan from the pace mixed with your image. 

"Fuck... that's right," he said to himself, his voice quieting as he said your name. No not said... practically purred it. It was like a symphony to his ears, making that heat inside of him build up. You were so perfect to him. 

Right as he was reaching that spot, his hand slowly traveling up and down, the sound of the door opening caused his blood to freeze. Carlos stood, hand still in pants, as his gaze jerked towards the door. He felt that heat creep up his neck, his cheeks flushing in color. He couldn't move, as his eyes met with yours.

You weren't staring at him in disgust or judgment though, which only seemed to make him more scared. You carefully stepped in, locking the door. You were in the men's restroom. Fuck... Carlos was so dead. 

"You already started without me?" 

Your voice sent chills down his spine, as he stared blankly at you, his erection now forgotten. You jumped on the sink in front of him, smiling coyly. 

"Well don't stop on my account. Don't suddenly act shy, like you weren't calling me in here." 

After a few moments of silence, and Carlos not doing anything but staring stunned, you rolled your eyes, sliding off the sink and tugging at his pants. 

"If you wanted my help, all you had to do was ask, pretty boy."

"I'm sorry... I'm not quite sure what's happening here..." Carlos replied, slowly pulling his hand out of his boxers. 

"Really? You're not sure, because it looked like you were pleasuring yourself to the idea of me."

Carlos threw his hands up defensively, wracking his brain for an explanation. He wasn't quite sure how to respond, or what to even say. What could he possibly say? 

"It's not... I mean I... Well..."

He was surprised when you let out a little chuckle, eyes lighting up in realization.

"Ah... you're embarrassed. Isn't that cute. So you actually weren't trying to get my attention? You just happened to be that loud thinking about me." 

The subtlety in your tone, the way you batted your thick lashes at him, and how your lips pulled into that coy smile had him going mad. Your tiny fingers were still wrapped around his belt, gently flicking the buckle back and forth. The noise was enough to drive Carlos wild. You were toying with him, and he hated how much he loved it. 

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you..." Carlos breathed, his shoulders dropping. 

All shame was now tossed out the window. If you hadn't left now, chances are you probably weren't going to. He tried to ignore the little flutter in his heart at the idea that he might've been occupying your mind just as much. Carlos was desperate for any form of contact with you, and now that he had it, it was impossible to not tell you every dark desire in his mind.

"Aren't you sweet, I bet you touch yourself to me often."

"Almost every time now."

His response made him bite his tongue, and he's worried he's said too much. Carlos's heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest. He was a sweaty mess under your gaze. You'd hardly done anything, and he was already winded. 

Carlos's words only made you smile in response, tilting your head, as you let out a soft hum. 

"Almost huh... guess I didn't leave a lasting enough impression last time."

Before Carlos could question you, your lips were on his, and you were making quick work of the buttons along his shirt. Your skin flush against his, a desperation in both your movements. Your teeth gently bit his bottom lip, causing Carlos to moan softly into your mouth. 

Once you'd pulled his shirt off, your lips traveled to the side, running along his jawline. 

"After today, I'm all you're going to be able to touch yourself to," you whispered in between kisses. 

Your words made Carlos practically burst out of his pants. His head was throw back in pleasure, as you kissed along his neck, your hands gripping his waist tightly. Everything about you sent jolts through his body. 

The way you spoke, the hunger in your lips, how your thigh brushed along his, your legs slowly intertwining. 

Carlos was practically acting on instinct, as he grabbed your thighs, lifting you on the bathroom sink. You seemed pleased, your legs wrapping around his waist and your hands pressed against the small of his back. Both of your hips were moving in a fluid motion together. 

His lips found yours again, as he made quick work of the jacket you had been wearing, peeling it off. It fell to the floor with a little slap, but the noise was unnoticed. Your hands trailed to the front of his pants. 

The clanking of his belt buckle only seemed to drive the both of you further, as you slipped it off, the accessory taking it's rightful place by your jacket. 

You smiled softly against Carlos's lips, your tongue brushing along his teeth, as he allowed you access. You made a pleasurable noise, fingers fumbling with the zipper of his pants. Carlos trailed his kiss down the length of your jaw, smiling as you threw your head back.

"Fuck..." you whispered softly, responding to the week of pent up desire for this man. 

"Need," you practically growled, unable to get the words out.

It didn't matter, Carlos seemed to understand you, as he pulled your shirt over your head. Without words, you two managed to communicate your desires efficiently. Almost as if you were wired to work together. 

Carlos nipped gently at your collarbone, his hand making quick work of your bra clasp. He hadn't gotten you to strip before, and now he was enamored by you. As the black fabric joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor, Carlos stared at you, gently kissing along the top of your breasts. 

"So beautiful..." he whispered, not wanting to take his lips away. 

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, as you pulled it up, breaking contact with his lips temporarily. Before you could do much else, Carlos was pulling off your own pants, running his hands along the inside of your thighs. 

His brown eyes stared up at you hungrily, as a small smirk made it's way to his lips. You didn't have to ask why, you knew what he was excited about, as he aggressively tugged your underwear down. The roughness in his touch had you practically soaked, as you let out a breathy gasp. 

Carlos seemed pleased with the noise, pressing a soft kiss against your left thigh. 

