#so he could put her in a dress and make her ‘pretty’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shuastar · 1 day ago

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ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .4 (JWW)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 10.2k (oops) warnings: cursing? hot wonwoo, obsessed wonwoo, a lot of tears (this entire thing is more of an angst than anything); y/n acts kind of annoyingly but its all for the plot i promise ᴀ/ɴ: i'm flying back and forth to and from korean rn bc i'm done w midterms rn!! sorry for the delay!! ALSO IM SO PROUD OF SEVENTEEN FOR WINNING 2 DAESANGS OMG; im also trying to go through requests at the same time so if i like dont answer for a while i promise im writing it!! just wait!! anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

Wonwoo

Wonwoo would not consider himself a greedy or jealous man.

No, of course not. Why would he be when he could have everything he wanted in the palm of his hands? When he was the Archduke?

But the sight of her in the winter market roads, dressed too-thinly for the cold biting air of the evening pushes into his chest a stabbing sort of pain he cannot really place. And the sudden tension he feels from her presence, does nothing to ease the tsunami of emotions crashing into his chest.

The festive winter market of the Capital. The common festive winter market of the Capital. Never had he ever thought of bumping into y/n in the streets of the Capital – without a guard, no less. Although, he thinks, Mingyu serves more than enough of a guard for tonight. He knows that his thoughts are too bitter – too bitter, considering everything she has said, everything she has gone through because of him. Yet, he cannot stop the bile rising in his throat and his fists clenching by his sides as he only watches from the side.

The familiar, homey scents of warm cider and baked pies mingle with the cold evening air and sprinkles of snow fall around him, yet he can’t seem to pay attention to the stand owners who call for his attention.

He swallows as Y/n moves from the winter flower stall to a jewelry stall. He tries to ignore the way Mingyu laughs at her side, shoulder bumping hers and hand going up to pull her cloak over her head. He tries to ignore the unfamiliar flame of what seems to be anger, regret, or something in between, stoke the fires of his heart, as Y/n simply laughs. And it hurts. It hurts so much because she never laughed like that around him. At least, not since his return.

He cannot even begin to put into words how gorgeous she looks under the yellow lantern lights and the blinkings of the market stalls. He has just barely enough capacity to recognize how the deep greens and golds of her dress blend in rather unassumingly with the commoners also walking the snowy road. How different she looks when she is far from the palace walls that seem to have always guarded her independent spirit. How joyous she looks when she stares at a piece of jewelry in her hands, fingers running over the blue sapphire in the middle. The gem hangs from the thin gold chain delicately and he can’t help but think how pretty she would look in it.

He can’t hear the conversation, but he can see Mingyu lean down (curse him for his height), and also inspect the necklace that she is now holding up to his face.

When Y/n tilts her head, a soft smile gracing her features, Wonwoo’s heart clenches. Almost painfully. Painfully because he recognizes that smile – the smile that used to be locked away only for him when they shared late night tea in his parlor, when he gifted you a diamond-encrusted bangle for your eighteenth birthday, when he danced with you for your debutante, when he went boating with you on a random Thursday afternoon.

Painful because now you are staring up at Mingyu with the same look, some kind of unspoken familiarity in your eyes that he seems to have missed because it sure as fuck wasn’t there when he had left.

At your head tilt, Mingyu leans forward and says something too quiet to catch. But it makes you laugh – loud, brilliant, clear-cut like the most expensive of diamonds. It catches the attention of the people around you and they smile too. And he would if not for the twisting feeling of a knife in his gut because your carefree laugh he only ever heard in the privacy of the night, days ago, flows so naturally when you are with Mingyu.

What the fuck did he even say?

It’s a bitter sort of rage. More directed towards himself than anything. But he pins the blame on the prince, opting for an easier way to divulge it fully. It’s easier that way – anger to yourself is easier to let out when directed another way.

The knife’s presence exponentially sharpens and his throat feels weirdly scratchy when Mingyu gently touches your hand, taking the necklace out of your palm and placing into it a more extravagant piece. Your fingers brush. He can see it from where he is. And he can also see you look up at Mingyu in surprise at his sudden touch – no gloves, too. Were you worried about scandals with Mingyu? He wants to scoff at himself at being this ridiculous, but some shallow part of him wants to yell out your name and whisk you away. Away from Mingyu, away from the market, away from the Capital. To somewhere he can take a deep breath and just let you know. Let you know how much he-

“-Oh, I don’t know, Gyu,” you sigh.

Wonwoo is surprised at how close his feet had led him to you. If he takes a couple more steps, he can reach out and brush your hair from your shoulders.

Mingyu just smiles, canines biting down into his bottom lip. “What do you mean? It’s gorgeous. Matches your eyes ‘n everything, duchess.” He gives you a small little wink. It’s teasing, Wonwoo knows. It’s done in passing, which he also knows. But it stirs the pot of bubbling frustration (and jealousy) in his stomach like nothing had ever before.

And it doesn’t simmer, especially when you just laugh at Mingyu’s words, leaning into his presence to roam your eyes around on other jewels.

The only thing good to come out of that was your hand slowly letting the bracelet you were holding slip back onto the table.

Good. It didn’t suit you anyways.

You need something less flashy. More elegant and timeless. You are breathtaking enough.

He only watches, under the pretense of his hood and perusing through an antique stall, as Mingyu hands you another piece, fingers brushing. Again.

Wonwoo grits his teeth.

It’s something small – something that would have gone unnoticed by everyone else. But to him? To him, it feels mocking, almost patronizing and belittling.

You could have been in his place, it almost says. You could have been the one brushing fingers, tossing an arm around her shoulders, teasing her, laughing with her, buying her jewelry in the Capital night market. Buying her anything she wished for.

Mingyu’s ease with you, the natural way you just take up the space next to him, grates on Wonwoo’s nerves to the last degree.

Do you two even realize how you look to others? To him?

Do you realize how his heart clenches at the scene of Mingyu repeatedly suggesting jewelry Wonwoo knows you don’t like, only for you to laugh off his sulking comments about how you and he just don’t have the same taste in exquisite things?

Have you realized the meaning behind his flowers? His three words he had finally finalized in writing after countless sleepless nights’ worth of letters and love-essays?

The urge to step forward claws at him – to insert himself, force himself, into the situation – to reclaim some part of your attention he is vying for. But he can’t. He can’t bring his feet to move from their place nor his eyes to move from how you just glance back at your original necklace you chose, studying its gem and masterful metal work. He can’t. Not here. And definitely not now. Still, the thought of walking away feels equally impossible, as if leaving would signify some sort of defeat.

Wonwoo’s breath clouds the cold air, but he doesn’t notice. He has to force himself to take a step back – back and back and back until he has some reasonable amount of distance between you and Mingyu’s merry little party of two. His gloved hand raises to his chest and pressed hard, as if doing so would stop the chaotic, frantic beating of the muscle. His fingers curl into his coat and he desperately wants to hand you his jacket – wants to place the thick fur over your slightly shivering shoulders (something he tells himself Mingyu would not do, except he knows Mingyu would) – wants to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you close until your cheeks flush in embarrassment at the proximity. He wants to embrace you from behind, placing his chin on your shoulder as you ramble on about the kind of jewelry you like, without knowing that he already knows. He wants to kiss you dizzyingly under the soft snow and cut off your pure sort of laughter. He wants to make you smile and laugh and then smile again just because you were with him. He wants to buy you bouquets of flowers just because he thought of you and send them to your royal advisory meetings. He wants to do those things and more, yet he wills himself to keep composure.

Not the time, he repeats to himself. Not the time.

She deserves her laughter, he tells himself, though the thought is bitter. Even if it’s not mine to share yet.

And although he wishes it would, the pain does not fade. It lingers in his chest cavity, raw and all-consuming, all-knowing, as he stands there, watching your joy seep into someone else’s laughter. And as Mingyu leans in even closer (terribly ungentleman-like, Wonwoo convinces himself), offering you yet another comment that coaxes yet another bubbly laugh, Wonwoo finally forces himself to turn away.

He feels a tightness in his chest and a strange thudding in his heart as he stands there, fists clenching as he tries to forget.

Forget the pain, forget the tears building up, forget what your absence turns him into.

The crisp night air bites at Wonwoo’s cheeks as he and Soonyoung approach the royal mansion. He would have much rather preferred if Seungcheol had held the Charity Ball in the actual royal palace, but the king had decided to move the venue to a “less extravagant” area, which was only a street down from the palace. So Wonwoo wasn’t too sure what Seungcheol was trying to accomplish except to freeze his palace guests to death as they walked over to the mansion.

As the tips of the open arched gates could be seen through the winter night’s haze, a warm glow upon the two of them, the mansion’s many windows spillions beacons of golden onto the welcoming courtyard, frozen over with snow. Already, there were many footprints that lined the fallen white carpet, melting the small ice flowers into water again.

The manor’s golden warmth made the cold knot in his stomach twist further. Beside him, Soonyoung walks with an easy stride – seemingly unaffected by the wintry air or the tension Wonwoo knows he is radiating.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight” Soonyoung suddenly says, tone half-teasing, words hanging in the air for Wonwoo to jump and catch in his mouth. “Trying to strategize your grand entrance?”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, focus already blurring at the edges. His fingers toy with the edges of his scarf.

Soonyoung casts a sidelong glance at him. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles as he simply flashes his royal knight badge at the soldiers guarding the gate, strolling along. The white of the falling snow blends in nicely with his blonde head of hair.

“Are you not looking forward to another night of forced smiles and silent judging on your part?” Soonyoung cracks a teasing grin, bumping Wonwoo’s shoulder.

However, when Wonwoo stays silent, face shadowed as his gaze locks on the mansion, Soonyoung’s grin falters.

“You okay?” A slant of worry in his voice does not escape Wonwoo and he feels almost guilty for worrying his closest friend.

Wonwoo swallows, shaking his head as if that would wake him from his trance. “Yes. Yeah, I am. Why would I not be?” He forces a laugh from the confines of his tight throat. It sounds almost hysteric to his ears – as if he was on his last straw. Soonyoung knows, too.

Soonyoung’s eyebrows furrow as he places a firm hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, stopping him in his place. He turns Wonwoo to face him. “Why? Is it because of her?”

Wonwoo falters in his forced grin. Just barely. But it’s enough for Soonyoung to notice.

“Ah,” Soonyoung sighs, clicking his tongue, “so I’m right.” Soonyoung smirks, eyes lighting up in interest but it drops when he realizes the tightness on Wonwoo’s face. “Why the-” he cuts himself off with a gasp. “Wait, please don’t tell me you did something stupid.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, lightly shoving Soonyoung away. “Shut up, man,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “If you don’t have anything useful to say, I’m going inside.” Wonwoo resumes his walk down the snow-ridden aisle, down the middle of the courtyard.

Soonyoung groans. “Wonwoo!” His footsteps are light against the snow as he jogs to catch up with Wonwoo’s wide strides. “You did something, right? What did you do? Huh? What was it? You were literally with me for the entirety of last week!” Soonyoung whines, almost hanging off of Wonwoo’s arm, earning another eye roll from Wonwoo. “Was it bad? How did she react, huh? Why, it couldn’t have been that bad, right?”

Soonyoung jabs his finger at Wonwoo’s ribs, repeating the same phrases over and over until they reach the entrance of the mansion, huge golden doors guarded by two valets.

Wonwoo sighs, massaging his temple. “Will you shut up, please? It’s nothing, okay?” To the valet, he hands two pieces of papers, written on them the required name and title announcements of the night.

Soonyoung stubbornly shakes his head. “You did something. What was it?” he presses as the valets swing open the doors.

Wonwoo is quiet as his name, along with Soonyoung’s is read out loud for the entire mansion to hear. From his position at the front door, he can see how Seungcheol had turned the entire first parlor of the mansion into a ballroom of sorts. Near the end of the welcoming hall are the charity auction items – the blue sapphire jewelry set and the gold-set ruby diadem. At the call of his name, everyone stops, briefly, before staring up at the entrance balcony where he and Soonyoung are.

“What was it?” Soonyoung hisses, jabbing an elbow at Wonwoo’s ribs. Wonwoo grits his teeth at the sharp pain, throwing a side-ways look at Soonyoung.

“Jewelry,” Wonwoo grits out, pushing Soonyoung to start walking down the stairs into the chamber.

Soonyoung gasps, as if Wonwoo had just said something more scandalous like lingerie or an estate. “When?”

“Last Friday.”

“It’s been a week?”

“I suppose.”

Soonyoung scoffs in disbelief. “Unbelievable,” he murmurs, almost to himself. He clutches his chest in faux astonishment, eyes blown wider than necessary. “The great Archduke Jeon gifting jewelry – and flowers, I imagine – to a woman he claims doesn’t even-”

“-I don’t need your commentary, thank you very much,” Wonwoo interrupts, voice hard as he and Soonyoung reach, almost, the bottom of the staircase. His eyes scan the open chamber for a familiar face that almost taunts him like a dream. He can’t even control it. It’s natural, instinctive, almost. He needs to see her. He needs for his heart to stop thudding in his chest, just in case this time, she leaves him. Like he left her.

From next to Wonwoo, Soonyoung lets out a rather loud sigh. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he mutters under his breath. “You send her gifts in secret, pine after her like a lost puppy, and then show up to events like this – which you don’t even like – expecting… What? That she’ll somehow tap into her telepathic reserves and read your desperate mind?” Soonyoung tuts, shaking his head, starting to part with Wonwoo. “Man up, Wonwoo, come on. If you want her that bad, do something.”

Wonwoo says nothing, his jaw tightening painfully as his teeth grit against each other and his fingers fist at his sides.

If Wonwoo had to see another fucking interaction between you and Mingyu that ended in laughter from your side, he was going to bust a vein. Most likely the one that was likely protruding from his neck. If he had to sit in the stupid fucking ballroom watching your gorgeous face scrunch up in delight at what someone else says to you, he was going to lose his shit. Here and now, no regrets.

Well, maybe a little regret. But mostly no regrets.

His eyes trace your figure as you return back to your table, draped in a rich crimson cloth, occupied by a small group (that deep-down, he felt hurt not being invited into): Joshua’s wife, laughing and fan fluttering in animated conversation with Seungcheol, Joshua, who simply leans back in his chair, arm draped over the back of his wife’s chair, you, with your dazzling twinkle in your eyes and the way the light reflected – refracted – off of almost every part of you, and Mingyu.

Mingyu makes him freeze. The prince leans in ever-so-slightly, a teasing smile dancing on the corners of his lips as he whispers something in your ear that makes you blush like a virgin, lightly slapping his upper arm in protest at his words. Wonwoo tries his best to not walk up and intervene because who was he to decide what you do with your life? He didn’t see you as a duty, thus he doesn’t need to intervene whenever someone is-

Mingyu leans back in his gold-draped chair, a casual arm thrown over the back of your. It’s not the act in itself that bothers Wonwoo (although it does), it’s the way Mingyu’s fingertips drum against your upper arm. Your bare upper arm. Your bare upper arm that should be clean of anyone’s touch (except for his). The prince reaches into his coat pocket, brandishing something akin to a box – neatly wrapped, twinkling under the low light.

Wonwoo can’t really see your face from where he is – on the other side of the shorter hall, arms crossed, and leaning against a wall – but he can see that you tilt your head, a scrunch of your brows as you probably ask Mingyu what he was giving you.

Mingyu shrugs, an easy grin on his face, and places the box in your hands, opening the top. Wonwoo sees your eyes widen in surprise, which makes Joshua, his wife, and even Seungcheol lean forward to see what it is that Mingyu had the audacity to give you.

When you bring it out of the box, Wonwoo has to admit the quality of the gift. It’s a handkerchief, embroidered with amazing detail and an intricate floral pattern. He can make out your initials on the corner and the studded pearls that line the other corner in small mother-of-pearl flowers.

For a while, you’re silent and Wonwoo thinks you’re going to shove it back in the box and place it back in Mingyu’s pocket. Because that’s what you would do – at least with him.

But then your lips slowly curve up into a soft, genuine smile – the whites of your teeth poking out – and you launch out of your seat, arms suddenly thrown around Mingyu. And Wonwoo can see all of this unfold in absolute slow motion. It’s all in slow motion — from the way you jump up with a small clap to the way you bring Mingyu in a hug that’s so unlike you that even Joshua’s wife blinks in surprise at your sudden movement.

Wonwoo can hear your delighted laughter and “Thank you!” even from where he is. Mingyu looks rather flustered at your sudden embrace but seems to brush it off with a quick laugh and a sheepish grin, mumbling something like “if I knew you would like handkerchiefs so much, I would’ve bought more, duchess.”