"You have no idea what you've done to my mind..." he whispered against your flesh, biting it softly. Your fingers tangled into his head, as you tried to urge him forward, pouting down at the man. 

"Screw your mind... look at what you're doing to my body," you practically whined. 

"I'm just getting started, bonita."

The way the words roll of his tongue, has you practically arching your back, despite the fact that he hasn't even kissed inside you yet. Fuck... did you have a thing of accents. 

Before you could respond, you felt his warm yet damp tongue slide along you, brushing against a particularly sensitive spot. Your hips jutted forward involuntarily, causing a dark chuckle to erupt from Carlos. Despite the front, you both knew how quickly the roles had changed. This man now had control over you, and you were loving every minute of that. 

You could feel his stubble gently brushing along your thighs, while he licked inside of you. His tongue darted in several different directions, causing your grip in his hair to tighten. Considering how much the man seemed to run his mouth, you were unsure why you were surprised at the speed his tongue moved inside of you. You were starting to regret being on the giving end the first time you two had encountered each other. With a tongue like that, you had really wasted Carlos's potential. 

Your hips bucked against his mouth, pulling back as he did, so when you met each other it increased the pleasure. You were surprised at how quickly this man was getting you off already. With every flick of his tongue, you were burying deeper into his face, your breathing becoming rugged. 

You were like a rubber band being stretched too far, and you could feel yourself wearing down. You were practically seeing stars. Carlos seemed focused however, his smile never faltering, as he licked along all the right places. You were practically shaking from the movements, biting your tongue to avoid screaming. But fuck did you need this man. Holy shit, you didn't know what you had been missing, as a quiet moan escaped your lips. 

After enough resistance, you felt that band finally snap, finishing with Carlos still inside of you. Your head thrown back, as you moaned his name, shaking involuntarily. The man between your legs let out a throaty laugh, as he began licking up the mess. 

He licked his lips, gazing up at you with a sultry look in his eyes. 

"Enjoying yourself?" Carlos purred, admiring his work. 

You couldn't speak, at first, your heart was pounding. You were a sweaty heap, and your legs were starting to ache. Carlos didn't quite look down, as he lowered you, pinning you against the wall. His hands traveling along your shoulders, slipping down your sides, and squeezing the small of your back. 

Fuck... your body was so beautiful to him. He was practically captivated. Each little curve. The way your stomach poked out. The texture of your skin. Every little scar and mark. How hot you felt against him, your body flush. He loved how much he had to work with. Carlos placed a soft kiss on your shoulder, smiling against the skin. 

All his senses were going haywire in your presence. 

"Your taste... your smell... how you feel. Fuck, you're driving me crazy maldito bebe." 

You attacked him hungrily, your nails grazing his back. He didn't seem bothered by your kiss, only moving to drop his own pants, as he ran his tongue along your bottom lip. You could taste yourself still on him, and part of you grew a little red at the thought. This man stirred a fire in you in so many ways, you couldn't keep up. 

Carlos pulled away slowly, staring into your eyes. 

"Are you comfortable with this? We don't have to do anything else, if you don't want to." 

You couldn't help but laugh. After the way you had just attacked him. You rolled your eyes in a playful manner, pulling him against you.

"Shut up and fuck me," you replied. 

Carlos smiled like you had just told him he was heaven on earth. Those words were all he needed, as he began pressing kissing all over your body, squeezing your thighs. You could feel him poking against you through his boxers. Your own fingers worked around the hem, until he sprang free, his boxers falling beside his pants. 

Within seconds, he was lifting your legs up, gripping your thighs as he used the wall for support, guiding himself in. Careful as always, he started slow, allowing you to adjust to him. 

It was obviously much bigger than his tongue, and you could hardly contain yourself, as you let out a slight wince. The noise evolved into a moan, as he shifted inside of you. Your walls were a little tight, resisting his movements at first. This only seemed to please the man more, as he let out a breathy sigh. 

"Fuck... this is so much better than my dreams. Mmm, such a good girl." 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, as he kissed all over you, nibbling on your neck. There was no way you were going to leave this bathroom without telltale signs of the things you two had done to each other. His praise made you grip on to him tighter, feeling that familiar fire burn up inside of you.

Carlos was so good at everything he did, every little touch, thrust, and kiss leaving you a whimpering mess. Your flesh practically burned from his grip. 

"Is that so... Mmm, so much better than all those filthy thoughts you've had about me, isn't it?"

You were surprised at first, when he rammed into you, his grip on your thighs tightening. It made you excited, as Carlos let out a quiet grunt into your skin. Your words seemed to stir awake something primal within him. The way he attacked your skin, while pounding into you was almost... animalistic. 

"So many...So horrible..." he groaned, "Fuck... I'm pathetic."

You couldn't help but smirk, noticing his own words seemed to affect the work he was doing. He stiffened inside of you, and his teeth scraped a little rougher against your flesh. Carlos's hands grabbing at your thighs was certain to leave hand marks. 

You were learning things about this man that made your spine tingle. Fuck... this man had to be fictional, the way he was working you up. 

"You're worse... you're so weak Carlos...you ought to be ashamed of yourself, fucking your supervisor's daughter right here where you work. Betraying his trust like this. All on the line and for what, a quick fuck like you're some common whore." 