God. Wonwoo’s nails presses painfully into his palms when Mingyu leans in again and steals another bout of laughter from your precious mouth. Wonwoo’s chest tightens at the sight. The sight of your joy, so free and unguarded, so genuine, should have been more beautiful. And it is. He thinks you’re the most beautiful person to ever walk this planet and any other – your warm eyes, your pouting lips, your blushed cheeks, your gorgeous peals of laughter, the way you blush under any of his heavy stares. But this time, looking on at you and Mingyu, it filled him with such a shredding visceral sense of loss. A sense of loss at the time he willingly gave up – what you could have been – what you are to him now – what he is to you – what he wants to desperately shout out for the entire world to hear.

The undulations of the orchestra notes slowly faded out gradually as Mingyu stole more laughter from you. And Wonwoo barely even recognized Soonyoung standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder, saying something. But his voice sounds muted, almost like he’s underwater and she’s the only source of pure oxygen that he needs to inhale to live. All he can see is you. You, you, you, you, you. Just like always. Except this time, Mingyu’s next to you, elbowing you, bumping shoulders, brushing fingers, twirling your hair, gifting you handkerchiefs, for Christ’s sake.

And he suddenly finds himself pushing off the wall (and consequently Soonyoung’s arm and his concerned words of “Where the fuck are you going?”), and slowly walking over to the crimson table. He doesn’t notice the curious glances of the other guests as his growing presence becomes the source of whisperings between tables. All he can he is you. You, leaning towards Mingyu, the faintest of blushes barely visibly but fucking unmistakeable. You and red. Dark red as some carnal part of him – a desperate part of him drowning in jealousy – takes over, flashing warning signs across his brain.

With every step he took closer to the two, the room seemed to shift around him – air growing heavier and thicker with tension. Before he could stop himself, Wonwoo was two steps away, jaw clenched, head slightly tilted down, arms crossed. The table instantly falls silent when Joshua looks up and blinks, almost surprised at Wonwoo’s intrusion. Seungcheol straightens in his chair, throwing a questioning mouthing of words at Wonwoo (that he completely misses), and Joshua’s wife darting a glance between himself and Mingyu.

“Is this really necessary?” Wonwoo’s voice is low but it carries. Each word, though he means to not make it so, is clipped and sharp, precise knife points nicking parts of your plush skin. His stormy gaze flickers briefly to Mingyu before fixing on you. It’s easier like this. It feels like he can still reach out and know you’re there. He knows what he might look like – a man without a warrant. And technically, he doesn’t have one. He doesn’t have an extravagant excuse as to why he is suddenly intervening except for the fact that he felt jealous.

The only thing that falters his confidence is the way your face almost immediately drops at his words. Instead, your expression is replaced with something he can’t quite place – surprise, deliberate coldness, and maybe something sharper. Slowly, you rise, your silk gown flowing down your form. He wants to tell you how beautiful you look tonight – how the sage green suits you exceedingly well, how the pearl-drop earrings blend in perfectly with your braided hair tonight – but he notices the necklace that sits in between your collarbones – it’s small, but it’s there. The necklace with the crafted jade and pearl flowers. The one you had periodically gone back to at the Night Market. The one he had, after not-so-deliberate thought, gone up and bought before the end of the night and slipped under your door along with a single tulip.

“I am confused as to why any of this is your concern,” you say evenly, voice quiet but steady.

Those words threaten to crack Wonwoo’s composure. He can feel his jaw tighten because he doesn’t know why it is his concern. “This-” he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He tries his best to swallow down the tightness of his throat. “This act, this pretense with him-”

Your laugh cuts him off. It’s nothing like the one you give Mingyu. It’s sharper, more combined with a set of unshed tears. Wonwoo wants to punch himself. “Pretense?” You whisper, voice cutting through his words like they were made of the thinest grass. It is sharper than the cold air outside, more biting with unsaid disbelief. Your eyes narrow and he can so clearly see the anger simmering inside of them that it takes him off-guard. You take a step closer. His breath catches.

“You are no one who should be talking about pretense, your grace,” you hiss. And Wonwoo tries desperately to keep his tormented eyes to rest on your eyes, but they flicker hesitantly to your lips, down to your necklace, and then back up to your eyes. “Is this-” you gesture vaguely to the entire group, “part of your duty too? Are you afraid of someone snatching up your convenient little wife before you can call it official?” Your voice slowly rises in pitch the more Wonwoo’s eyes wander. And he swears, it’s not on purpose, but he can’t bear to look at your glassy, tear-covered orbs because he knows then that he will break. He’ll break and bring you into a hug and start murmuring apologies for everything he’s ever done.

“What is your-” you stop yourself and he knows immediately that you’ve seen his eyes flicker to your lips. You scoff. It’s loud, haunting, taunting. “Fucking look at me,” you snap, hands balling into small fists by your side. Wonwoo looks up into your eyes and it feels like a part of his heart shatters at the sight of your faint dark circles and redness of your eyes. “Your grace, I’ve said this once and I’ll say it only one more time,” you whisper, stepping just one more half-step closer to him. He can feel your dress flutter against his skin and your expensive Capital perfumery perfume waft towards him. “If duty is all you care about,” you choke out, and he can see the way your bottom lip trembles as you continue, “get the fuck out of my life.”

The words hit him squarely in his chest. He can feel his constructed walls tremble under the weight and restrained emotion of your words.

He swallows down his own set of tears. It’s infuriating, really, having the one person you care about the most strike you down before you can even say anything. It’s frustrating when even he can’t decide to let you be or if he needs you – needs you the breathe, to sleep, to help the blood flow in his veins.

Around you, the ballroom almost holds its breath. Of course, the dancers still twirled, the string ensemble still played on, but in the one meter radius of you, every table feels frozen, watching a scene unfold that no one dares to interrupt.

“You still think you’re part of my-” Wonwoo starts, but the way you stare at him almost chokes him out of the rest of his words. He couldn’t even argue against the truth of what you said. On the probability that you had figured out the flowers and necklace were from him, it would have only worked against him in ways he had not properly thought out or even intended. He wishes he could just scream out the words.

You take a shaky breath, expression almost forcefully hardening as you lift your chin. “Don’t question me, your grace, when you’ve made it crystal clear that your reputation and your title mean more to you than anything else.” He can hear the wavering undulations of your voice, but your resolve, whether forced or not, held firm. It held the entirety of your sentences together. “So yes. I’m going to keep up with whatever it is you think is pretense and you…” you trail off as your eyes rake up and down his body, finally landing on the crest of his duchy by his shoulder. You scoff, “should stick to what you think is best for your Archduchy.”

Wonwoo feels almost wronged at your words. Is that really what you see him as? Did you really only see him as someone who would do something if it meant for a greater reward for his duchy? His heart thuds in his chest, except this time, it’s in dread. The sting of your words root him in place and the crowd blurs into a scene of motion and moving colors.

“Then why do you wear the necklace?” he murmurs, more to himself than anything, but you hear him.

Your hand flies to finger at your necklace, smoothening over the jade pieces. You look down. “A mistake on my part,” you whisper, voice shaking now. Your finger suddenly undo the clasp at the back and the necklace falls into your palm. The jade flowers sit there, like a dejected piece of artwork. Without any more words, you drop the necklace into his palm. The stones feel much heavier than when he bought them – as if they had absorbed some of the weight of your words. He looks up at you – mouth slightly open, eyes blown wide. He can’t even believe it. This feels as if you were finally ending everything. Because you knew the flowers, the jade, were from him.

“Wait-” he hurries, fingers clenching over the jade. But before he can say anything else, you turn around and Mingyu stands. Wonwoo can only watch as you turn away from him, back straight and head held high, as you walk towards Mingyu, who rests a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Perhaps, Archduke,” Mingyu says softly, though Wonwoo can hear – loud and clear – the unmistakable warning, “it would be best to just let her be.”

Wonwoo’s fists clench at his sides. He has to be trembling from the pure forceful restraint he held all night now fraying exponentially at the edges. His gaze lingers on Mingyu’s hand, on the easy familiarity between you and him, on the jealousy that gnaws at his insides.

Wonwoo can’t bear to speak. The faint scent of your perfume lingers in the air, almost like a cruel reminder of your presence even as you move further away from him. The orchestra swells with the tsunami of his emotion. The triumphant notes almost feel like mockery to the hollowness of his chest. The ballroom returns back to life but Wonwoo can’t seem to remove himself from his position, until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Wonwoo.” Soonyoung. “Wonwoo, come on. You’re making a scene,” Soonyoung whispers, pulling his arm.

Wonwoo stumbles after Soonyoung, feet not leading him in any way. He wants to scoff – to go back up to his room and cry. He had told himself that he could handle this – seeing you, being near you without tapping into any of the feelings he had tried so hard to suppress. But now, at your words, faced with the stunning reality of the depth of your scar, the realistic distance, of you being able to continue life without him, a tsunami of loss threatens to drown him. Because he can’t. He can’t live without you. Because he had underestimated, severely, the pain of it.

And for the first time, being pulled out of the ballroom by Soonyoung, he wonders if he has lost you for good. If he has no chance anymore of pulling you close to him and kissing you under the starlight again. If he has no chance anymore of you returning his deep-rooted affections.

y/n

It was kind of sad to see the royal gardens cloaked under both night and the snow. Your hands brush against the winter rose bushes as you walk along the path to the atrium, outfitted with a dying fire in a hearth and hot tea that steams under the wintry temperature. You smile softly at the memories flooding your mind of running through these very gardens when you were younger, laughing and tumbling with all your friends. Smiling during a time that seemed so carefree.

You wish you could go back. You wish you could go back and experience the carefree again. You miss it. You miss being able to fall asleep at night without trouble, being able to wake up in the morning without cold sweat in a nightmare, being able to go about your day without the constant plaguing thought of him wandering the confines of your mind.

A soft crunch of a branch startles you. You turn.

The sight in front of you makes you stumble back in surprise.

Wonwoo steps up to you hesitantly. It’s more so the expression – the emotions – clouded with something so raw it seems almost not humane in his eyes that stutter your breath in your lungs. Under the moonlight, way past the time both of you should be outside, he looks vulnerable. Much more vulnerable since the last time you saw him at that stupid charity ball two nights ago.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say. It’s quiet but it rings through the empty garden. You want to laugh at how much your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. You fidget with your fingers as Wonwoo stares at you with an unfamiliar intensity. The rosiness of his cheeks make you wonder if he’s slightly tipsy.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he rasps, voice a low murmur that carries to your ears, stabbing a long knife in your lung.

You want to scoff but the deep tenor of his voice stops you from actually doing so. Your arms instead cross over your chest. “Why?”

You’re not quite sure if you want to hear the reason, lest all of your walls come crumbling down, but you ask anyway.

Wonwoo steps closer, movements slow as if to not spook you. “Because there are things I need to say – things I should have said years ago.”

You swallow, head tilted up to look into his eyes. Behind his glasses, tears swim unidentified in his eyes. Rather late of you, you want to say. Instead, you opt on “Say them,” you whisper. “What is it?”

His jaw tightens. You want to reach up and kiss his worries away. You do, really. For a second, it seems as though he is regretting ever bumping into you, but then he speaks, voice trembling with the weight of all of his emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, hands reaching for yours. You give them up without hesitation – as if your body was acting on its own habitual wants. “I made a mistake. I left because I thought it was the right thing to do. Because I thought I could protect you by staying away – by returning to you with some sort of success.” He falters. “But I was wrong, y/n. I’ve been wrong about so many things.”

You can feel the foundation of your walls shaking.

No. No, stay with your resolve, y/n.

You look away, lips pressing into a thin line. But you don’t pull your hands out of his caress. “You’ve said enough. I want to be with someone who doesn’t disappear the moment duty calls.”

Wonwoo takes a sharp breath. You can almost feel the unspoken accusations swirl between you.

“Is that really what you think of me?” Wonwoo's words sound almost bitter. “That I left without caring? That I would risk everything just to avoid you for the time being?”

“What else am I supposed to think, Wonwoo?” You snap back, your voice rising. You wish desperately for him to leave. If you talk about this any longer, you were going to break. “You left without a word, without confidence in me, and then waltzed back into my life expecting everything to be as it was! But people don’t just fucking stand around waiting-”

“-You have no idea what you’re saying, y/n.” Wonwoo’s voice is dangerously low now. He steps even closer and you finally register something in his hand. “Do you think I do all of this because it’s convenient? Because it’s an obligation?” he asks. It hurts to hear your words used against you. It hurts even more to hear the pure anger in his voice.

“Isn’t it, though?” you whisper, stepping back defensively, hands slipping out of his hold. “Wonwoo,” you murmur looking down at your feet briefly, “ the only reason we’re even speaking is because of a scandal. We are simply solutions to each other’s inconvenient situations! What part of that do you not get?” You slam a hand on your own chest. Your breaths come out as puffs of white in the air. You can feel your tears welling up in your eyes.

Wonwoo stares at you in disbelief, as if he can’t believe he’s hearing you right. His hands curl into fists.

The next words he utters are low and full of just pure fury (at you or himself, you’re not too sure). His next words almost punch all the breath out of you.

“If you think I’d waste my fucking time, my life, on anyone I didn’t want – on anyone who didn’t mean everything to me – then you never even knew me at all.”

His words hit you square in the face. It’s so vulnerable, the most emotional you’ve seen him, that it incites another spark in your chest. “But you’ve never been here, Wonwoo. You always leave! You’ve left once and you’ll keep on leaving.” Your own words are a desperate attempt to keep your walls up. You can feel your tears poke and prod and threaten to fall. You can hear your voice shake and your bottom lip tremble at your words. Actually, more of his words. You want to keep arguing. You want him to leave – leave you, leave the Capital, leave your life, but you desperately need him to stay – stay with you, stay in the Capital, stay in your life until you die.

Wonwoo shakes his head as if he doesn’t agree with you. “You can call it duty all you want, y/n. But it doesn’t change my heart. It doesn't change what I feel towards you. You think I really wouldn’t have stayed if I could help it? You think I’d willingly let someone else have what I’ve always needed more than my next breath?” Wonwoo’s hand comes up to caress your cold cheek, thumb rubbing your cheekbone.

“Don’t say that shit to me,” you whisper, glassy eyes gazing up at his. You can see the tears that are welling up near the corners of his eyes and if you didn’t have the last remaining thread of resolve left in you, you wouldn’t have kissed his tears away.

Your shattered heart jackhammers in your chest as Wonwoo stares into what feels like your soul. It makes you feel bare – naked, almost. “Y/n,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “I came back for you.”

You don’t make a move to leave his warmth, but you look up at him with your own air of defiance. There’s a confusing sort of wreath of emotions that circle your bruised heart, and the words escape you before you can stop them. “You’ve left before. And I would be a fool to not believe you’ll leave again.”

Wonwoo’s hand stills on your face and he looks so pained for a moment that you wonder if continuing your facade is really a good idea. If it’s better to just give in. “I left to protect what matters, y/n, you have to understand,” he almost begs, desperate for you to just know, “To protect you.”

You bite your cheek, a single tear falling from your eyes. It’s immediately rubbed away by Wonwoo’s thumb. “And what do you want me to do, Wonwoo?” you whisper, voice bordering on hysterics. “Wait around until you leave me? Again? Do you know the pain of your heart shattering when someone like that just up and leaves?”

A few more tears fall from your eyes. You can’t even help it anymore. You feel the tightness of your lungs come back again. You can feel yourself start to choke up on your own tears. You can feel yourself start to break down – unwind completely under the softly falling snow.

“No, no, no,” Wonwoo murmurs, cupping your face, brushing away all your tears. “Y/n please, I left because I had to. But now I’m here. I’m here, and I won’t leave,” he whispers, breath fanning over your lips.

“I’m convenient, Wonwoo,” you suddenly cry, tears streaming down your face. “You need a partner, not me!” You want to look away, run away, but Wonwoo’s caress on your jaw holds you still.

Wonwoo’s face contorts painfully with hurt. And you wonder if you have finally pushed him out. But then his jaw sets, like every time he is ready to argue in the royal court. Like every time he is ready to prove his point. “If I had wanted convenience, I’d have chosen anyone but you. This,” he gestured between you two, “is the furtherest thing from fucking easy.”

You open your mouth, but you can’t find the words to express anything you’re feeling. The pain, the hurt, the resolve you are trying desperately to keep up. Wonwoo watches you with such sharp eyes it sends you into another spiral of being flustered.

“I’m giving you my heart, y/n,” he murmurs. One look into his eyes tells you everything you need to know. “It’s terrifying – more than any battlefield I’ve seen,” he admits, “but for you? For you, I’d face any danger, any fear over and over again, even if it means standing in front of the love of my life, knowing you don’t believe me. Even if it means standing in front of the one person I would give up my life for, knowing she doesn’t want me like I want her.”

Your eyes blow wide and a stuttered gasp of a breath feels punched out of your stomach. For a moment, it seems deathly quiet – even the winds seem to soften around you two. And then memories of the nights of your sobs, of your broken heart, scattered into the smallest of shards on the floor, taunt you like a haunted nightmare, circling over and over again.

“Maybe you should have given it to someone who wouldn’t have questioned it,” you whisper, placing a hand over his. “Do you think your proclaimed love is enough, Wonwoo, to erase my pain? My memories? That you can come here and confess and it’ll fix just about everything?”

You know. You’re being overly critical. You’re being annoying, you’re being frustrating. You know he means every word he utters because he’s Jeon Wonwoo. If he didn’t mean it, he would have not even said it. But even you can’t help the words that flow out of you, fueled with bitterness and pettiness.

“No,” he says softly, interlocking your hands together. You almost pull away. “I don’t even expect forgiveness, Y/n. Hell, I don’t even deserve it. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t fucking love you. Like I don’t want you by my side for every passing hour. That I don’t want-” his voice breaks and you flinch in surprise when a single tear rolls down his cheek. “That I don’t love you ‘till my last breath.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

You shake your head, pulling away from his reach, frantically brushing through your hair. “This is unfair, Wonwoo. You can’t just- just come back and say that you love me.” You sound desperate even to your own ears. You will for Wonwoo to stop there. Please.

“It’s all I have, y/n,” he admits, voice cracking at your name. The way he utters your name, it carries such unrestrained emotion that it makes you shudder. “It’s all I’ve ever had.”

Your knees give out, and you sink into your skirts, arms caging your body close to your legs. You rock yourself back and forth gently, eyes trained on the white snow beneath your feet. “What am I supposed to do with that?” You whisper, more to yourself than to him, but it catches Wonwoo’s ears.

He kneels in the cold snow, brushing hair out of your face. “I’m willing to wait, y/n, you have to know. There is no one else. There never was and there never will be. And when you are ready to believe that – believe me – I’ll be here. Always. I’ll wait. Even if it takes fifty years. I’ll wait.” He tucks the strands of curled hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your temple. Another hand rubs your shoulder. “And I’m sorry, y/n,” he continues. “I’m so sorry for leaving you by yourself for all those years. I really am.”

You can’t bear to look up because you can already feel two warm teardrops on the back of your hand that Wonwoo holds close to his face. Because you know that if you look up and see his desperate, dejected eyes, it’ll haunt you forever. Because if you look up and then match his expression to his vulnerable words, laced with such truth, you’ll break.

“I don’t know if I can, Wonwoo,” you finally murmur.

“That’s okay. I’ll wait,” he responds. His words are full of such conviction they almost reassure you.

“Don’t say that.”

“Y/n,” he laughs, tears falling down his face. “I’m not giving up on us.”

“You should!” you sob, burying your face into your palms. “Wonwoo, just give up on us! Please!” You don’t mean it. Not even one bit. But you say it because you can’t live through him leaving again. Because if, in the chance that he does, leave again, you don’t think you can bear it. You know your heart won’t be able to bear the brunt force of it.

Wonwoo shakes his head. You know he knows. Or at least can tell. “I can’t, y/n. Not when you mean so much to me. Not when it doesn’t feel like living when you’re not close to me – when you’re not next to me,” he replies. His voice is much calmer than yours and holds to it a sense of firmness in his decision, like nothing could convince him out of it. He pulls you up by your arms, holding you at arms-length, almost inspecting your face for something. Some emotion he may be losing in the heat of everything.

“Wonwoo, please. Let me just forget,” you murmur, nails biting into your palms.

Wonwoo shakes his head again, tilting your face up. He swallows. Your red eyes, swollen from tears, close briefly at his warm hand. “You know I can’t, y/n. You mean everything to me.”

“You’re being selfish.”

“Maybe. But you should be too.”

“Wonwoo…”

“Y/n, I’m not demanding an answer right now. I know the pain I’ve caused you. I know the-” Wonwoo stops suddenly when he sees you biting your lips, teeth clenching down hard on the flesh until you can feel a thin sheen of iron against your tongue. His brows furrow and his thumb gently pries your lip from your teeth, letting out a small sigh. “You don’t ever have to say anything. I just needed you to know. I need you to know how much I love you.”

Wonwoo ends with a certain sort of flourish you remember from when he would conclude a debate in the National Academy, or when he would argue with his father. It was with a conviction that he knew the other person could not argue against. And you couldn’t.

“Don’t do this to me,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as if to stop the flow of tears. Your heart clenched and you could feel the cold start to seep in.

Wonwoo’s eyes softened at your tears. You stare down at your feet as his hands work to unbuckle the fur cloak from his shoulders. In the next second, your body is engulfed in a familiar sort of warmth and the scent of a more familiar cologne. He adjusts the cloak around your shivering frame. Warm fingers brush your tears off your skin and your hair from your eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, angel.”

Your breath hitches at the nickname. The nickname that took you three years to get over – to forget and partially forgive. The nickname that felt so wrong coming out of anyone else’s mouth. You look up, warm tears pooling in your eyes again. “Don’t call me that,” you whisper and you know he can hear the pure pain in your voice. “Don’t-” you hit his chest with your fist, though lightly, “fucking call me that,” you choke out. Your forehead rests on his chest, tears falling freely down your cheeks, chin, and onto the snow. You can feel the gentle pressure of Wonwoo’s chin on your head and the way his hesitant arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer to his embrace – pulling you closer to his comforting warmth.

Wonwoo presses his lips together, inhaling a sharp breath. “I’m sorry, y/n, I really am. You don’t have to answer,” he confesses, more desperate this time. “I’ll wait. I’ll wait and wait until you’re ready for me, whenever that is. And if you accept only for one day, that’s okay too.”

Wonwoo’s fingers fix the cloak around your shoulders and they falter when they brush gently against your empty neck. There is a pang of guilt when you realize it’s because of how you shove the necklace he had gifted you back into his hands on that night. But he doesn’t linger, opting to pull away.

“It’s all okay, y/n. It’s okay. And I’m sorry,” Wonwoo murmured one last time, before he pressed a fleeting kiss – gentle, warm, so him – against your forehead. Before he turns away and steps through the snow-covered walkway, back towards the warmth of the palace, leaving you with your own bubbling thoughts.

There is a tightening sensation in your heart that travels along the arteries and veins and seeps into your lungs, then the rest of your chest, until you find yourself slumped on a bench, tears soaking your handkerchief and sobs echoing through the otherwise quiet garden.

Approximately two days later, Joshua comes to visit you in your Capital estate, hands laden with gifts sent up from his wife who had gone down early to their country duchy.

Your parlor is warm, lit by the steady glow and crackle of the fire that dances within the ornate hearth. Darkened drapes are tied back, letting the minimal winter sun seep into the room. A soft atmosphere of silence wraps itself around the room, broken only by the soft clinks of your cups as you and Joshua both sip on the tea laid out in the tea table in front of you.

Joshua sits opposite you in a high-backed chair. His usual easy demeanor around you belies the sharpness of his attention. You can see it just from how his brows scrunch and his eyes dart from your face to your wringing hands in your lap. His coat is draped over the arm of his chair, leaving him only in a simple waistcoat. He cradles his own teacup with the same kind of quiet thoughtfulness that seems to define his entire being in times like this.

The tension only grows as you slowly get more anxious at your senior’s silence and Joshua grows more wary of your wandering eyes – how your gaze flickers to the flames and then to the ceiling and then back to your hands, never truly focusing on anything.

“Do you have anything to tell me?” Joshua asks, voice gentle but firm, how it’s always been with you. Sometimes, you wonder if he actually saw himself as more of your father than your older brother.

You hesitate to respond. Should you tell him? No, you want to argue. But technically, if Joshua was already asking you if you had anything to tell him, that meant that he already knew something happened, or he already knew what happened and wanted to hear it from you. Either way, it leaves you with no choice but to answer him.

“Why?” you choose to respond, setting your teacup down.

Joshua shrugs, stirring his tea. “Just a hunch,” he hums.

You’re quiet. And Joshua indulges in your voluntary silence. But only for a minute, as it has always been. Joshua Hong is only patient when he wants to be.

“Y/n, what happened between you and Wonwoo?” he finally asks, ripping the coarsely-placed bandage off of your wound. He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

You sigh, slumping down in your chair. Your hand pulls at your hair. “What didn’t happen,” you mutter.

Joshua sighs, tapping your foot. “Not an answer. Come on, y/n. I need you to tell me so that I can help you or something.”

You falter at his words. It was curious, really, how Joshua knew exactly the perfect time to come and visit you. How he knew exactly when you needed help.

You finally give in.

“He said he loves me,” you whisper. You cringe at your own words. They feel foreign leaving your own mouth, and maybe it’s because you haven’t even given yourself the time to wrap your own head around it. But in any sense, you say it.

“So he finally confessed,” Joshua muses, as if he already knew your little tidbit. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did, really. He had a knack of finding things out before you could properly process what was happening. But it does annoy you, just a little bit. It’s the same thing, you guess, as Seungcheol asking you to weekly afternoon teas to see if everything in your life is okay.

“If you put it that way,” you mutter, crossing your arms, eyes fluttering over to the window.

There is a thick sheet of silence that lands heavy between you two as Joshua chooses not to respond. Instead, he sets his cup down on the small table between you with deliberate care. He studies you for a long moment and for a second, you think you have biscuit crumbs on your chin or something.

“I feel like I can guess what you said to him,” Joshua finally says, leaning back on his chair.

You nod hesitantly. “I just-” you sigh, sinking further into the chair, “-I don’t want to be the convenient choice so that he can fulfil his obligations. What if he doesn’t choose me if he had the option?” you ask quietly. An edge of bitterness and underlying hurt seeps into your tone even though you try to mask it. And you know Joshua picks up on it too.

“If that’s what you believe,” Joshua says, voice low and deliberate it almost scares you, “then you don’t know him as well as you think.”

You blink at his words. The certainty in his words – almost like he knows because he’s talked it over with the person in question – throws you off. It’s rather unlike Joshua to frequently give relationship or love advice, seeing as how his own marriage came to fruition.

You’re about to retort when Joshua continues.

“Wonwoo’s never taken the easy path,” he says, “Not once. Not in the National Academy, not in society, not in the knight corps, and definitely not when it comes to you. Actually, the man probably takes the hardest route whenever it comes to you.” His words hang in the air, laden with something akin to a heavy truth that makes your chest tighten. No tears though, which is good, considering the considerable amount of tears you’ve accumulated over the past couple of days.

The glow of the firelight lends a warmth to Joshua’s face that contrasts with the intensity of his gaze. You want to desperately argue, to push back against the certainty of his words, but the sheer conviction in them, as well as Joshua’s rare sure relationship advice, has you basically grasping for words.

“He’s struggling too, Y/n.” His words are quiet but firm enough to pierce the silence.

You laugh, tears stuck in your throat. “Oh, I bet,” you mumble.

“The weight of duty, of everything, it’s heavier on him that anyone else realizes,” Joshua hums, pausing for a bit when he sees your frown, “But you can-”

Suddenly, the doors to your parlor swung open, followed by hurried half-yells of your estate staff asking the prince to “Please wait outside, your highness!”

Both your and Joshua’s heads whip towards the sound, the tense atmosphere now conveniently broken. When you turn towards the oak doors of your parlor, Mingyu stands in the doorway, his wide frame taking up the entire doorway. He looks rushed, almost distressed – hair sticking out of his fur hat, cloak lopsided on his shoulders.

Joshua opens his mouth to speak but Mingyu beats him to it.

“Oh thank god you’re here,” he breathes, ripping his hat off of his head as he bends forward, hands on his knees as he tries to collect himself.

You turn your wide eyes towards Joshua as if he can give you an answer. Joshua only shrugs, confusion marring the space between his eyes.

“Your highness, what is this about?” Joshua asks, standing up as Mingyu makes his way over to the long couch, collapsing on top of it.

Mingyu heaves in another breath. “He left,” he states.

“What?” your voice is sharp with annoyance. Really, the men in this kingdom need to learn how to talk in full sentences. How is anyone supposed to understand who “he” is when the speaker doesn’t clarify it with any proper noun? “Speak properly, Mingyu.”

Mingyu looks up from his position on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. “Wonwoo, Y/n,” he sighs, turning over to face the back of the couch. “He was commissioned to the north. Again. He left at dawn yesterday, apparently.”

Mingyu’s words are like a bath of cold water that is thrown on you. They crash over you like an unwanted gasp of air. It threatens to break you. You can’t breathe and you don’t know why. Your body suddenly feels like it isn’t yours. You feel like your lungs are caving in themselves and you can feel your heart punching at your ribs, threatening to break the bones. You clutch at your chair, gasping in inhales of oxygen like you are a fish out of water. Like you were some sort of broken machine that needed fuel. Like you had just heard a world-ending news.

He was gone.

“Left?” you croak out and a gasp of air follows, which clearly worries both Joshua and Mingyu because both men either stand up or sit up, heads whipping towards your weak voice. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until Mingyu’s eyes blow wide and he’s hurrying over, dabbing your tears off with his handkerchief. You want to push him away – let yourself mingle in with another set of tears – but the only thing that you can think is that his cologne is too strong compared to Wonwoo’s. The only thing that you can think of, while your eyes drift towards the open-curtained windows and watch the thick snow fall down from the dark skies, is that Wonwoo left. Again. Wonwoo left you again. And he’ll have to ride through the thick snow of the Capital and then ride again through the thicker snow of the countryside, and then fight in the thickest snow of the north. That he’ll face another battlefield – a battlefield you knew, from Soonyoung’s letters – that he hated with all his being. That he’ll most likely get injured while fighting for the king, for the kingdom, for you, apparently. That he might-

“Oh my god,” you breathe, shooting up and out of your seat with a speed that scares both Mingyu and Joshua, who are staring at you like you’re going through a life-changing crisis. “Oh my god!” you choke out, steadying yourself with your chair. The three words just fall from your lips like a mantra as you pace back and forth through your parlor, pulling at the ends of your hair and biting your lips. And through everything – Mingyu glancing over at Joshua and Joshua trying to get Nai to bring you some chamomile tea – the only thought in your head is the singular worry that gnaws and teeths at your entire soul: what if he dies?

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @venuszaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

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poledancingdinos · 2 days ago

Text

Mission: Impossible - Talk to the Girl

Pairing: Captain Syverson X OFC

Word Count: 2870

Warnings: Fluff, Flirting, Implied PTSD, Implied Smut

Taglist: @summersong69 @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @rosecentury @shellyshellshell @winter2112rose @secretdream2 @toooldforobsessions @wa-ni @valacircareads @missemrose @liecastillo @identity2212

Masterlist

Sy tried his best to look like he was having fun but it was a little hard to do when the loud thrum of the music was grating on his nerves. The upbeat pop song sounded nothing like gunfire or explosions so why did it put his entire body on high alert?

He glanced around the room for the millionth time, taking note of every exit and where each guest was seated now that the meal was over and people had switched chairs to mingle with other tables. If this was what retirement brought, then maybe he would have been better off going back.

During his surveillance of the room, his eyes lingered on the pretty bartender who’d appeared in the corner when they had opened up the bar. She’d caught his attention immediately, looking pretty in her simple black dress and serving everyone with a smile that made his heart ache a little whenever it wasn’t directed at him—which was every time since he hadn’t had the guts to go get himself a drink even once that evening.

His last beer had been empty for over an hour now but none of the guys at the table had gotten up so he hadn’t been able to bother them for a refill.

Not realizing he’d been openly starring for longer than socially acceptable, Sy didn’t hear his name being called until it was followed by a hit to the shoulder.

“Just go talk to her, man.”

“Who?” Sy asked, feigning innocence.

TJ, the groom and one of Sy’s best friends, shot him a look that told him he’d been busted and wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Go talk to her. Maybe the promise of a good lay will wipe that frown off your ugly mug and you’ll stop scaring off my wedding guests.”

The problem was, Sy had this feeling like that girl wasn’t meant to be just a one night thing, and he had no idea how to go about finding out if that was true. It wasn’t like he’d never gone home with a stranger in a bar. He was just used to the girls being the ones to show interest first.

“Okay, clearly I’m gonna have to spell this out for ya.” TJ cleared his throat, putting on a serious air and leaning in closer to Sy. All the boys around the table had cut off their conversation, focusing on their exchange.

“Your mission: libation retrieval. You will need to make your way fifty feet south of your current position at which point you will make contact with the person of interest. Now, this is where it gets tricky. You will need to be very mindful of what you say or this op could blow up in your face. The code word is ‘hi’.”

Sy couldn’t help but smile and flip his middle finger at the other man.

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“And you’re being a pussy. Guess that’s why we make the perfect pair.”

He was right, Sy did need to put on his big boy pants, go order his own damn drink and talk to the beautiful woman.

Standing, Sy nervously straightened his tie and readjusted his suit jacket. He felt the entire table’s eyes on him as he crossed the room, moving around the outside of the open space that served as a dance floor. Sy considered a variety of opening lines but when he finally reached the counter, the cute bartender spoke first.

“What can I getcha? Shots, a beer, something sweet?”