You were pleased to see you had been correct, as you felt him slam in just that right spot, rubbing against your walls. It was enough to take your breath away, as he pressed himself further into your skin. His stubble tickled your collar bone, while sucking on a particularly sensitive spot, moaning into your skin.

"Fuck... do that again, I'm so close."

It was hard to focus on words, with how much this man was pushing your senses into overdrive. You couldn't believe this man was already leading you towards a second orgasm. 

"It's probably not even going to be your last time is it? You're so sick Carlos. Finding pleasure in betraying the man who relied on you. In fucking someone in the very bathroom of the place you work. You had one simple task, and you couldn't even accomplish that. Pitiful."

The words seem to be all he needed, causing Carlos to let out a loud moan. Heat spread through your body, as your hips rolled into his, making a noise of your own. You both were practically shaking. At this point shame was a foreign concept with neither of you trying to keep quiet anymore. Not like that felt entirely possible. 

Carlos’s forehead had beads of sweat, and he was a panting mess, his head resting against your chest. He let out a small laugh, his movements slowing down, as he looked up at you with sleepy eyes. 

With just one look, Carlos says so much, as he presses a careful kiss where he had bitten you moments before. His movements are much more gentle, as he pulls out of you, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. Fuck… you were like a dream to him, leaving him dazed and happy, while he got lost in your skin. 

His breathing slowed, and he let out a quiet chuckle, pulling his head back and gently caressing your face. 

“So… this wasn’t the last time right?”

You couldn’t help but let out a little laugh of your own at the gentleness in his tone. The way he looked so soft… so docile in comparison to the primal way he had attacked you moments ago. Your heart fluttered a little, as you brushed your fingers through his long hair, smiling down at him.

“Definitely not…”

Carlos seemed pleased with the answer, pressing soft kisses over the newly created bite marks on your skin. 

The moment was interrupted, as it often is, by a loud bang on the door. You looked up startled with Carlos’s lips still on your skin. You chewed your bottom lip, using the wall to keep yourself positioned upright.

“Oliveira, what the hell are you doing in there? We’re supposed to be in the training room right now.”

Carlos smirked up at you slightly, as he backed up, retrieving his discarded clothing.

“Fucking the supervisor’s daughter.”

Your eyes widened at his words, opening your mouth. As Carlos pulled his shirt on, he eyed you mischievously, raising one finger to his lips. 

“Shhh,” he mouthed. 

You only smiled back in response, following Carlos to your own clothes. You couldn’t help but be disappointed that he was that the moment was over so quickly, and Carlos’s body was now covered. 

“Ha, really funny. Don’t let Hardy hear you talking like that. Hurry up and finish your business, before we get extra hours this week.”

Carlos didn’t reply, as the sound of footsteps leaving the door filled the room. You fiddled with your pants, carefully putting all your clothes back on. You were definitely going to need a shower. Once you were certain the man was gone, you punched Carlos in the shoulder.  

“Are you trying to get us caught?” 

The dark haired man only smiled in response, tightening his belt. 

“I knew he wouldn’t take the comment seriously…” his words trailed off, as he stared at you. 

Even with all your clothing on, there were certain marks you couldn’t quite hide. Particularly the darker spots on your neck. Carlos couldn’t help but feel a little proud, knowing anyone that saw you would know exactly what happened. Even if they didn’t know who. Fuck, even if he did get caught, everything that had just happened between the two of you would be more than worth whatever his punishment would be. 

Carlos was surprised when you stepped closer to him, shoving something into his pocket. Before he could ask anything, you were already slipping out of the tiny room, glancing down the hallway.

When he reached into his pocket, he couldn’t help but feel his face flush, instantly recognizing the lacey texture of your underwear. Realization dawned on him, as he glanced back towards the bathroom door you had slipped out of. I guess… it was a good thing you were wearing pants. 

Carlos smiled softly to himself, as he pushed the garment deeper into his pocket. He couldn’t wait to give them back to you. 

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Do you have any jealousy hc for Charlie the mafia man? Like maybe he finally takes his darling out to a gala or something and they are dressed to the nines. Obviously this gets some attention and maybe someone hits in reader? Or someone hits on him and reader gets defensive over him and their relationship?

Ooooh this'll be a fun one, jealous Charlie is certainly a character. I hope you enjoy! I didn't do reader getting jealous because Charlie would shut that shit down before reader could have a chance to do anything, but if you would like me to make that jut let me know!

Charlie Craven Jealousy headcannons

Warnings: mentions of violence, Mafia stuff, random creep, and slight sexual implications (second to last last paragraph)

Gn! Reader

Banner/divider credit goes to @cafekitsune

Yandere! Charlie who (reluctantly) prepares to take you to a gala, hosted by a different crime syndicate he hopes to be allied with by the end of the night if things go well. Of course, he loves showing his darling off, and thinks they’re the most beautiful being in the world, but this… this is an environment he’d rather leave his darling out of. It may be a gala, but the attendees are very dangerous individuals that he’d rather keep his darling far away from, especially if something were to go wrong during the night.

Mafia boss! Charlie who knows that if he doesn’t show up with you, it’ll be perceived as a show of weakness, whether it be a weak relationship with you, or weak confidence in his ability to protect you. He can’t afford that, so he decides to take you, although he’ll grumble about it when no one’s listening. He has no doubt in his ability to keep you safe, he just wants you far, far away from his job. He doesn’t want to taint your innocent little mind with ideas of violence and crime.