Sy rarely drank anything other than beer but he wanted to keep her talking and a one word answer wouldn’t accomplish that.

“What do ya qualify as something sweet?”

The woman finally flashed that gorgeous smile at him, pushing a little pamphlet across the counter. “I can make all the classics or I have a few signature cocktails.”

Glancing through the menu, Sy hummed as if in deep contemplation. “I think I’ll stick to a beer but I wouldn’t say no to some other kind of sugar.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at him, attempting to conceal the smirk pulling at her lips.

“Isn’t the rule at these things that best man is supposed to go home with the maid of honor?”

“The maid of honor is happily married to one of the other groomsmen. And she’s also my sister.”

“Ah. Let me guess, your younger sister and her friends always lurked around you and your friends growin’ up until one day y’all came home from college and suddenly they were the ones who had your friends’ attention?”

Shooting an amused look at his brother-in-law over his shoulder, Sy realized he had six pairs of eyes watching him like he was some show animal.

“Yeah,” he admitted, turning his focus back to where it belonged, “that’s pretty much what happened with my sister but the groom only joined the group after our first deployment. He stayed, I went back. It’s probably also the reason why I am the only member of the wedding party who isn’t married.”

Subtle Sy. She opened her mouth to respond but a high-pitched voice cut off any words before they were formed.

“Uncle Sy, Uncle Sy!”

Sy spun, catching his god-daughter as she jumped into his arms and making a show of almost falling over. “Woah, princess! You’re growin’ so big, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep catchin’ ya.”

The little girl giggled, tugging playfully on Sy’s beard like she always did.

“Mama said I can have a juice or a fizzy drink!”

Sy looked at his sister who nodded in confirmation. He wouldn’t have put it past the sneaky five-year-old to tell a little white lie to manipulate her uncle.

“Well, which didja pick, juice or fizzy drink?”

“I want something pretty like Mamaw.”

He knew the ones. His mother was a big fan of those internet bartending videos and ordered drinks purely based on aesthetics. The problem was that most of those drinks got their color from the various alcohols mixed in.

“You know,” the woman chimed in with a warm smile towards his niece, “I have a menu here with lots of pretty drinks.” She pulled a second pamphlet from behind the counter, holding it out and leaning in conspiratorially as she stage-whispered, “I keep it hidden because it’s not for grown-ups.”

Sy locked eyes with the little girl in his arms and she grinned like the cat that got the canary, nodding furiously. Accepting the menu, Sy held it up for his niece to see.

“What do ya think, princess? The red one is real pretty.”

The red one was a Shirley Temple and seemed to be the one which was the least likely to give his god-daughter a sugar rush before bedtime, but she shook her head, instead pointing at the one below it. “I want this one!”

“Ooh, that’s one of my favorites too!” the woman declared.

So much for no sugar rush. There was a one hundred percent certainty that his sister would give him shit for his choice but he was not about to be the reason her daughter had a tantrum at her best friend’s wedding.

“The lady has spoken. We’ll have a Unicorn Waterfall, please.”

She got to work, rimming a glass with something purple then adding some bubblegum pink syrup and ice. On top of that, she placed a large chunk of blue and pink cotton candy and on the side, she filled a separate carafe with lemon-lime soda.

“Alright, sweetie, all that’s left is to pour the soda over the cotton candy. Do you think your Uncle Sy would help you do it?”

He didn’t miss the fact that she paid enough attention to remember his name.

“Oh! Please, please, please, Uncle Sy!”

“Sure, that sounds easy enough.”

Both glasses were pushed closer to him and Sy picked up the little carafe. His niece placed her tiny hand over his, eyes wide as he tipped the carafe and the clear liquid melted the cotton candy. The resulting drink was pink on the bottom and slowly transitioned to a deep purple without a trace of candy in sight.

His niece squealed and clapped, squirming so much Sy was afraid he might drop her for a moment.

“Okay, Hailey Mae, what do you say to Miss…” Sy paused, raising an eyebrow towards the woman of his dreams.

“Grace.”

“What do you say to Miss Grace?”

“Thank you, Miss Grace.”

“You’re very welcome, sweetie.”

With a grateful smile, Sy pushed the carafe back towards Grace and put his niece down on the floor. When he straightened, his beer was ready and waiting by his niece’s glass.

“I want to carry it, Uncle Sy.”

“Alright but two hands, okay?”

Hailey Mae tipped her chin, a look of stern concentration taking over her face as she carefully took the glass from Sy. It seemed Grace had thought ahead, making the drink in a plastic cup. The worst that could happen was a spill or a stain on the dress she would have outgrown by next month anyway. As much as Sy wanted to hang back and talk to the cute little lady who had just stolen his heart, he had to follow his niece to make sure no one accidentally bumped into her as she slowly waddled back to her mother.

To his great dismay, Sy was then immediately stolen away by his great aunt and wasn’t able to go back to the bar. Every time he broke away from one group of people, he was pulled into another mindless conversation.

Before he knew it, the evening was winding down, most of the guests had returned home and the wedding party retreated to their rooms at the hotel by the reception hall. Most of them lived less than an hour away, Sy being no exception, but the groom’s parents and siblings had come from out of town so the hotel stay had been a way of giving the newly joined families a little more time together before they all went home.

“She’s cleaning up, it’s now or never,” Sy’s brother-in-law said from behind him as he watched Grace wipe a metal shaker with a microfiber towel.

“To do what? Bring her up to my room?”

“I was going to say get her number but yours leads to sex tonight and mine means waiting until at least tomorrow.”

Sy just kept staring at her.

“You do remember how sex works right? You take that shrimp in your pants and you slip it in a woman’s—“

“I get it,” Sy growled. He did not want to hear whatever version of the birds and the bees he was about to spew.

“Good, now go get your bartender.”

Sy took a deep breath and made his way to the bar before he lost his nerve. He arrived just in time to see Grace heave a crate of liquor into her arms and immediately stumble backwards. Luckily, the fridge kept her upright and prevented her from causing a giant mess.

“Woah, ya need help with that?”

Grace gave him a relieved smile, managing to set the box on the counter.

“How is it that it feels heavier now than when I got here?”

“Maybe because you’ve been slingin’ drinks all night and you deserve a break,” he answered, picking up the box. “Where am I takin’ this?”

“My van is parked out back. We need to go through the service corridor.”

She picked up a case of syrups and moved towards a door in the corner of the room. Sy followed without question appreciating the view of her ass in that dress.

They crossed another large metal door and were greeted by the cool night air.

“This is me,” she said, setting her box down on the asphalt and digging her keys out of the bottom.

Once the van was opened, Sy set his case in the trunk then picked up the one she had carried and slid it in beside the first.

“You got anything else to bring out?”

“No, that’s all of it. The venue provided most of the equipment, this was all that was left of my stuff.”

This was it. Sy could either man up or never see this woman again.

“You know, it’s pretty late. Might not be such a good idea to drive anywhere tonight.”

“Is that so?” she asked, cocking her hip as Sy took a step forward.

“You could always come up to my suite. I could make ya a coffee or you could get a bit of rest before drivin’ back.”

“Your suite, huh? Are ya tryin’ to use your wealth to get laid?”

“No, I’m tryinʼ to use my friend’s wealth to get laid. But I’ll settle for usin’ my natural charm to get your number.”

An amused expression lit up her face at his honesty. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, smiling at the ground for a second before looking up at him from below her lashes.

“You’re right,” she said with an exaggerated fake yawn, “I’m really tired after workin’ all evenin’. It would be irresponsible of me to drive back tonight. I wouldn’t want to fall asleep behind the wheel and cause an accident.”

“No, ma’am it would not. And I’m all about bein’ responsible.”

The incessant ringing of the phone pulled Sy out of a deep sleep. It eventually stopped but the reprieve lasted for all of ten seconds. When it started for the third time, Sy muttered a curse under his breath and rolled over to the other side of the bed to pick up the receiver.

“What?” he barked.

“Damn.” It was his friend Mack’s lazy drawl coming from the other end of the line. “I was sure that you bein’ late to breakfast meant you’d gotten some last night but that tone tells me different.”

“Well fuck you too. I’ll be right there.”

He slammed the phone down and stretched out with a groan. Only then did he realize that he’d just rolled from one side of the king bed to the other completely unobstructed.

Sy sat up, taking stock of his surroundings. His suit was hung neatly in the closet when he was sure he’d thrown it haphazardly over the chair. Or near the chair. He was butt naked, which, had he been home, would not have been strange, but he didn’t make a habit of free-balling it on strange sheets.

On the up side, the evidence suggested he hadn’t hallucinated his night with the sexy bartender. On the down side, Grace had snuck out without so much as a goodbye.

There was no time to sulk, however, because he was expected downstairs with all of his nearest and dearest. When he stepped into the restaurant, he had approximately a five second warning before his favorite princess was in his arms.

“Uncle Sy, you’re late!”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he carried her to the only two empty chairs, settling her on her booster seat. “I forgot to plug my phone before goin’ to sleep so I didn’t have any alarm to wake me up.”

“Forgot or passed out with it in your hand and a fresh load coolin’ on your chest?”

His sister kicked Mack under the table but his niece didn’t hear a word. She’d already picked up a purple crayon and set about drawing a unicorn on the paper place setting.

“It’s okay, Uncle Sy, I forgive you.”

“Well thank you, little lady, that’s mighty gracious of ya.”

For the next two hours, Sy did his best to put Grace out of his head and focus on the people around him. He still made a mental map of the room, the exits and the position of all the guests around the table but, without the loud music, he wasn’t nearly as on edge as he had been the night before. That wasn’t to say that he didn’t haul ass back to the relative peace of his room once the meal was over.

After being constantly on guard for sixteen straight hours the day before and only getting a few hours of sleep, he was ready to get back home to Aika and give his mind a rest in familiar surroundings.

Once he finished packing up his things, Sy moved to the nightstand to retrieve his cellphone. He hadn’t been lying about forgetting to plug it in the night before. When the device turned on again, there were a dozen missed calls and texts from his friends trying to reach him before breakfast.

Dismissing all the notifications, Sy slipped the phone in his pocket and reached down behind the nightstand. He’d been trying to retrieve his charger, only his hand brushed something else instead.

As it turned out, the something in question was one of those notepads that hotels left by the phone. And that notepad had the sweetest words Sy had ever read.

Had to get the van back for an early job. I hope that won’t keep you from calling. Grace xxx

And there below her name, were the ten most perfect digits in the world.

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fic #cpt syverson fanfiction #henry cavill

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lottiesboy · 2 days ago

Text

meeting dada’s friends!!

pairing: cg!nat scatorccio x little!reader

summary: you meet the rest of the yellowjackets for the first time at camp green pine.

tags: sfw, fluff, age regression, daddy!nat, he/him nat, shy baby reader, soooo many aunties and uncle van :33

"you ready to meet daddy's friends?" nat smiled slightly, unbuckling your seatbelt. it was a pretty long drive to camp green pine from wiskayok, so you took a quick nap on the way there. nat snickered, watching you rub your sleepy little eyes.

"aww, you tired?" he pulled your paci out of your mouth and you yawned. the sun was setting fast, making nat happy that he wouldn't have to drive in the dark woods. he grabbed your diaper bag and picked you up, putting you on his hip. you gripped onto the collar of his leather jacket, resting your head on his shoulder.

he talked to you sweetly as he walked up the dirt trail to the camp, and you just tried not to fall asleep again. he could see lottie's kaftan flowing in the cold night air, checking on her bees for the last time today.

"hey, lot." he said nonchalantly, lottie looking up and seeing you being held by nat. "well, hello there!" lottie smiled when she saw you. she's the only one that you've met out of nat's highschool friends and you grew super close to her. and she loves seeing you when you're little.

“hi, sweetie. you look so adorable. yes you do, your dads dressed you up so nicely.” lottie babied, making you blush.

"everyone gone to bed?" nat asked. "yeah, but tai, van, shauna, and misty are waiting for you in the main room. complaining about how you're always late." lottie smiled. "ahh, geez. okay, you coming?"

"in just a little bit." lottie nodded, walking over to a shed, leaving you and nat alone and the middle of the grassy field. you wriggled in his arms and whined. "you want down?" nat put you down so you could walk, but he still made you hold his hand. "c'mon, baby."

nat entered the main room, hearing his friends talk over each other and laughing. he saw how shy you were and smiled softly, ruffling your hair. "it's alright. they're gonna be really nice to you, baby."

"hey guys," nat greeted. you saw all of nat’s friends in a circle, sitting on pillows. you stuck close to nat, your shyness getting the best of you. the four adults greeted themselves, smiling at how close you wanted to be to nat.

nat sat down, putting you in his lap and putting your diaper bag down next to him. “who’s this?” shauna smiled, putting her drink down. you could tell they knew about your regression because they were so sweet about it.

“you wanna say hi, baby?” your daddy encouraged, but you just whined, hiding in his shoulder. “awww, you shy?” he bounced you. “..paci.” you whined, making nat pull it out of his pocket. “dada’s got it right here, shhh.” he pushed it your mouth, feeling you relax in his arms.

the adults couldn’t help but stare at the sweet moment you and nat were sharing. they never really see nat so soft and maternal, and they wanted to soak it all up.

lottie came in later on and turned on some music, but kept it soft. while nat was having a side conversation with misty and lottie, you made eye contact with taissa and van, who were trying to make you laugh by playing peek a boo. nat heard you giggle softly, and saw the two adults up to their silly antics. “is that funny, huh?”

your shyness faded away more and more while interacting with all of nat’s friends, misty not even hesitating to call herself “aunt misty.”

“i think it’s time to get you to bed, little baby? you falling asleep on dada?” you whined at his tone because you didn’t want him to be right, you wanted to stay up!!!!

“no sleepy…”

“oh yeah? your eyes are about to close, buddy. c’mon.” nat held his arms out to pick you up, but you whimpered, nat seeing the fears forming in your eyes. you hated having fomo, especially when you were tiny. “don’t cryyy,,, c’mere, buddy. shh shh. come to dada..” nat picked you up, putting you on his hip.

“we’ll all be here tomorrow, kiddo.” van told you, which made you feel a little bit better. you said “nini” to everyone, and they responded back the same. you and nat walked to the empty cabins, the dirt trail lit up by the cozy light posts. “you like dada’s friends, don’t you? are they silly?”

you nodded, smiling behind your paci. you couldn’t wait to sleep so you could wake up and play again.

#sfw agere #age regression #sfw interaction only #sfw regression #age regression sfw #yellowjackets #yellowjackets agere #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #adult nat #natalie scatorccio #mine

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anxiousnerdwritings · 2 days ago

Note

no but the three Baratheons rocking up to King’s Landing after receiving a vaguely written raven from Himbo!Baratheon!Reader about getting married in the Great Sept privately and they’re all under the assumption that Himbo!Baratheon!Reader “dishonoured” a lady in the king’s court and had to marry her hastily but when they pull up it’s Aerys fucking Targaryen 😭😭😭😭

(Oh my gods! I immediately imagined Aerys in a whole wedding dress and veil with a bouquet in hand😭)

When Robert, Stannis and Renly roll up Himbo!Baratheon!Reader is just as confused as them, telling him that he was just ordered to show up. Then out walks Aerys in his full wedding dress glory and the other Baratheons are immediately horrified. Meanwhile, Himbo!Baratheon!Reader actually kind of thinks that Aerys looks pretty cause of course he put some effort into himself for his wedding with Himbo. Plus, with Aerys keeping Himbo!Baratheon!Reader on such a tight leash and so close to his side he would have been taking better care of himself (at least physically cause this man is still off his rocker mentally and emotionally) so he wouldn’t look as fucked up as he was before. Like, his nails are trimmed (and manicured💅🏻), his beard is well groomed or shaved off completely, and he’s gained some much needed weight making him actually fill out his dress quite nicely.

Robert is immediately ready to throw hands, Stannis is trying to think of how he’s gonna get Himbo!Baratheon!Reader and themselves out of this alive, and Renly is judging Aerys to filth. Then at some point Rhaegar pulls up and it’s all out chaos. I could just see Tywin being the only one to somehow bring an end to this but it ends with Himbo!Baratheon!Reader still having to marry someone and he panics and says Ned’s name off the top of his head.

#anxious answers #yandere robert baratheon #yandere stannis baratheon #yandere renly baratheon #yandere aerys targaryen #yandere rhaegar targaryen #yandere game of thrones #yandere game of thrones concept #yandere concept

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guksvault · 13 hours ago

Text

HOUSE OF BALLOONS | JJK

03- Loft Music

synopsis: fleeing the pressure and pretense of your elite life, you stumble into the seductive chaos of the House of Balloons. there, Jungkook waits— ready to make you question everything you thought you knew.

w/c: 3.3k

warnings: partying (ofc), drug/alcohol mentions & usage, tae makes an appearance, reader makes jk almost smile?? gasp, hobi being yummy, jk has a boner, so does hobi, light foreplay?, make out sesh, cockblocking :(, think thats it???

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Waking up at 2:30 in the afternoon by your mother telling you to get your shit together and put on a face was not exactly the wake up you had planned.

Also didn't plan to spend the rest of the afternoon having to sit next to Taehyung at the dinner table as both your parents tried their hardest to convince you that you two looked like a match made in heaven.

"Oh the grandchildren you two could create. Models. Would be models" Taehyung's mother rambled on, glass of red in her hand never empty.

Taehyung's hand had found its home on your lower back, tracing small circles with his thumb. You would have found it comforting, endearing even if your father hadn't told you the day prior that he wants to marry you to ensure the safety of his future.

The glass of Chateau d'Yquem becoming increasingly harder to swallow. Think it would be easier downing a shot of whatever the fuck they poured into the Grey Goose bottle at the House Of Balloons.

So that's what you tell yourself when you excuse yourself from the table and retreat back upstairs to your room and change into something more, you.

Of course I would rather be anywhere else, could be anywhere else. Only going to escape the reality of this mess. Isn't that the whole point of their parties anyways? Everyone there is running from something.

"Going out?" Taehyung spoke with curiosity, leaning against the frame of your double doors, his eyes on you through the reflection of your mirror as you adjusted your dress.

"Looks like it, no?"

He let out a small laugh, no emotion behind it. Took a few steps into your room and stood behind you in the mirror.

"They were right, you know. We would make pretty offspring" He smiled, placed his glass down on your vanity and returned behind you, moving some of the hair over your shoulder and gently brushing it down your back.

"Mm, the prettiest. Too bad they would come from a home with no real love or respect" You spit, moving away from Taehyung's proximity.

"No real love? You know that's not true"

Taehyung has supposedly been in love with you since he was 16. He hasn't been, you just took his virginity one spring night whilst both your parents were downstairs striking up a business deal.

The idea of you and Taehyung ending up together had been a never-ending conversation since you guys were kids. He doesn't love you, just thinks he's supposed to.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

So, rightfully so, after the evening you've had. You've ended back at the House Of Balloons. Swapped the wine glass for a red solo cup. The Chateau d'Yquem for Smirnoff lemonades.

You had only been there for approximately 7 minutes before a little teary eyed pocket rocket of a woman dressed in a short black bodycon dress had snatched the vodka from your hand and ran off to cry off the clumpy mascara coating her eyes.

Approximately 9 minutes in, Jungkook had stormed past you. If you hadn't seen the cigarette between his fingers you would have believed the cloud of smoke following him was coming from his ears.

Face like a slapped ass.

Yoongi had shrugged when you asked who pissed in his cereal, "Who hasn't."

As far as you were concerned, Jungkook walking out of the party was only a benefit for you. If he wasn't inside, it was one less pair of daggers being shot your way.

Which is why you want to knock yourself out when Yoongi excuses himself for five minutes and you end up right in-front of Jungkook. Pretty baby blue pumps shining in-between his worn out converse.

Half think you should turn around, take the bottle of Smirnoff and down it whole. Would probably do less damage than whatever choice words Jungkook will have for you.

He looks up, his eyes round and glassy for half a second before they are narrowed, brows pinched together.

"Yes?" His tone was laced with disgust, no effort put behind his words.

"You look like shit." You take a seat beside him on the bricks that line the side of the garage. Unevenly laid, empty wine bottles with plants growing inside them sitting along the bricks that Joon had planted.

"You look like a fuckin' moron" he hangs his head again, slightly kicking up the dirt with top of his converse.

You let out a small laugh. Reach into your YSL purse and grab your own cigarette.

Jungkook watches you from the corner of his eye, not surprised that even the packet of cigarettes you own look like it would take half his paycheck. A sleek black and gold pack of 20s.

You look at Jungkook, hold the open packet towards him. "Sobraine. My father gets them imported from Russia, try it."

He takes one. Definitely not because he's curious if it tastes like money and power. Just has never been one to turn down a freebie, even if the one giving it was an insufferable spoilt bitch.

He brings the flame from his lighter to the end of the cancer stick and drops it on the bricks beside you.

Inhales. Inspects the cigarette. Exhales with a scoff.

"You pay a shit ton of fuckin' cash to have a shitty cig imported. Eat the rich." Shakes his head, inspects the cigarette again, keeps smoking it anyways.

"You snort your cash" you retort.

Jungkook lets out a small scoff again, more air behind it this time. Lighter. Kinder. "Didn't take you for a smoker."

"Mm, and what did you take me as then?"

Jungkook turns his head, looks at you. Pushes the locks of hair back that have fallen over his forehead and lets out a somewhat condescending chuckle.

"Spoilt. Annoying. Immature. Inexperienced. Conceited." Each word spoken a tad harsher than the last, followed with a slight shrug.

You flick the cigarette with your thumb onto the ground, stand to your feet and look at Jungkook.

"It's cute, really." You smile, your words spoken so softly.

"What? Whats fuckin' cute?"

"You." You tilt your head slightly, "You're cute. Thinking of me so often. Very cute." your words are teasing, a pretty smile on your lips. Want to rile him up, know it's not a fair shot to come for his background like he does you. It's not hard to spot that Jungkook holds up a hard front, will make him question it.

"Yeah, fuck off, you were tolerable for all of two seconds. Fuck off." His expression looks like you've just told him he's got 7 minutes left to live. Absolutely bewildered.

You smile, walk backwards towards the house, "Don't want you staring at my insufferable ass."

Jungkook wedges the butt of his cigarette between his teeth, sticks each of his middle fingers up at you.

If you hadn't already made your way inside Jungkook would have yelled out that he was a titty guy anyways, and your tits may have just made his cock twitch- No. No they did not. Repulsive. Horrible tits. Bad, bad, bad tits.

You spot Yoongi back inside sat on the same ugly, worn and torn brown couch as last night. Grab a new drink and make your way to sit beside him.

He's on his phone texting, said something about his dropper fucking around, wouldn't be here on time.

A petite, long legged brunette sits beside you. Dressed in some black ripped up skinny jeans with an oversized band tee that she had DIY'd into a crop, more bra on display than shirt.

"You're Bee, yeah?"

You nod slightly, her tone was polite, her lips coated in crimson red in a small smile.

"Valerie." She extends her hand, shakes yours, comments on the pretty quartz stone ring decorating your index finger.

Her brunette bob was slightly messy, chipped red nail polish matching her lips. Eyeliner in a sharp wing. Pretty. High cheekbones, a small button nose. Could have been a Runway Model you think.

Yoongi had left upstairs to handle whoever had been fucking him around with his order of drugs. Would hate to be on the receiving end of that call.

Jungkook had returned, sat opposite to you in the middle of the couch. His face had relaxed slightly, no more crease between his brows, his shoulders relaxed.

Joon was sat on the couch to your left again, the same girl as last night under his arm. He had taken a much kinder approach in talking to you tonight, had asked you about your hobbies, if you had a private car to drop you where you desire, asked you if you had any fancy champagne bottles he could use for his bottle-garden.

Jimin was out of sight, Hoseok in his usual place behind his decks.

The conversation was light, mostly engaging with Valerie. She was kind, each taking turns to refill each other's cups. She had told you she had been coming to these parties for around a year, and had gotten friendly with the guys. Hasn't missed a weekend here since she first came.

Yoongi had returned, repeated the same actions of last night, dumped the black bag holding the tiny bags of snow and then retreated upstairs with a different girl.

You watched as he led the girl upstairs, hand on the small of her back and guiding her to his bedroom, assuming he was going to get high and fuck through his high.

You would be wrong though, he just didn't want you seeing him snort a line. Felt wrong. Knows you wouldn't judge him for it, but a part of him is still scared of letting someone from his past down.

Jungkook had wasted no time in getting his nose to the bill. Two lines snorted clean. Leans his head back, smiles. The ring at the end of his lip flips as the corners of his mouth lifts..

He looked at Valerie, gestured towards the coke, was met with a shake of her head. He turns to you, "not even gonna bother asking you."

"Don't be such a prick Jungkook" Valerie spoke up, offered you a smile. "Don't let him get to you, he's a dick."

You laughed softly, shrugged slightly.

Valerie was up onto her black glossy heels, holding her hand out for you to take. "C'mon. Need to dance."

You took her hand, a little hesitation, eased when she gave you a smile. She leads you through the crowd of Hoseok's makeshift boiler room. Found the perfect place just in-front of where Hoseok was set up.

She grabbed the bottle of vodka Hoseok keeps beside his set up, took a swig and held it out to you.

You were buzzed now, no, drunk. You were drunk. The champagne from lunch that you kept refilling, the countless vodka lemonades and cheap Jelly shots had definitely settled into you now.

Valerie's hands were holding yours, her back pressed against your front as you both moved to the music.

You can't actually remember the last time you had felt this carefree. Sure, you had been to your fair share of parties, had ran your hands over countless bodies as you danced, drank yourself sick. But, you had always remained in control, alert, aware. Would have never risked someone snapping a photo of you with your head in a toilet bowl or your tongue down an elite's throat just to end up with a scandal.

Have never felt this feeling before. Carefree. You didn't care who was watching, you didn't care that people kept accidentally spilling their drink of choice down your legs as they bumped into you and definitely didn't care if Jungkook was shooting lasers from his eyes towards you.

This is why people came here. To escape. To live. To express themselves.

Valerie's arms were hooked around your neck, your bodies moving together almost as one. Your eyes move around the room, countless people moving just like you, hands touching themselves or whoever was pressing their bodies against theirs.

Until your eyes found Hoseok.

He had been watching you with a half smirk as soon as you started moving your body, missed a transition or two as he did. He saw the way you had eased into the movements of your body. How your dress hiked up ever so slightly every time you lowered your body to grind against Valerie's.

Your eyes locked onto his, your movements becoming more deliberately sinister. Your hands roaming down Valerie's sides as you danced. Watched as his adams apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed.

Only took two more songs for him to knock his head towards the back sliding door and ask his friend to spin his decks for him. Grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd and out to the garage.

Pressed in the code that locked the door, ushered you inside.

He was dressed in a pair of blue baggy jeans, an oversized black hoodie, shut the door and pressed you against it.

Wasting no time, you crashed your lips against his, grabbed his hoodie and pulled him against you.

His tongue met yours, said hello, decided not to be friends and fought for dominance against yours. A soft grunt into your mouth when yours fought just as excitedly.

He pulled away just barely, took his lower lip between his teeth, moved his hand from your waist to the side of your neck, eyes drinking you in.

"Fuck." Starts to pull his hoodie over his head, gets stuck from moving too fast, succeeds and wiggles his eyebrows at you, "Meant to do that."

He cuts off the small giggle that leaves your lips by pressing his back against yours. Your hands trail down his chest slowly, no need to rush. Want to feel this reckless and carefree forever.

His hand palms at your tit, kisses down your neck, pouts when you tell him not to leave marks.

His other hand slides up your thigh, lifts your leg slightly to his hip, his fingers just barely under the hem of your dress. Looks up at you, looks for any signs of you wanting to back out, watches as you nod and push his hand a little further up your leg.

His hand traces your slit over your panties, lets out a moan of approval at the feeling of the lace. "Fuck, so fucking wet."

Your eyes are half lidded, looking down at him as he kisses down your chest, lips parted, "More."

He leans up, kisses you hungrily, leans his forehead against yours, presses his thumb against your clothed clit, smirks when you let out a sharp breath.

His finger moves slowly in circles over yours clit, lets out a moan of his own as your hand starts to palm him over his jeans. Thinks he would be happy to cum just from this. Never leaves his sets to enjoy in his own pleasures. Wants to enjoy this.

"Fuck, yeah, feels good. So pretty," He kisses you, fastens the pace of his thumb, watches as your lips part further, "Want you cumming on my fingers, hm?"

"Fuck- Just touch me, more. Please." Your eyes are locked on his, your hand moving over his own hardened cock. Can feel his cock twitching every time you move it upwards.

His hands push the bottom of your dress up, your black laced panties on full display for him now, "Mm, care if I rip em'?".

You shake your head, please. Touch me. His fingers trace lightly over the waistband of your panties, eyes never leaving yours, starts to inch lower.

Your back presses against the door, pushing your hips closer towards him, your body begging for him to hurry the fuck up and finger you.

"Fuck, Hoseok!"

The words he wanted to hear from you so badly echo.

Except, they aren't your words. Their Jungkooks, from the opposite side of their door you're pressed against.

Hoseok fucking groans, "Busy, piss off."

"Open the fucking door, I'm not fucking playing with you." Jungkook barks, his fist pounding against the door.

"Fuckin' bit busy right now." His fingers are still hooked under your waistband, his jaw clenched, mouthes a 'sorry' to you.

"Fuckin' cops are here man, sure you can get your dick wet at a later fuckin' time."

Hoseok's fingers fucking fly out of your panties, the waistband smacking against your skin, pushes your dress down and moves you by your shoulders from the door.

He opens the door, Jungkook stood on the other side with a black backpack pressed to his chest. Looks at Hoseok then at you, cocks his eyebrow and rolls his eyes.

You can see the lights on in the house now, 4 cops in view from the back sliding door, ushering people out, all holding torches, hands on their duty belt.

"Fuckin' cock blocks!" Hoseok yells out to them.

"Yeah, fuckin have about 2 minutes until they make their way out here, needa hide the stash." Jungkook mumbles, lets himself into the garage, barges your shoulder as he does.

Cops are rarely a problem for the House of Balloons. They had tried to shut down the parties when the boys first started hosting, and quickly realised that if the people were here, they weren't causing issues on the streets. Had organised a deal with them, as long as there were no drugs, they could continue on with the parties.

Idiots.

The only reason they had been called in tonight was because someone made an anonymous call that people were smoking crack and overdosing.

"Crack? Who fuckin' does crack these days? Ain't no fuckin' crackheads here" Yoongi had argued with the constable as he said he needed to do a search.

"Nowhere to fuckin' hide it. We're fuckin' screwed." Jungkook was pacing now, he and Hoseok eyeballing the room for any potential places.

"Give it to me." You turn to Jungkook, holding your hand out.

"Yeah, fuckin' right" Jungkook spat at you. Give it to you? He'd may as-well go empty the bag out in front of the pigs and dob himself in.

"Seriously. I'll take it, leave with the crowd. Will bring it back when everything's cooled down."

Jungkook and Hoseok look at eachother, Hoseok's eyes screaming 'Hand her the fucking bag', Jungkook's 'Are you fucking insane?'.

"Or don't," you shrug as you turn around and head towards the door, "Have fun sober in a cell. You will make a pretty bitch boy in there.”

"Fuck- Here." He throws the bag towards you, tells you to not fuck it up and fuck off.

You throw the bag over your shoulder, slip out the door and right into the middle of a group leaving down the side of the house.

You make your way down to the front, two extra cops stood outside, ushering people away, waving off the people who piss and moan at them for the shut down.

As naturally as you can, you start to pass them. Have no idea where the fuck you're gonna go, tell yourself you'll order a driver in the street over.

"Hey, you. Stop". The voice came from behind you, a slightly older cop looks at you, gives you a once over and tilts his head.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. They know. They know I would never possibly carry an ugly bulky black bag with this dress. Or maybe Joon was right and I do look like a hooker. I'm done. Off to prison I go, Possession Of Drug Paraphernalia, definitely going to be somebody's bitch, will make a lovely trade for a coffee stick.

“Nevermind, looked familiar. Keep walkin’.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

As you step back into the familiar setting of your bedroom, you can still feel your legs shaking from the adrenaline. Stuffing the backpack to the very back of the top of your closet, you lay on your bed and send Yoongi a text.

| 5:57am

You: ur drugs are safe and sound

| 6:00am

Yoongles: Owe u big time Bee.