Mafia boss! Charlie who makes sure to have a multitude of security guards with him and his darling at all times. This isn’t unusual, in fact the other syndicates leader will most likely have his own guards around him, just for safe keeping. Still, Charlie only allows his strongest and most trusted guards around you, placing more emphasis on your safety than his own.

Mafia boss! Charlie who buys you the most extravagant, jaw-dropping outfit he possibly can, taking account for what you like and dislike in such outfits before buying it. As reluctant as he is to have you there, he wants everyone to know how amazing and ethereal you are in comparison to them and their lowly colleagues. Besides, no one, not even a potential rival in crime would ever even dream about trying to take you away from him right? They know who they’re messing with… right?

Wrong.

Mafia boss! Charlie who can’t help but soften his expression anytime he looks at you, despite how risky any show of emotion is in front of this unfamiliar organization. He trails alongside you as you ooh and ahh at the fancy decorations and outfits, a small smile gracing his features as he observes how happy you are to simply walk around and look at everything. He’s used to extravagant shows of wealth, it’s almost synonymous with his job, but besides his massive house, you’re not used to such environments, so it’s cute to see you experience a luxury gathering for the first time. Charlie knows it might make those unfamiliar with him believe he’s weak, but he’s content in knowing that that assumption would be their downfall if they were to attempt to use his “weakness” to their advantage.

Mafia boss! Charlie who doesn’t leave your side from the second you enter the gala. He doesn’t trust a single soul around you, except for himself and the guards he brought along with him. If anybody needs to speak to him, they’ll do it with you present, wether it be the lowliest and least valued members of the syndicate, or high ranking leaders who are tasked with representing the higher powers amongst their organization. The only person who would be allowed to speak to him without you present is the boss of the organization itself, and Charlie gave strict instructions to the guards with you on how to behave if that event should occur, as well as from threats of what should occur if they were to fail at their job.

Mafia boss! Charlie who couldn’t have known that it would be during such an occasion that you would be approached by a member of this organization who had had his eyes firmly planted on you ever since you entered the room, but stayed a safe distance away in fear of incurring Charlie’s wrath. Charlie finds himself invited to a private meeting, just for him and the infamous crime boss he’s here for, and reluctantly leaves your side, promising to be back as soon as the negotiations are completed. The guards swarm you, keeping you in caged in a crude circle made up of their bodies, but that wouldn’t stop the unknown man from approaching you. Now that the big, bad danger was out of the equation, he had nothing to fear, not even the numerous guards surrounding you.

Mafia boss! Charlie who returns from his meeting to see some low life with a pretty swollen looking eye getting carried away from you by one of the guards while the rest of them crowd even tighter around you. He was only gone for 30 minutes, what could have possibly happened in that time? Keeping his composure, Charlie swiftly rejoins you, his concern only growing when he sees the bewildered yet amused look plastered across your face.

Mafia boss! Charlie who urgently asks you what happened, taking your arm in his and pressing you to his side protectively. He’s relieved to see that you aren’t hurt, but something must have happened for his guards to get violent in such a formal setting. They may be in the crime business, but even they know to behave themselves in such a setting unless absolutely necessary. You smile in amusement as you explain to him that the man with the black eye had attempted to approach you, asking you to dance with him and to accompany him until Charlie returned. The guards wouldn’t let him get anywhere near you, keeping you blocked behind their bodies, but the man persisted, constantly complementing you and following you around as the guards attempted to shuffle you away. His attempts grew more desperate as time passed, even becoming so brave as to insult Charlie to your face in an effort to bolster himself up, a gesture you certainly didn’t appreciate. You had told him to fuck off and bother someone else, and that’s when the man had gotten brave enough to attempt to grab you from between the guards bodies, an action that resulted in a swift and efficient punch to the eye, courtesy of the nearest guard. Charlie had shown up right after that, when the guard who had nearly knocked the man out grabbed him and dragged him off somewhere where he couldn’t bother you anymore, not that he would want to, of course.

Mafia boss Charlie who does not find the situation nearly as amusing as you do. He’s grateful that you’re safe, unharmed, and pretty happy all things considered, but the fact that anyone had attempted to get near you at all, successfully or unsuccessfully, had his blood boiling. He does his best to keep his composure, both for your sake and to keep up appearances towards everyone else, but it’s abundantly clear that his mood has worsened significantly. That fact is only made more apparent when you hesitantly admit that it had scared you a little when he tried to grab you, but that you were fine now, thanks to the guards he’d left with you. The guard who punched the man approaches Charlie and lowers her head, apologizing sincerely for causing a scene, promising him that they had done what they could to keep the man away from you without using violence, and only resorted to such methods as a last resort. She then turns to you and apologizes for allowing you to see such violence, but you quickly reassure her that you didn’t mind, and appreciated what she and the others had to keep you safe.

Mafia boss! Charlie who, for one of the first times in his life, thanks his employees. It’s curt, and in no way as friendly as most thank you’s are, but the words were still said, stunning all the guards, especially the one who had apologized. She blinks in shock before composing herself, spitting out a quick “it’s no problem at all, sir.” before taking up her post once again. He supposes your kind nature is rubbing off on him, an idea that both scares and thrills him.

Mafia boss! Charlie who doesn't let you stay much longer after that, too on edge after what he saw to relax again. He knows you're safe and sound with him around, but he doesn't want to risk anyone else getting any ideas. Besides, he's already gotten what he came for, there's really no reason to stay any longer. You agree to leave without any arguments, you've had your fun, and you can tell just how bothered Charlie has become from the incident. He takes his leave, you right beside him, giving short, polite goodbyes to those high enough in rank to matter, before ushering you into his limo and ordering the driver to take the two of you home.

Mafia boss! Charlie who gets so clingy once the car starts driving. He won't admit to his jealousy, in fact he adamantly denies experiencing such petty feelings if you ask him about it, but it's obvious the whole ordeal has restarted his supposedly buried fear of you trying to leave him, or worse, getting taken away by someone else. He pushes you into his chest, holding you tightly while capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He won't break apart from you until one of you needs to come up for air, but he soon reattaches his mouth onto yours, repeating the cycle until either you've had enough, or until you arrive back home.

Mafia boss! Charlie who reminds you how beautiful you are, and how happy he is to have you by his side. His voice is soft and sensual, his hands beginning to wander as you cuddle up on the couch. He wants nothing more than to feel you in this moment, to remind himself that you belong to him in mind, body, and soul, and no one, especially not some random low life, could ever take you away from him. He takes his time warming you up before moving the two of you to your shared bedroom, determined to end the night by showing you just one of the many, many reasons he's the best partner you could ever hope for. You're more than happy to receive his affections, and by the time you two are actually ready to go to bed, you're both comfortable and satisfied, content to bask in each others presence as you nod of, Charlie holding you to his bare chest as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. You fall asleep like that, safe and sound in the arms of the one you love most.

Oh, and don't think that Charlie forgot about that guy from earlier. Come morning, he'll know everything he needs to about that individual, and he'll set out to make sure that said individual never, ever underestimates how dangerous and protective Charlie is ever again. That is, if he's fortunate enough to still be alive to think by the end of it. You'll never know man's fate though, Charlie will make sure of that. He doesn't want you to see the violence he's capable of. He'd rather keep you safely away from his job, where nothing can hurt you, physically or mentally. He'll come back home in a more cheerful mood than normal, a welcome sight after the fiasco from the night before. He won't tell you what he's been up to, and you won't ask, content to bask in his presence. You'll stay like that for what seems like forever, just holding each other, and soaking up the warmth the other radiates.

Charlie will make sure nothing like this ever happens again. He swears it.

I hope you enjoyed!

[hyperactively-me]

Hi! I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your series of King! Ghost x princess AU.

I'm watching Bridgerton right now and I wanted to ask if you could write something like them planning a big ball and when it starts, Ghost seeing reader in beautiful dress, all pretty, going down the stairs, all eyes on her, looking at her in awe. (Main character vibes, yk what I mean.) Like him falling in love with reader again!

king!ghost x reader -- ball

warnings: none

The fabric of your gown rustles as you settle into the seat of your vanity, the strings of your corset being pulled from behind by a helpful maid. As she secures the last knot, she takes a step back, bows, and leaves you to finish getting ready. 

You shift in your seat, trying to even out the feeling of the corset pressing into your ribs and abdomen where you were stabbed a month and a half ago, sighing with relief when it eases into a more comfortable sensation. Turning your attention to your hair, you sweep it away from your face, adjusting the tiara sitting proudly atop your head. 

Standing up from your vanity, you look in the mirror for a final inspection. You trace the delicate patterns on your gown with your fingertips, the golden threads and intricate embroidery garnering your gown seemingly glittering with a life of their own, embodying the glory fit for the queen of Kastron.

The idea of hosting a ball in your honor was daunting to you, to say the least, but many members of the royal council insisted on it. They wanted to commemorate your first year as queen of Kastron, and while you could hardly believe that you’ve been here for a year, the reflection in the mirror tells a different story. You’ve grown and learned so much from Kastron, and without it, you’re sure you’d be extremely unhappy back in your home kingdom. Without Kastron, and without Simon’s guidance, you would’ve never thought that you would be this educated, this aware of the world. At home, being kept in a protective bubble for the sole reason of being a woman, was destructive and insulting to you. 

As you stand before the mirror, your gaze lingers on the place where the corset conforms to the contour of your healed wound. The memory of the stabbing is a reminder of the strength and courage coursing through you. The discomfort is a small price to pay for the contentment you have with yourself.

With a small breath, you turn away from the mirror, ready to step into the grand ballroom.

A footman standing outside your door ushers you to the double doors guarding the grand staircase you are supposed to enter. As you stand behind the doors, doubts creep in, and you find yourself hesitating. The bustling sounds of the ballroom makes you realize that all of these people are here just to see you. You know that Simon is down there, waiting for you, but the mere fact that this is something you have to do on your own is a little scary. The whole prospect of your grand entrance suddenly feels overwhelming.

The footman notices your hesitation and offers a reassuring smile. “Your majesty?” 

You don’t turn to look at him, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress. 

“I just… walk down the staircase, right?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

You nod, taking a breath.

“Okay… but what if I fall?” you ask, twisting your hands in your grip, looking up at him.

The doorman pauses and his gaze softens.