Thanks again x

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook ff #jungkook and reader #jungkook series

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angeldcgs · 3 days ago

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whatever problems would arise in the morning were none of lana's concern— not as she finally had him eating out of the palm of her hand. though she may have appeared reckless and hedonistic, there was a great deal of rationality that went into the important decisions she made. unlike some people, she didn't have a safety net in the form of her family's money to fall back on, and it took a great deal of skill and planning to get by in the world on her own. because of that independence, she was forced to grow up fast, learning how to do whatever it took to make ends meet, but at the end of the day, she was still young. she didn't know it all like she thought she did, and sometimes she was wrong. while she truly believed she had thought things through and that no real harm would come from seducing sully, people were unpredictable, and there was always a chance she could be wrong and put her whole source of income and housing in jeopardy. she didn't even have the capacity to be influenced by such worries, though, far too uninhibited by her substance intake to even give voice to consequence. seeing such a formidable man— the family patriarch, respected at work, a pillar in his community—reduced to this shuddering state of speechlessness from merely a few flicks of her wrist was an instant rush of power, and it inevitably went straight to her head, making her feel as though she could get away with absolutely anything. he was so eager, so desperate for more attention, it almost made her feel guilty for withdrawing her attention, though what she had in mind for him was so much better than a handjob. if he had the balls to accept her brazen offer, of course. it was still up in the air as to how he would ultimately respond once she crawled into the backseat—receiving a coerced handjob while still all buckled up in the driver's seat was one thing, but willingly following her to a more spacious part of the car in order to properly consummate the affair was inexcusable, a damning admission of guilt mr. landry couldn't hope to hide from. finally, lana began to feel a shred of worry. the pause he took was too long for comfort, and the expression on his face when he glanced back at her was hard to read. she was about to call out for him again when he finally opened his car door, and she immediately breathed a sigh of relief instead. it only took a moment or two for him to open the door to the backseat, flashing him her pearly whites in another dazzling grin as she shifted her body into a more seductive pose, hands suggestively caressing up her body and emphasizing her subtle curves. much to her satisfaction, he wasted no time in bunching up the fabric of her dress, aiding him in pushing up from the hem until it was practically bunched up around her ribcage. his eyes went directly for her exposed cunt, and lana couldn't say she was surprised, spreading her legs and following suit by running two fingers through her folds and using them to spread herself apart to give him a better view. hopefully there was enough illumination from the street lamps for him to see the way it glistened, allowing her to confess just how badly she wanted him without having to actually say it out loud. though he hadn't touched her yet, she already felt short of breath. just looking at him while he stared straight at her pussy was akin to foreplay, her head cocked to the side curiously as she propped herself up on her elbows slightly. "it's pretty, huh?"

as much as he'd hate himself for it in the morning, with lana's hand wrapped around him and her soft seductive cooing in his ear, sully could convince himself that she might've had a valid point somewhere buried in all her coquettish pleas. he was only human, he wanted to be loved and touched as much as any other person and despite burying himself in roles like husband and father, they didn't make him devoid of weakness or lapses in judgement. if lana was so persistent in her need to ease that lonesome ache within him, maybe there was some good that could come in letting her, even if it came with a boat load of bad too. it was too late to try and excuse their behaviour, all there was to do was see where it took them and try not to let the guilt eat them alive afterwards, although sully wasn't sure how guilty lana would actually feel, that would depend on how much of her behaviour was affected by her intoxication. after months of having nothing but his own hand to satisfy him, lana's hand felt like a piece of heaven. it was just a hand job, in the grand scheme of things they could've been doing many more scandalous things, such that would be far more difficult to justify. even after he had relaxed a little and stopped trying to fight back, he still found it nearly impossible to properly respond to her queries, in part because he worried what embarrassing sound might follow but simultaneously, he had no idea what to say. it was already obvious, she was just toying with him for her own amusement, wanted to hear him admit that he had been left to touch himself while hunched over in the shower, keeping himself as quiet as possible as to not anyone in on how embarrassingly his life had developed. instead of replying verbally, he pressed his hips up against her hand once more in a silent plea for more. the moment her hand let him go, sully's eyes fluttered open and he was left staring down at his crotch momentarily, like he was wondering if he had somehow hallucinated the whole thing. by the time he looked to her, she was there waiting for his gaze and began to strip herself from her underwear. he’d always had a mild obsession with her legs thanks to all those short skirts and dresses she wore around the house, not to mention the bed shorts he’d once caught her wearing which revealed the bottom curve of her ass cheeks and had been the subject of a fortnight of masturbatory fantasies. somehow, he hadn’t considered the fact that she might have wanted something for herself out of their little arrangement, something more than just jerking him off. like a dumb dog, he followed her panties as he discarded them on the dashboard and then reached out to thumb at the lace edges, only being knocked out of his haze at the sound of her girlish giggle, at which point he finally looked back and found her sprawled out across his backseat. what was he supposed to do? start the car again and drive home? throw lana her panties back and act like he wasn’t dying to know what her cunt tasted like? they’d already confirmed he was a weak man, playing otherwise would only result in more back and forth and he was tired of arguing over something they both knew he wanted. with a sigh, sully straightened himself up and got out of the car, getting in through the back door so he didn’t have to make an ass of himself crawling after her and hurting his back somehow. once inside, knelt on the backseat, his slightly shaky hands reached out for lana’s waist once more, though instead of lingering there he gathered the fabric of her dress and continued to pull it up from where it had already ridden up her thighs, revealing her bare pussy to him which he met with a shuddered sigh.

#{ lana menken — thread }#{ lana vs. sullivan }#thcophagy

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watchingtheearthrise · 2 years ago

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I want everyone who goes “hmmm but JJ set up nothing for Finn and put him in a coma at the end of the film so he never meant for Finn/John Boyega to be the lead” to understand:

First of all: No :)

Secondly: Hold onto this same energy for Rian Johnson regarding Rose Tico/Kelly Marie Tran

Because the Venn diagram that is people who claim JJ was the one who did Finn/John dirty and the people who claim Rian Johnson didn’t treat Rose Tico/Kelly dirty is a circle.

Rian only wrote Rose in because he thought “it’d be really boring” for Finn & Poe to go on an adventure together. He then erased a scene where Finn & Paige would’ve been together when Paige died, which could’ve given us a chance for Finn & Rose to actually bond over something but nope (Point 5 on the list).

Rian wrote Rose to ‘contrast’ with Finn (Point 8 in last link) but really just had her explain slavery and be part of a “war is bad” storyline for Finn? The same Finn who had been stolen as a baby and raised in a brainwashed boot camp to be a child soldier for an evil facist regime?

“Oh he gave her more screen time than in TROS.” He gave her ten minutes. Ten minutes out of a 2 and a half hour slog of a movie. Yes the difference of time is a bit drastic (ten minutes to almost 2) but it’s not that much when you put it against the actual length of the entire movie.

Overall, Rian also did Rose/Kelly dirty. Just like how he did with Finn/John. And I don’t trust people who only mentions her when talking negatively about anyone else (aka not Rian) involved in the making of Star Wars.

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welcometoteyvat · 1 year ago

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xingqiu, gold accents, ginkgo leaves, the light golden color tea gets in sunlight

hu tao, also gold accents, mahogany wood, smoky things, spider lilies unfurling in the dark. but it would be cool to edit her art so it’s more high contrast (darker outfit and hair) with stark black plum branches against winter snow

chongyun, white, clouds, wisps of chill wind. fluffy things and a big fur coat

majority red palette ningguang would also be cool

and of course, zhongli with gold orange. old man can’t beat the geo lord cor lapis soulmates (ambiguous relationship) with azhdaha allegations

#for personal reference #had a revelation that ht's plum blossom thing could. could be turned into xue hua piao piao bei feng xiao xiao #you know. the meme song. HWIOEFJEKWJFWELJ she'd love it though #anyways i want to make these someday maybe as graphics if i ever improve lol so this is just a thought dump #i think ht and xq work the most bc they have pretty blatant accent colors on their outfits #cy works kind of but there's not that much i feel like i could do w white T_T #im sorry my boy i feel like i talk sm about him and then... no thoughts head empty when it comes to actually thinking about him #ning also doesn't really work but that's bc i think her palette already does a really good job balancing the gold and red #*doesnt rlly work as in: if you made a graphic where the major color is her accent color ie red #like it's SOOOOO delicious looking at her og outfit bc of the red hair thing her eyes and the tattoo on her leg #genuinely so appealing. looking at the in game fits maybe they couldve put more yellow on her dress but overall its still pretty good #very slay that there are canon milfs in this game and she's definitely one of them #going back to ht and xq i have never stopped having thoughts about xq maybe he's my real favorite blorbo #blue and gold genuinely fucks so hard like AAAAAAA wdym xingqiu progression of autumn golden ginkgo trees in liyue his eyes like pools of am #amber and whatever is going on with that metal thing on his outfit #his design man...#i was also gonna say xiao with like purple. but idk i feel like his design works better with that random hodgepodge of colors he has already #like its mixed up enough but it works. also red (minimal) green purple gold looks so good on him #ramblings!#hu tao #xingqiu #chongyun #ningguang #who else. kaveh w primary colors only would look cool. but first i'd have to make him not as pale................... warm colors suit him ok

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chronicparagon · 3 days ago

Note

"Right! I'll remember that!" Harmony answers, "Sorry! I wanted to ask to be sure. You guys are new to me and I want to be sure I do everything right for you." Of course, she meant unicorns being new to her, but there is no telling who is listening in. Maybe it's Harmony's own paranoia but it's always better to be safe than sorry.

“How about that place over there? The Racing Stallion down the street? It’s a bit to the edge of the city, but it’s a tavern with an attached stable. Kind of a one-stop place!” Harmony suggests while leading Adelheid in that direction. However, the pair are unaware that the city walls have eyes and ears. A pair of hidden figures lie in wait in the shadows. Awe fills their eyes when they find the newcomers making their way along the street. The men appear to be in fine garb but they bear a patch on the right side of their coats: A blue shield bearing the profile view of a roaring panther embraced by two branches adorned with white flowers.

“Remus! Remus, do you see those two?” One of the men whispers to his comrade. “Aye, I do…They look much like what Her Highness is searching for. The mare does not have the horn, though.” The other answers with a shake of his head. “You do know unicorns can hide that, yeah? Just like what rumors say.”

“Darnell, those are just rumors! I don’t know if Her Highness will be interested if this is just an ordinary horse and rider. Although…The mare does seem otherworldly. She glows like the brilliance of the full moon. Never saw such a pretty sight like that!”

“Exactly! Remus, this could be it! This could be the ones we’ve been waiting for! They could be from the prophecy!” The excited envoy claps his hands over the other’s shoulders. “Quickly! We must tell her at once! This could be our only chance to save us all!”

“Careful, Darnnell!” Remus chides as the other drags him further into the alleyway. “You must know the enemy may be on the lookout as well! We can’t afford them to be suspicious of those travelers.”

---

While the envoys return to the grand palace, the travelers make their way through the busy crowds toward the Racin Stallion, unaware that there is trouble lurking. Caught in the excitement and wonder, Harmony paid little attention to their surroundings until they bump into a tall figure.

“Ah!” Harmony gasps when they bump into a figure. “I am so, so sorry! Are you okay?”

A tall man stands with his back facing them. He slowly turns around, revealing his face. He was a strange man dressed in shades of black, charcoal, and blood red. His hood lined with red covers his dark hair and a black gaiter cloak much of his face except his eyes.

Oh, those green eyes stand out but hold no kindness. There is only darkness there.

“Sir?” The woman asks yet there is no answer. He stares at her for a moment before directing his attention to Adelheid. He watches her in silence before he silently walks by them His doesn’t keep his eyes off the mare until he sinks into the dense crowd. Though Harmony notices something about the stranger.

What’s odd is the emblem embroidered on his right sleeve. A gold ring bears the head of an angry red bull on it. A strange sigil Harmony never saw before sprawl over the emblem’s black background. Words stand out along the bottom curve of the ring in golden thread.

“AVETE REGEM RUBRUM”

"Huh..." Harmony mutters under her breath. "Um, let's keep going. It's not much further." She speaks to Adelheid with a nervous laugh. But when they gained more distance from the man, Harmony leans forward to whisper to the mare. "Hey...Did that guy give off weird vibes to you? He was rude but...I don't know, I can't put my finger on it. But there's something weird about him."

#fallesto #the phrase is supposed to say hail the red king #as a brief reference to a villain #have thoughts of him being named Taurus Rex #aka the King in Red #or the Bloody Tyrant #a power hungry warloard who dominated empires feasting on the blood of the pure and innocent to fuel his demonic powers many many years ago #Of course he's been long gone...until now!#there will be chaos!#but first!#our heroines will meet Imaiya's leader to learn about the prophecy that could put a stop to Taurus Rex's return from the dead #I'm open to your ideas of course #but I am slowly coming up with the quest #I want this to be based on the Last Unicorn with elements of Beserk and maybe Fear and Hunger #let me tell you fear and hunger was a WILD ride but it’s neither here or there #anyway!#I want to be creative with the enemies like Taurus's demon horde #and other enemies like the vampire cult that follow Taurus Rex #some of this may be inspired from music by Two Steps From Hell too #like Black Blade

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itneverendshere · 27 days ago

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BLESS HALLOWEEN - r.c (+18)

pairing: frat!rafe/ghostface!rafe x reader (uni au) warnings: no plot; smut

inspired by this audio (+18)

between midterms, a terrible class project partner, and your roommate constant need to fuck her boyfriend at any given hour of the day, you’re half asleep most days.

the only thing you should be doing is sleeping, anywhere, for hours, but instead, you let yourself get dragged to a halloween party.

sure, you’re running on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee, but heaven forbid you to miss a party because your roommate just had to be there. never mind that she’s been wearing her "not-so-pg sexy witch" costume since last tuesday, casting spells for her crush to notice her (like he doesn’t see half her skin every night anyway).

you look hotter than you'd like to admit. black mini dress? check. sky-high boots? check. a little lace mask that hides just enough to keep the mystery going? obviously.

you're not trying too hard, but you’re giving just enough to turn heads, with a vibe that says, “i might ruin your life, but you'll thank me for it."

you’re rocking some version of a "slutty masquerade," not that anyone could guess what that means, but it gets you a free drink within five minutes. and the best part? nobody knows it’s you.

the only downside is that you’re in his territory.

it could be anywhere, but it’s happening at his frat.

your project partner, personal headache and resident menace, rafe cameron holds court here like he’s king of the idiots.

he’s hot, you’ll give him that, guy’s all charm until it’s time to work; then he’s as useless as that cheap foundation your roommate keeps borrowing.

and now you’re here, half hoping to avoid his face entirely—his smirk that screams "’m getting credit off your hard work" and that irking attitude that makes him think he’s doing you a favor.

as if seeing him once a week in class isn’t enough of a problem. you pull your mask down a bit lower, not that he’d recognize you through the lace, but just in case.

against all odds, you’re having a good time. the drinks are good—something sugary—and you find yourself laughing, loosening up.

mid-laugh, you walk straight into someone, practically face-plant into a solid chest. you stagger back, the guy's hand catching your elbow to hold you, and you look up, only to be met with a ghostface mask.

“ohh, sorry,” he says with an amused chuckle like he's getting a kick out of startling you. "sorry, sorry—i didn’t mean to scare you," he adds, not sounding remotely apologetic.

you raise a brow, your lips curving just slightly. “hmm, you sure? cause it kinda looks like you enjoy it."

he puts a hand up in mock innocence. “nah, i swear, completely unintentional,”

you blink up at him, squinting against the red lighting to catch a better look at his mask. it’s honestly a little creepy up close, that ghostface grin somehow twisting a bit more under the lights and crowd. but you’re in the mood to get laid tonight.

"nice costume,” you don’t bother to hide the way your eyes stuck to every corner of his body, “scary.”

he doesn’t catch it though, leaning down, head tilting, “what?” he asks, chuckling a bit as he stands closer. “yeah, sorry—the music’s way too loud.”

rolling your eyes with a little attitude, you repeat yourself, a bit louder. “i said, your costume’s scary.”

he nods, shaking his head like he’s relieved, and rubs the back of his neck, as if this mask isn’t hiding the flush you think you see creeping up his neck. “oh, thanks. yeah, uh, you look…” his voice trails off a little, and he clears his throat, swallowing. “you look pretty, uh, scary too.”

you raise a brow, "you think so?"

he nods again, “yeah, ’m terrified of hot women, so…”

the music cuts him off this time around, his words getting lost in the heavy bass, it’s harder to know what he’s saying when you can’t read his lips. you frown, stepping closer into his space. “hmm?”

the guy practically jolts, “nothing, nothing—it’s, uh…” he stammers, then gestures at your face, his fingers brushing near your mask. “it’s a cool mask.”

you smile, amused. “thanks, ghostface. should i be, y’know, scared of you?”

“i don’t know, that depends. should i be scared of you?”

"nop, you're cute. i like where this is going."

the guy’s mask tilts, there’s smidge of surprise in his voice. "really? so—so you’re into masks and, like, the whole psycho-killer thing?”

you shrug nonchalantly, letting your gaze drag over him slower. "only if they're hot and built like you."

there's a short pause, and you can practically feel the amused smile hidden under his mask. “oh, okay, yeah, yeah—so what is it? do you like being scared, or?”

there’s something about a guy like him—tall, broad-shouldered, who could probably break you in half without even trying. and honestly? you like that kind of shit. you’ve always wanted a guy who could cover you with his entire body, who’d tower over you in a way that was intimidating enough to make your heart pound.

the kind that, if you begged nicely, might just be able to cut off your oxygen in bed with one hand. and here he is, looking like he could throw you around a little if you wanted him to. which you might. his hand still hovering near your waist isn’t exactly subtle either—it’s like he knows, somehow. either way, you keep your expression smooth, not giving him anything, it’s more fun that way.

you let out a giggle that’s only partly mocking. "maybe i just like danger, ghostface. or maybe i like watching people squirm."