“Your majesty, a fall is unlikely. Stand tall, proud. You’ve done so much for our kingdom. Take each step with confidence, just how you’ve led Kastron alongside His Majesty. I believe in you.”

You didn’t expect your eyes to get a little watery from his words, but his genuine encouragement strikes a chord deep within you. A small, grateful smile forms on your lips as you blink back the unexpected tears. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, and the doorman bows with reverence. 

With newfound resolve, you straighten your posture, shoulders back, and take a final deep breath. You focus on the supportive words from the doorman and on spotting your husband.

In the ballroom below, Simon stands as stiff as a board beside the end of the staircase, hands clasped behind his back. He’s dressed head to toe in his military and royal regalia, a perfect blend of his identity. He scans the ballroom with an air of impatience, just dying to catch sight of you at the top of the staircase. Simon hasn’t seen you all evening, much to his dismay. You had giggled about wanting it to be a surprise for everyone, including him. He had grumbled at first, saying how it wasn’t fair to him, but he relented with an infatuated twinkle in his eye. 

Simon finds his thoughts drifting to you, lost in a little daydream, when suddenly the doors at the top of the staircase slam open. A blare of trumpets sound, and your full name and title is announced by a guard. 

As the doorman opens the doors, revealing the anticipation of the grand staircase, you step forward into the light cascading from the crystal chandeliers in the ballroom. Your hesitation transforms into a purposeful stride, each step guided by the realization of how much you’ve truly done and accomplished in the past year. The glamor of the ballroom unfolds before you, and the collective gasp from the attendees echoes in the cavernous room. The ballroom, now in full view of you, welcomes you with thunderous applause. But in that instant, all he sees is you—radiant, confident, and a symbol of exultation.

Simon swears he blacks out the moment you catch his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. The applause is deafening, but the only sound Simon registers is the rapid beating of his heart. His gaze, usually commanding and unyielding, softens into an expression of pure and unadulterated adoration. All around him, the court and guests might see a king, but in that moment, he feels like anything but.

As you descend the staircase, the eyes of the court, nobles, and dignitaries are fixated upon you. The rich fabric of your gown trails behind you, and the golden threads reflect like liquid sunlight, catching the glinting chandeliers above. 

Simon watches you intently, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that could rival a forest fire, each step you take closer to him causing his heart constrict in his chest, threatening to burst. In this moment, you are not just the queen of Kastron; you are the center of his whole universe.

His mind races, replaying the past year he’s spent with you. The memories of challenges and blossoming love flood his thoughts. Simon thinks about the times you stood by his side, the strength you showed even in vulnerability, and the unwavering support that gave him new purpose, an anchor of his rule. He’s overcome with gratitude for having you as his wife, his confidante, and his love. The responsibilities and trials of his status fade into insignificance compared to the depth of emotion that resting his eyes upon you elicits.

As you reach the bottom of the staircase, and your hand finds his, Simon feels a surge of warmth engulf him. You stand before him, a vision of resilience and beauty. Simon bows deeply and reverently before you, nose brushing against your knuckles as he presses a delicate kiss to your hand.

You smile, cheeks warming at his revere. Simon lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes reflecting a mixture of awe and profound love. “My queen,” he murmurs, his voice a low, resonant timbre that resonates intimately between the two of you.

“Simon,” you reply, your voice a soft utterance that only he can hear. 

Simon straightens, a proud and genuine smile gracing his features. “Shall we, love?” he asks, offering his arm. You accept it with a graceful nod, and together you make your way to the center of the dance floor, leading the opening dance. As the music envelops you both, Simon leans in, his words meant only for you. “You look absolutely stunning tonight,” he compliments, his eyes never leaving yours.

You chuckle, the intimate moment lighting up your insides. “Thank you! And you are the epitome of regality. This uniform suits you well.”

Simon’s quiet laughter echoes in your eardrums, the sound blending seamlessly with the music. “Only because I have such a remarkable queen by my side.”

The courtly dance begins, and Simon guides you with practiced elegance. As you move in tandem, whispers of admiration from the onlookers fade into the background. It’s just the two of you, caught in a lovestruck dance. 

As the opening dance nears its end, Simon pulls you closer into him, his gaze unwavering. “To think,” he muses, “a year ago, we were at odds with one another. And tonight, we stand here together.”

You smile softly, the shared sentiment passing between you, unspoken yet deeply understood. “And look how far we’ve come since then,” you reply, your voice soft yet resolute.

Simon guides you into a twirl, your dress rippling across the floor at your feet. When he pulls you back in, you don’t hesitate leaning against him unabashedly. 

“Do you remember our first dance at the first wedding?” he whispers, a hint of nostalgia evident in his eyes.

“Vividly,” you reply, an amused smile playing on your lips. Your first dance was definitely something; you were scared out of your mind, and Simon had promised that you wouldn’t trip, and he made sure of it. You think that it was one of the first moments that you had felt a slight emotion for him other than disdain. 

Simon’s expression softens, his eyes holding a hint of humor. “I remember thinking I had never seen someone so captivating. Even then, you held a grace that inspired me. And, I have to admit, your spirit was quite something. Made me appreciate the fact that you were so combative to begin with, that you’re someone who’s unafraid of standing up for themself.”

You laugh at his admission, the memory of your initial clashes and the unexpected turn of events that brought you to this dance. “Spirit?” you tease, “I prefer to call it determination.”

Simon grins, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back as the music slightly shifts. “Determination, then. It’s one of the things that drew me to you. You never backed down, not even when faced with this idiot of a man at times.”

“As if I could back down,” you reply, squeezing his hand in yours. “You weren’t exactly making it easy. Your jawline is what really sold you to me.” 

Simon’s laughter resonates through the room, a rich and genuine sound, his fingers tracing circles on your back as you continue to sway with the music. “My jawline?” he repeats bewilderedly. “Well, ‘m glad it worked in my favor.”

You chuckle, reveling in the lighthearted banter. “It was a contributing factor, let’s say that.”

Simon’s gaze deepens, his tone turning earnest. 

“In all seriousness, though,” he begins, the mirth in his eyes giving way to a more vulnerable expression, his voice a soft murmur meant for your ears alone. “There was always something about you. Through every challenge you’ve stood strong. And in your strength, I’ve found my own. Just knowing you has changed me for the better, and for that I am grateful, not just as a king, but as a man who found his equal, his partner. I’m so proud of you.” 

You don’t know what to say, getting choked up by the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Simon notices the tears welling up in your eyes, and he cups your cheek tenderly. His thumb brushes away a stray tear, and you bite your bottom lip. Your love for each other, immeasurable and boundless, spills over into every glance, every touch, and every step of the dance. Your heart swells at his words, and you find yourself staring into his eyes, captivated by the depth of emotion reflecting in them.  

“God, Simon. I love you so much,” you finally manage to whisper, the weight of your feelings breaking through. Simon’s eyes soften even further, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too,” he murmurs against your skin, his hold on you tightening. As the dance concludes, the courtiers erupt into applause. Simon guides you off the dance floor, his arm wrapped around you protectively. You exchange glances filled with unspoken understanding, squeezing his hand once more. You lean into him, moving to rest your head against his shoulder, a serene smile gracing your lips. The warmth of Simon’s embrace, the quiet hum of the music in the background, and the knowledge that you’ve found your person makes you forget all about your anxieties. At that moment, it feels like the two of you are the only people in the universe.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

taglist: @analyseeeesworld @dragonstoneshortcake

[cloudshuffle]

Hi, d for the request can I please have yandere Royal Jade x thief reader?

gem in the rough. yan!jade

nobility au

Her grace, the elegant, classy, duchess Jade, also has a penchant for being frightening.

So terrifying is she that it's said she can make grown men wet themselves at a single glance (this is untrue, on accounts that it was only one man who she caused to wet himself, and there were many other factors involved in his pants-wetting, so he says. I think it’s more amusing to leave it down to the duchess.)

Yet all rumours sprout from a seed of truth. Jade is a formidable individual, demoness or not, and it’d do anyone good not to cross her. She near monopolises the flow of jewels in and out of our borders, and as far as it’s been recorded, none of her ventures have ever failed. She’s wealthy. Some even say she’s more powerful than the emperor himself.

The duchess has an eye for valuable things; things that would pay her back tenfold, if invested in the right way. Despite her cutthroat methods, I know merchants who would kill to be in partnership with her - provided they get an audience with her first. Duchess Jade is a very difficult person to get a hold of.

Speaking of valuable things. I suppose it’s dangerous for a thief to keep a diary, yet here we are. I’ve been feeling rather… lonely and sentimental recently, something about how there might be no one to remember me by. Anyway. It’s been said that the duchess has in her possession something called the Dragon’s Eye - an exquisite, rare, lovely jewel that would buy me not only my freedom out of these borders, but also a life beyond them. I have someone who’s willing to pay.

I do intend to acquire it for myself.

I’ve been watching the duchess’ estate for a period of time now, and I’m quite confident I’ll be able to slip in easily tonight. After that, well, let’s just hope the plans to the castle are up to date. If they aren’t, this will be my first and last entry, which is amusing in a way.

Though aren’t my best heists always the ones less planned?

In confidence, (Name).

I have to admit, the duchess herself isn’t the only frightening thing about her estate.

Security is nearly watertight, and I nearly got mauled at least thrice tonight. But humans are ultimately foolish creatures, and I managed to trick the guards at the outer walls into thinking their mutts were acting up at a squirrel. Still, I thought my heart would jump out of my throat.

The guards in the corridors? Less perceptive than the maids. Those twittery ladies never miss the slightest bit of gossip to pass around. I slipped into a uniform, hinted that the stable boy had his eye on the duchess, and slipped out quickly as they begun speculating on what might happen. He does have quite the looks. Shame he might be fired soon.

And finally I was close enough to slither into her jeweller’s vault, right underneath the guard’s feet. Or the carpet under them. It was a tight, unpleasant squeeze, but what’s playing pretend as a snake compared to my future on the line?

Rumour had it that Jade’s vault was manned by a host of the continent’s best lapidarists, all chained to their desks and made to slave away to produce only the best jewels for her. That rumour always seemed a little silly to me. Didn’t people work best when they were well-fed and happy? But there were no lapidarists. In fact, there wasn’t a single soul in that chamber, not even a guard.

The carpeted floor ate up all sound, and the gems sparkled silently in clear cases. I probably could have stolen the cushions they rested on and fetched a small fortune - the workmanship and the gold embroidery spoke enough.