“holy shit, that’s fucked up.”

you take a slow sip of your drink, watching his shirt cling to his chest as he takes a deep breath, every inch of that body sculpted to the fucking gods like it was made for nights like this. shit, that’s a nice body.

you can’t help the sly smirk that pulls at your lips as you murmur, “what’s wrong with liking it rough?”

he snickers, almost breathlessly, and you know you’re getting to him. “there’s something a little wrong with you.”

yeah, there is. you almost blurt out the truth—that your panties are drenched and practically glued to your skin because of him, that he’s got you feeling hornier than you’ve felt in a long time. but you choose to let your fingers trail down his arm, slow and teasing.

“you think so?” you faux-pout, giving him a look that’s all dark lashes and bad intentions.

he swallows, stumbling over his words. “y-yeah, i mean, there’s some things you need to… work on.”

you tilt your head, smiling in that way you know drives guys crazy, leaning in just enough to make him catch his breath. “would you like to help me?”

he stares at you, goosebumps rising along his arm where your fingers still rest, visibly caught off guard, “what does that mean?”

with a wicked grin, you reach up, wrapping your manicured hands around his neck, his breath all but halting as you pull him down until his face is level with yours. his breath hitches, and you take your time, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear, enough to make him shiver.

“you find me upstairs,” you murmur, voice dripping with promise, “and ’m all yours. okay?”

instead of waiting for him to process it, you’re already sneaking off into the crowd, leaving him rooted. you don’t try looking back, already feeling his stare burning into you, dazed and desperate as he takes in what you just promised. you don’t second guess yourself once, you know he’s coming.

by the time he shakes himself out of his trance, you’re halfway up the stairs.

at the top, you stop, one quick peek over your shoulder to check if he’s still watching. the look on his face is priceless—like he’s not sure if he’s about to follow a dream or walk into his worst nightmare. perfect, you think.

you push open a random door and slip into an empty room, locking eyes with yourself in the mirror. hair a little wild, eyes glinting with that mischievous glint you know all too well. you adjust your mask, the lace sitting just right over your cheekbones. you pull your dress higher, letting it ride up just a little higher, admiring the way the fabric clings to you, showing off every curve.

you turn the lights off, letting the room fall into shadows. he’ll have to work for it if he wants to find you. you can imagine the way he’ll hesitate, hand hovering over the doorknob, wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into.

why make it easy for him?

rafe watches you leave, standing there like a fucking idiot, heart hammering in his chest as he replays what just happened. the words “find me upstairs, and i’m all yours” looping in his mind like a mantra. the confidence in your voice, the way you looked at him like you already knew he’d be following—fuck, it’s enough to make him hard just thinking about it.

he swallows, trying to be calm as he looks around, but there’s no hiding the way his breathing’s quickened, how his body is buzzing at the thought of finding you, alone, in a dark room, just waiting for him.

you’re playing with him, he tells himself, but he doesn’t care. he’s going to go after you anyway.

pushing through the crowd, he’s half-dazed, talking to himself under his breath, almost wheezing out a series of what the fucks. his grip wraps around the banister as he ascends the stairs, his fingers still itching from where you’d brushed against him. he feels completely out of his element. girls flirt with him all the time, he’s with girls all the time, sure, but this—this is different.

he always been a sucker for a good challenge and you’d practically left him in the dust, tossing back that promise without even checking if he’d follow.

at the top, he pauses, looking down the hallway, every door holding the possibility that you might be behind it, waiting.

rafe feels that thrill coil in his stomach, his heart pounding in anticipation. he’s like a kid on halloween night, trick-or-treating at the house he’s always been too afraid to knock on. but you dared him, so there’s no way he’s backing out now.

he starts with the first door, pushing it open only to find it empty, checking the shadows, in case you’re hiding, but nothing. he goes into the next door, finding a couple already in there, and quickly shuts it again, eyes slamming shut, ignoring their annoyed stares as he backs out.

third time’s the charm, yeah? he thinks, reaching for the next door and pulling it open. the door creaks as it swings shut behind him, his footsteps are slow, hesitant, and the scuff of his shoes against the floor makes him cringe.

it takes him a second for his eyes to adjust to the dark, pupils dilating as he walks further inside.his breathing is loud and uneven, almost like he’d run all the way here. he stops in the middle of the room, his chest rising and falling hard, his breath painfully audible.

his heart is doing an annoying thing, pounding, and he swears he can hear it.

did he misread you? the space is eerily quiet, he can’t help but wonder if he’s been set up, if you’re somewhere downstairs, laughing at how eagerly he followed your trail up here like a fucking dumbass.

rafe scans the room’s edges, searching, and he notices a quick movement in the corner—something. he swallows he leans forward a little, squinting to make out any familiar shape.

“you wanna play hide and seek?” he calls out, hoping he’s not making a full out of himself, “is that it?” he’s taking gulps of air, feeling dizzy from being in the dark for so long, “you like this?”

a quiet giggle echoes from one of the corners, inviting, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. you’re playing this game too well, lurking just beyond his reach, and the longer he waits, the more desperate he feels.

he swallows, his mind spiraling as he steps walks around, slow and cautious, hands slightly trembling. he’s caught off guard by just how badly he wants you; the way you kept looking at him like he was the prey downstairs, has him all kinds of worked up.

his cock stirring against his jeans is proof enough.

“you want me to scare you or somethin’?” he provokes you, praying it’s enough to lure you out, “you think it’s smart? letting a stranger chase you into a room, with no one else around. you’re all alone with me.”

“who says you’re that dangerous?”

the second the words leave your mouth, rafe’s resolve slips.

it’s maddening, the way you’re hiding from him, how your voice seems to come to him from every dark corner of the room. he shouldn’t have drowned two shots before following you, but the liquid courage had been tempting.

you’re keeping him on a tight leash, making him wonder if he’s got a shot or if you’re just messing with his head. he wants to see you again, your expression—wants to read you, even if the last time he tried, he ended up with his mind in knots.

“you don’t even know my name,” he muses, taking a couple steps closer to the closet, “does that make it more fun for you? that you don’t know anything about me?”

his movements are cautious, almost reverent as if you’re something sacred and forbidden all at once. he stops, opening the doors, leaning inside as he half-whispers, “not here, huh?” no answer, just silence, but he swears he can feel you watching him, your gaze prickling his skin, almost burning, “where are you? c’mon come out, i’ll go easy on you.”

he sighs, sounding like more of a frustrated exhale. no sign of you anywhere. he shakes his head, letting out a soft laugh, more amused than annoyed.

“be a good girl and come out.”

rafe stalks around the room with the focus of someone hunting prey, his footsteps deliberate, his hands gliding along the walls and over furniture. he reaches the small bathroom door adjacent to the room, his fingers tightening around the handle. his lips pull into a smirk as he pauses—listening.

the room’s quiet, but then, he hears it: the faint, uneven rhythm of your breathing, a quickened inhale, almost as if his words had finally affected you. he stops dead, dropping his hand from the door and turning around with a dark gleam in his eyes.

“wait—wait,” his voice lowers with satisfaction, with the thrill of the chase. he lets out a breathy chuckle, his eyes roving the room as he zeroes in on where you’re hiding. “i can hear you, can hear you breathing.”

he takes a slow, taunting step, his head tilting, as though he’s relishing the way you’re fighting to stay silent, to keep control.

“what’s the matter? you sound a little…” he trails off in a murmur, enjoying the tables turning. “...shaken up. are you scared?”

your breath slips, just enough to betray you and his lips quirk up.

“i know exactly where you are.” with lazy confidence, he walks over to the far corner where the heavy velvet curtains seem to pool against the floor, drawn closed over the tall, narrow window.

his fingers brush the fabric, his eyes narrowing as if he can feel the warmth of you just on the other side. then, in one smooth motion, he grabs the curtain and yanks it open.

“caught you.”

moonlight spills in, illuminating you both. in a second, you’re pressed against the wall, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and his eyes rake over you, lingering on the way your costume accentuates every curve of your body.

he steps in close, his silhouette blocking the light as he cages you in, one hand pressing against the wall beside your head, the other landing on your waist. his gaze drops to your lips, taking time to roam the way you’re biting your lip.

you tilt your chin up, “maybe i just like trouble.”

rafe’s grip on your waist tightens in response, a hunger that he can’t hide, while he’s memorizing the way you’re looking up at him, ready to push him just as far as he can take it.

“you’re in trouble, alrigh’,” he shakes his head, while his hand inches down, slipping lower along your body until his thumb brushes against the curve of your hip, “don’t think you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

your fingers slide up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his black shirt, the way his heart hammers from your touch alone.

“maybe that’s what i want,” you whisper, tipping your head up so your lips brush against his mask.

he shudders, and you let your fingers trail slowly down, tracing over the line of his collarbone. rafe swallows hard, his body thrumming with tension. his eyes dropping to your mouth once again, wishing he’d been smart enough to take the mask off, so he could kiss you.

“you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he breathes, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise. he’s already melting under your touch, the desperation in the way he holds onto you confessing just how badly he needs it.

“you want me?” you ask, watching his pupils dilate as you lean in even closer, close enough that he can smell the fruity trace of your drink on your breath trough the mask, the lingering sweetness making him light-headed.

jesus fucking christ where have you been all his life?

“yeah,” he mutters, voice strained, eyes half-lidded as he stares down at you, “i want you.” his hand trails up your side, down the line of your dress, stopping just at the hem. he hesitates, holding himself back for your sake, the look in his eyes begging for permission, daring you to say something, to let him go further.

you smirk, letting your fingers slip lower, grazing over the top of his waistband, “’m already so wet for you.”

a rough, almost growling sound escapes his throat as his fingers taunt around you, his control slipping at the admission. “yeah?” he grunts, letting his hand glide under the hem of your dress, his fingers inching higher, grazing along the sensitive skin of your thigh, “lets find out.”

the first brush of his fingers against your thong sends a shiver from your head to your toes, his smirk growing. he’s bold now, unapologetic as he moves them up, grazing the thin barrier of fabric between his hand and you.

your panties are ruined, drenched, and stuck to you most uncomfortably, he can tell from the way you keep pushing your hips forward, begging him to do something.

he doesn’t think twice before using two fingers to pull the sticky fabric to the side.

“fuck,” he mutters to himself, “all this for me?”

you have to bite your lip to stop a moan from slipping out when he finally touches you properly. two of his long, thick fingers press against your entrance, sliding into you with no resistance. the feeling of your cunt clamping around him makes his cock twitch.

he works you open, even the slightest touches have you arching your back from the wall. the need in his eyes turns ravenous with every desperate little gasp you let out. he moves slowly, deliberately, feeling the warmth of you clenching around his him, as he curls his fingers just right,

“you’re so wet, ah, yeah—you’re gonna scream for me?”

his thumb finds your clit with ease, and he presses down, drawing gentle circles that make your knees buckle. he grins, drinking in every sound you’re trying to bite back. his thumb stays steady over your clit, circling with the perfect rhythm, applying just enough pressure to keep you breathless.

“c’me here,” his other hand moves with swift, easy dominance, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head, holding you firmly against the wall,” you like this shit?”

“you’re gonna fuck me with the mask on?” you grind yourself harder against him, practically delusional from the way he’s making you feel, “kinky.”

he's mesmerized by the way your breasts jolt underneath your dress with each shaky breath you take, your skin feels feverish, heat radiating off it like a furnace.

“just like you wanted,” he promises, his voice filled with satisfaction as his thumb presses down harder, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips. “go on, let me hear it—ride my hand.”

he tightens his hold on your wrists, keeping you perfectly in place, not prying his eyes away from how your brows frow with every grind.

“fuckkkkk, do that again,” you whine when he hits a particular spot, your walls tightening around him in a way that makes him want to stop the foreplay and fuck you right away.

rafe leans forward to coo praise into your ear, “like this?” your skin is sticky with sweat—some saliva too—his. he’s never been this fucking hard in his life. he slows down on purpose, to torture you, doing anything in his power to make you beg, “ooh look at you— a fuckin mess.” he taunts.

“don’t be an asshole,” you groan, fingers itching to be set free, and grab his shoulders so you can slam down on him harder, “you gotta make me cum if you wanna fuck me.”

he runs deep circles into your clit making you press your legs together, knowing that he's getting exactly what he wants makes him chuckle into your skin. by this point as he mindlessly humps against your writhing body, he’s peeking down, taking a moment to admire the mess of slickness between your thighs.

“you want more?” you’re so caught up in the feeling that you don’t notice his hand leaving yours, wrapping it around your neck, pulling you closer to him, “answer me”

“another finger,” you spit out when he tightens his grip on your neck, the added touch having you on the brink.

rafe doesn’t even look at you, too entranced by your mess to make eye contact. he never got so lost during sex, but your pussy’s making him intoxicated to the point where his senses are dull, and the part of him that’s fully aware is his dick.

he’s not even inside you yet, and still, he can cum just from seeing you ride his fingers. “another?”

he groans at the way one of your hands move to flex over his, watching in amusement as you try to get him to add one more finger. he mutters a low, gruff “good girl” as he slides a third finger in, pressing just deep enough to make your legs tremble, since you asked so nicely.

“think you can handle more?” rafe prods, “you’re so tight, don’t think you can take me.”

the way his fingers work, methodical and relentless, leaves you barely able to breathe, let alone answer.

“i could take t-two of you,” you tease, letting a breath out, and turning your head to face him. god you wondered if he looked good under that mask, but if he was this good in bed, who fucking cared.

“the only thing you’re taking is this fucking costume off,” he grumbles against your shiny lips, fanning like a wild animal catching the scent of its prey. he’s already tugging at the material, pulling the straps to the side before you can, nudging it aside, “look at you. gotta get my hands on you.”

rafe moves his attention to your breast and squeezes firmly, the tips of his fingers clasping down on your nipple, pressing and pulling as he chases after those sweet sounds that leave your lips.

“look at these tits, fuck” he rasps, eyes trailing over your chest and savoring every inch, his breath almost a snarl, “this’ what you wanted?”

you pressed your lips to his neck, ignoring the deep rumble in his chest as you sucked marks into his flesh, nipping him less than gently. grunting at a particularly rough bite you landed just under his adam’s apple, “i wanted your cock not your finger—"

his pitches your nipple harder making you squirm, “watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

the way you’re creaming his hand should be illegal, but this man is clearly sent from above. someone finally listened to you and gave you exactly what you needed to survive your dry spell.

you reach down to cup him up through his jeans, “or what?”

he moans, head dropping to your shoulder, “fuck,” he mutters, his tone conveying that he’s just as distracted, watching how your puffy folds glisten with your arousal.

“hmmm, can’t hear you ghostface.”

rafe’s too entranced to put you in your place, you’ve got him eating out the palm of your hand. the sounds of your pussy sucking in his fingers are obscene, the simple act of your hand grazing cock has his knees buckling.

he can feel his heart beating miles a minute and he swears he could die right there, his hand coming down to grip the swell of your ass, kneading it firmly. you sigh contently with every slow drag of his hand, your head falling on his shoulder, nipping at his neck no doubt marking him up again.

“open your mouth.” you lift your head immediately, no smartass bullshit coming out of your lips, he chuckles breathlessly at your impatience, fingers moving from your ass to your parted hole, “suck my fingers, go on.”

it’s hard to make any coherent thought when his fingers are still inside you, dragging against your spongy walls deliciously, but your tongue automatically slips around his digits, doing your best to suck them down your throat. you’d never felt so willing to let a man bend you however he wants to, hushed curses escaping your occupied mouth, raking your nails down his arm.

“good girl, yeahhhh, that’s it,” he grunts when you prod his skin harder, “you like diggin’ your nails into me, like it rough, huh? ‘course you do,” he stammers out when you clamp harder around him, your slick making everything slippery, “course you fucking do.”

with his fingers buried deep inside you and your lips wrapped around his other hand, rafe’s fully intoxicated, drunker than he can ever get. the sounds you make, he never wanted to taste something so bad, if it wasn’t for his stupid mask—

“take this thing off—" he grinds his hips into you, the rough fabric of his jeans pressing deliciously against your bare skin, teasing you, while his hand leaves your mouth to do nothing else but rip your panties apart.

you let out a huff, glancing down at what’s left of your underwear as he tosses it aside like nothing, already sliding his back up your thigh, “you’re paying for those.”

“whatever you want.”

you’re already occupied with his stupid belt, fingers quickly working to take the damn thing off, pawing at him to help. it’s only then he leaves your pussy unattended, settling his hold on your hips while you fumble with his jeans, unbuttoning them and snapping them open, his bulge straining against the fabric of his boxers.

he grabs the underside of your thigh, picking your leg up and wrapping it around his waist, backing you two further into the wall, eyes gazing into yours, even though you can’t see him. why the fuck do your eyes look so familiar?

the tip of his dick kisses the skin of your pussy, the firm head bumping against your clit as he rubs himself against you, “happy?”

looking down, you watch his cock slide back and forth between your thighs, the friction making heat slowly rise in your core, warmth swarming in your chest. he’s so fucking big. you watch him, eyes half-lidded, your legs aching from the position, almost drooling from the sight alone.

you don’t know how much longer you can let him tease you.