But I was here on a mission. And though I usually turn away at the sign that something might go awry, maybe it was the temptation of my reward, or maybe it was the sight of the jewel that drove me on.

Fiery red and deepest purple laced with the richest gold. Lovely didn’t even begin to describe such a jewel. Though an eye for aesthetics didn’t come with the job, I think even a blind man could simply feel its beauty radiating from it.

The gold in the middle did somewhat resemble an eye. And I took it with gloved hands and slipped it into a velvet pouch.

Leaving was easy. The compound was designed to keep people out rather than in, and I made it back to my temporary quarters without fuss. I deposited the jewel safely (even I’m not foolish enough to note down where it is), and satisfied at having a job well done, decided to treat myself to a drink at the bar downstairs.

There was a lovely lady at the bar with a presence about her. She looked normal enough with a nondescript cloak and brown hair (save the covering across the lower half of her face), but she didn’t feel normal, and so all the other patrons were giving her a wide berth, even raging drunk. I was in no mood to contend with rowdy, stinking men, so I took up the empty seat next to her.

“Good evening,” she said to me, and I had to sigh. Conversation really wasn’t on my agenda for the day, but she must have misunderstood. “Long day?”

“Sure,” I replied. “Just got home from work.”

“So late!” she exclaimed. “You must be working very hard.”

I shrugged. “I suppose I do.”

Conversation died down, and she left shortly after that. She did tell me she was looking forward to seeing me again.

I wonder what she meant.

Yours unsurely, (Name).

With much difficulty, I’ve finally managed to make contact with the buyer! Pardon the excitement, but we’ve arranged for a meeting at the docks tonight, where they’ve already arranged passage for me. I asked why they weren’t worried about me running off with the jewel, and they said that I likely didn’t want to keep it in my possession any longer.

Which is… true. It’s hard to find a buyer for such a high profile object, but harder still to keep it around me. I’ve been checking on it every day, and I’ve noticed that I feel… somewhat queasy around it. Like it’s a drain on my energy.

Hey, I didn’t survive this long without being at least a little superstitious.

That aside, it was discovered that the jewel went missing sometime in the night that I stole it. Though it’s an important item, the upper echelons seem more interested in covering up the theft than issuing a public notice. I suppose I understand. How would it look if not even the nobility had safe, secure homes?

Regardless, as long as it doesn't harm me, I suppose the jewel and I can coexist for a day longer. And I'll let the stone keep its secrets. It’s not much longer before it’ll be off my hands.

Looking forward to the future, (Name).

I’m writing this entry by candlelight, still sweaty and breathless from escaping from that place.

I made my way to the docks once the sun set. The Eye was heavy in my pocket, but in some way, I felt like the weight of my future was finally in my hands.

I was feeling unusually optimistic. And I’ve learnt, thankfully, that that’s when things go wrong.

Like any respectable thief might, I concealed myself amongst the many crates and boxes waiting quietly to be brought inland the next day. Making the first appearance is always foolish. My boat, supposedly, bobbed quietly on the water with not a soul in sight. Not unusual - the sailors would all be inland at the moment, causing ruckus at the taverns. But it didn’t help to reassure me any better.

Shortly after, a trio of horses and riders come down the docks. Not the most discreet way to get somewhere, and definitely not the level of caution I would expect from someone about to attain the Dragon’s Eye. I knew I was right to be suspicious.

The lady in the middle got off first - I knew she was a lady despite the cloak because she rode side-saddle. Also another unusual detail in this day and age. The other two men at her side moved with a familiarity that I didn’t like; the kind that reminded me of trained soldiers and patrolling troops. They didn’t stir up particularly happy memories. When one of them moved, I caught a glimpse of sheathed blade under his cloak.

Two soldiers. And a noble lady.

I knew this, because Duchess Jade lifted the hood off her face in one smooth motion, her pink curls tumbling out like a cascade of silk.

I bit back a gasp. Because seeing the duchess up close, I recognised her too - the same lady who’d just sat next to me at the inn bar. No matter how she’d changed her hair, using magic or otherwise, it was definitely still her, aura and all.

“My dear master thief.” Her voice rang out, clear and full of authority. I knew immediately that confrontation wasn’t an option. “I know you’re hiding somewhere. You’ve done such a wonderful job, attaining the Dragon’s Eye. Do show yourself so I can present you with your reward.”

From under her cloak, she pulled out a drawstring bag, large and heavy with coin. Jade shook the bag as if to prove its contents, then retrieved papers and slipped those inside too.

“More credit, and legitimate papers for your safe passge.” She patted the bag. “This offer won’t last forever, master thief. Or should I call you, (Name)?”

By the time she finished her sentence, I was already gone.

I pick up this entry, once again by candlelight, once again fleeing.

The duchess knew where I was staying, which gave me valuable time to pack what little I had and sneak onto a transport cart. Once out of the city, I hopped off and hitched a more legitimate ride with another cart. Not that I trusted these people not to rat me out, but there was no way I was stopping any of these men in the dark without giving them a fright.

I’m on my way towards the border. The Eye is still heavy in my pocket, sitting quietly like an obedient child. I hadn’t known what to do with it, and figured it might be better to carry it with me, in case I needed to barter for something valuable. Like a life.

This journal will have to take backseat for now. I get the feeling I need to jump carts soon.

(Name).