“so happy,” you nod, not tearing your attention from him.

“yeah?” he cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed, concentrating not to cum on the spot with the way you’re eating his cock alive just with your pretty little eyes, “you’re gonna let a stranger fuck you?”

rafe reaches down, teasingly rubbing the tip of his dick over your folds, tracing it over your clit a few times. you look up, lips curling into the most earth-shattering smirk.“i can always find someone el—"

you both groan when he slides into you with no warning, your warm walls enveloping him perfectly, sucking him in like a vice, a perfect tight fit. he pumps you so full, not waiting for any adjustment, your walls fluttering around his girth, thick tip slightly curved up from your position.

“fuck, fuck, fuckkk,” he drawls out, rolling his hips in tight circles, slowly fucking into you, dragging himself along your walls to learn what you like, “this pussy, oh—so good.”

your head falls back against the wall, sighing in pleasure. you want him to let go and beat your walls loose, especially when he looks so good doing it. you melt into him, body sagging, downright losing it with how easily he holds you up and still pounds relentlessly into you, your breathing picking up with his change of pace.

he’s so strong.

“this good enough for ya?” he murmurs against your ear, picking on the way your body shudders, a scream for anyone outside that door to hear, “hmm? you like my voice, right here?”

“you’re gonna make me cum,” you feel yourself grip him harder, his thick cock stretching you open, dragging out moan after moan from your lips, “oh my god.”

it’s the sweetest torture, the way his pelvis smacks against your tummy with every thrust, barely even pulling out to roll back into you.

“such a fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?” he growls, “letting a stranger fuck you open—holy shit, holy shit,” he hisses, almost as if he’s in pain, when you teasingly whine your hips back into him, fluttering at the low sound he breaths right by your ear. “shit, you’re squeezing—fuck.”

“you’re so b-big,” you wheeze at a rough thrust, hand coming down to press against his lower stomach.

“yeah? good enough for you, huh?” his hips increase in rhythm, rocking into you, his thrusts precise, beating against your g-spot with vigor, “takin’ it so good baby.”

by now you’re seeing stars in your vision from the white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine, smart mouth forgotten, “harder.”

“harder?” he’s fucking into you at such a pace you feel like he’s gonna split you in half, “don’t think you can take it.”

“please.”

it sounds too pretty coming out of your mouth. having a girl like you beg feeds his ego like nothing else.

he buries himself so deep, his pelvis is pressed hard against the hilt of your mound, fingers coming down to pinch and roll your neglected clit between his fingers.

“fucking take it then.” rafe snaps his hips with every word, glaring into your teary eyes.

you gasp, nodding your head frantically, too fucked out to even use your words properly when he bottoms out properly, leaving you entirely only to slam inside harder than before. you squeal, not expecting him to use his entire body strength to almost fold in half while you’re still standing.

“no one can h-hear you down here, go ahead,” your mouth runs dry as you feel his body helplessly pressing into yours, “lemme hear those pretty noises, c’mon, scream f’me.”

you’ve never moaned so loud in your life, hands coming up to tweak your nipples, him filling you to the brim, “w-where the fuck have you b-been?”

he chuckles, though it comes out strained, “right here,” he makes a point by ramming into your g-spot perfectly, “hold your leg up f’me.”

for once in your life, you do as you’re told while focusing on his clothed stomach, feeling it constrict with every deep breath he takes.

“you look so pretty like this,” you hear him praise you, one of his hands sliding down the span of your back, coming down to wrap around your hair and forcing your head up, “could fuck you for hours.”

the tip of his dick is kissing right against your cérvix, “not stopping you.”

“yeah? that’s how good is it?” he laughs, “can’t believe stranger cock does it for you.”

you open your mouth to speak, probably to give him shit about how he wouldn’t stop teasing you, but your words run dry as you feel the familiar sensation of his fingers playing with your overstimulated clit. motherfucker.

your body tenses as he builds up the pressure, and a strangled symphony of your wails leaves your sore throat. it’s too much and not enough at the same time, the pressure of his cock as well as his fingers, he’s quite literally fucking you dumb.

“nothin’ to say now, huh?”

the better it feels, the farther gone you’re in your mind, “s-shut the fuck up.”

if you were with someone else, it would bother you that your tits are quite literally out while he’s still dressed, besides the jeans pooling by his ankles, but that stupid black wife beater looks mouthwatering on him.

somehow the outfit and the mask add to the allure, not knowing who’s behind it, but still letting him treat you like a rag doll. you’re bouncing down onto him, almost sniffling as your pussy’s still twitching and soaking, so close to your well-deserved orgasm.

“cum inside,” your head’s starting to sting from how bad you need to cum,“please.”

rafe swears he almost falls on his ass, “what?”

“inside,” you grit out, eyes closed in bliss, “want to feel you cum inside.”

he lets out a groan at the way you say it, “are you serious? oh fuck, what a little cock-slut.” he can’t help but let out a chuckle at your fucked-out state, lost in the chase of your own pleasure to care about how pitiful you look right now, “you’re gonna cum around me? go on,” he coos, kneading at the flesh of your thighs.

you nod, slipping out a high-pitched ‘mhm’, knowing this shit is about to hit you like a train. you arch yourself into him, whimpering lewdly and cutting small moon crescents into his shoulders with your long nails.

rafe feels like he’s lost all ability to fuck anyone else but you, growling at the filthy thoughts swimming through his mind, the urge to fill you up with his cum getting stronger as he enjoys watching you.

a strained whimper escapes you as you lean forward to bury your head in his shoulder, groaning against the skin, “don’t stop.”

“n-never stopping, c’mon,” you swear you see stars while he’s slipping out curses and praises that you’re not even sure make sense. “holy shit, yeahh, fuck.”

he applies a little more pressure to your clit and that’s all it takes for you to be gone, your chest touching his, blinding flashes of paradise filling your vision as you leave reality, having it ripped away from you.

your mouth is parted in the most beautiful oh shape he’s ever witnessed. tears are streaking down your eyes and he can’t help but be turned on by them.

“oh! fuck, fucking—” you squeeze your eyes shut, having no idea how you pulled the words out between continuous sobs that escape from you.

rafe feels like a fucking creep, he can’t take his eyes off you for the life of him, hips snapping animalistically into your pussy while he grunts, groans, and cries as he talks you through it, “that’sss itt, so good, so fuckin’ perfect.”

he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

he’s chasing his orgasm while he watches yours; he all but whines when he releases inside of you, not slowing down in the slightest as he makes sure you take every drop. his hand comes down on your stomach forcing you back down with his python grip, feeling his bulge right there makes his eyes roll as his hand tightens on your waist. you’re still clenching and spasming as you milk him dry, “fuckin’ take it.”

his hips don’t let up, grinding into your core despite him already finishing inside of you. for another ten minutes.

five minutes later, you’re both a little hazy from the endorphin rush, still processing. once he pulls away, rafe feels a lazy grin stretching across his face, feeling more satisfied than ever. unlike the past hour, the room isn’t filled with your moans, but complete silence as you both try to breathe like normal people again, collecting yourselves, adjusting clothes, and then there’s an unspoken agreement that maybe, it’s time to see who’s behind the masks.

you fumble with the edges of the fabric, hesitating for a moment before finally pulling them off, unveiling each other’s faces.

you freeze, staring at him in disbelief.

“you gotta be fucking kiddin’ me,” you nearly burn a hole through his head, eyes narrowing with pure annoyance as you process this disaster, voice dripping with irritation, “what the fuck? rafe?”

he’s completely still, staring at you with his mouth wide open, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost—everything you’re hurling at him is going in and out his ears. the realization that he just spent the last hour fucking you is making him dumber. the girl he’d been thinking about, dreaming about, wanting more than he’d ever admit, even to himself.

the anger in your eyes, the annoyed way you’re crossing your arms and glaring at him—it’s so perfectly you. he’s watched you in class a hundred times, always stealing glances when you weren’t looking or cursing his ass off, catching little glimpses of her attitude that only made him want you more.

but he’d never thought he’d get a moment like this.

bless halloween.

“are you even listening to me?” you snap, catching his starstruck expression, waving a hand in front of his face. “hello? earth to cameron? stop looking at me like a puppy, this was a mistake.”

more than a mistake. you can’t believe you just fucked the reason why you didn’t want to come to the party in the very first place.

and the worst part is that you’d do it again.

“i…i just…wow,” he breathes, “it’s really you.” he lets out an incredulous laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw “can’t believe it.”

you groan, rolling your eyes and shaking your head in exasperation. “are you serious right now?

“can i eat you out?”

you blink, realizing you’ve been staring, “what?”

he takes a step closer, filling the small space between you. you swear the sound of his next words drag a whimper from your throat, “can i eat you out?”

you nearly choke to death as his hand ghost near your waist, the barest brush of contact, sending sparks dancing across your skin, “right now?”

rafe leans down to your size, eager to get on his knees and taste you.

“why not?”

well, fucking damnit.

dont go fucking strangers with ghostface masks at random parties

4K notes · View notes

neo-nomatrix · 5 months ago

Text

CAN’T TOUCH ME LIKE GOJO

what gojo does when he’s jealous

cw - gojo uses red as a punishment, smut, jealousy, possessiveness, riding, teasing, kinda toxic gojo idk, bratty reader, rough gojo

Gojo was making you mad, beyond livid. He had brought you to this stuffy gala full of his balding colleagues and ditched you! You found solace in the bar holding an aperol spritz staring at your husband. He was beautifully dressed cream suit with a million dollar smile as he talks to his coworkers about business.

He hasn’t even thrown you a glance since he left your side. Normally you would still be next to him acting as arm candy but for whatever reason he left you to drink your sorrows. You assumed you would be stuck there for another hour or two with nothing to do. Until Hiromi Higuruma approached you. A man you had no idea was even distantly related to Gojos company.

“Mrs.Gojo, a pleasure seeing you somewhere besides with Satoru,” The man teases.

“Hiromi! Are you here to save me from this awful night?” It seems the lord has answered your prayers.

“You’re not enjoying yourself? Doesn’t Gojo normally keep by him at all times?” He asks, taking a seat next to you.

“Something’s up with him I guess, I’ve barely seen him all night and it’s horrible!” You complain.

“Oh sweetheart, how could he possibly treat someone as pretty as you like that?” He moves a piece of your hair out of your face and stares at you.

“I know! I mean he invited me here, and then has the audacity to leave me,” You pout to him.

“For the record, I would never treat you like that,” he smiles at you.

You look over at Gojo and he still isn’t looking in your direction. You decide to tease both the men a little more.

“Really? Do you promise ‘Romi?” You give him your best doe eyes and touch his bicep.

“On my life, sweetheart,” You both smile at each other.

In the corner of your eye you see a head of white hair coming toward you. Panic sets in but you can’t help but rub your legs together. You continue putting your hands on Higurumas chest to further instigate the situation.

“Babe, there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” Gojo pulls the back of your stool so you can’t touch Higuruma anymore and he wraps a large hand around your waist, “Higuruma, you’re also here.”

“I was just talking to your gorgeous wife Gojo. After you left her alone to talk to those gross executives,” Higuruma says.

Gojos jaw clenched and he squeezed your waist. His look of disgust apparent on his face.

“I think it’s about time my wife and I leave. Should I call you a cab Higuruma?” Gojo says.

“I’ll be alright,” Higuruma laughs.

Gojo pulls you away from the bar and quickly takes you away from the party. He ignores everyone asking where he’s going or trying to talk to him. Immediately as he reaches the car he opens and slams the door for you. He doesn’t speak a single word on the way home, despite your efforts to start conversation.

As you reach your home he’s immediately getting you through the door and up the stairs, he shoves you onto the bed as he removes his jacket. You hear him muttering swears under his breath.

“Do you enjoy being a slut who pisses me off? Hm? I mean really, what possibly do you get out of this?” He starts to undo the first few buttons of his shirt before he grabs your chin.

“I asked you a fucking question,” He growls at you.

“You left me! You left me all alone! I don’t know what you wanted from me, to just sit there twiddling my thumbs until you came back?” You argue at him, giving a big pout.

“What I don’t want is for you flirting with that piece of shit in front of everyone? You know how embarrassing that is, not only for me, but for you?!” He slips off his boxers to reveal his semi hard cock.

He pulls you up and puts you on your knees. He’s on his back and your face is inches away from his cock. But before you can wrap your lips around him something stops you. A force you can’t describe, red. He activated his repelling force to punish you.

You’re confused, upset, even angry at him. His usual punishment involves him overstimulating you but apparently not this time. You try to get past the barrier, using all your might to touch his cock. Yet nothing works, he’s the strongest after all.

“What did he call you?” He asks you, releasing red for you until you almost touch him, then activating it again.

“Sweetheart…” you whisper to him.

“And you fucking let him. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I know he can’t have you, fuck, he knows it. But it doesn’t seem like you do,” He says back, piercing blue eyes scanning your face.

You crawl on top of him, the barrier between your pussy and his cock still apparent. You try desperately to grind down on him to no avail. Tears start to form in your eyes but Gojo doesn’t seem to care.

“You want it inside you, sweetheart? Or do you want ‘Romi?” He mocks you.

“YOU! I just wanted your attention, promise! I got so mad you left me by myself. See?! All i want is you,” You whine as Gojo smiles at you.

In a moment the red hue turns blue and you get sucked down onto his perfectly aligned cock. You’re stuck to him like a magnet. His size makes you scream and want to pull away, but you can’t. As soon as you pull away you’re sucked back onto him, you thought torture wasn’t supposed to be addicting.

“Fuck Higuruma, fuck him and all the stupid guys there. You thought i wasn’t paying attention to you? I wanted you so fucking bad I had to stay away or else you’d be on the floor with my cock inside you,” He grunts, hands gripping your waist.

“Toru! It’s too much!” You’re full on sobbing at this point, legs shaking and body sweaty.

“You don’t want him right? It was just to make me mad, right baby?” He asks you desperately, his hair falling perfectly in front of his eyes.

“Yes! I just wanted you to fuck me, I swear,” You squeal.

His hips rut into your sloppy cunt as both of you moan and pant like two bunnies in heat. His fingers expertly tease your clit and he sucks blue and red hickies on every part of your body. He’s holding you as close as possible. His thrusts get sloppy and his moans get slutty.

“Gonna cum inside you baby, gonna fill my pussy up everyone’s gonna fucking know you’re mine,” He says in your ear.

“I’m gonna-“ Before you can even finish your sentence you pulse around his cock cumming so hard you see black.

He follow not long after, spurting hot ropes of cum inside you. He gets as deep as possible to ensure nothing slips out. He releases the technique and you fall on top of his chest, breathing like you just ran a marathon.

“Holy shit baby, that was so good,” He says, smiling.

“Yeah… i wanna take a bath,” you look up at him.

“Okay my love, just promise me one thing. Never make me jealous again.”

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

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lanymme · 3 months ago

Text

God I forgot how good Pokemon Sun and Moon were.

The like. background alolan sovereignty stuff and the frankly startlingly sensitive discussion of child abuse and the way they entertwine? Team Skull being kids failed by the system, and that social ill giving room for the Aether Foundation to sort of push its way in and establish a hold in Alola to "do good"? The fact that the stuff the Aether Foundation is doing is really good work from a certain perspective, but is also disruptive, controlling, and not in alignment with the Alolan way of doing things? Guzma being abused as a kid, and ending up pushed around and manipulated by Lusamine, an abuser herself, who knows how to push his buttons?

The whole subplot of looking for a champion, which probably would've been Kukui or Guzma if their own hero and rival story hadn't been shattered by the stuff that happened to them? Guy whose dad broke golf sticks over him develops a perfectionist obsessed with being strong enough that nobody can beat him again, and constantly proves to himself he's safe by throwing that strength around? The way their relationship starts to repair when those societal problems start to be addressed?

And then Gladion and Lillie. God. The way Gladion is the older child who figured out what was happening first and got out of there, went no contact, and had to do what he could to stay off the street. The way Lillie is just starting to figure out and unpack the things her mother taught her, and beginning to become braver and show more independence? How her fucking mother DRESSED HER UP AS THE NIHILEGO, and then her big moment is to put together her own trainer-like outfit, to start picking her own clothes?? The way Lusamine treats her pokemon with zero humanity but pretties up and preserves them horrifically for show, the way the Aether Foundation is engaging in torturous unethical experimentation, as metaphors for the way she abuses each of her children???

The ways in which Guzma, Gladion, and Lillie all bond with Pokemon that sort of symbolically resonate with the kinds of abuse they received and the way they learned to deal with it--Guzma picking bugs, traditionally the weakest type, and Wimpod who runs from everything--showing the kindness deep down in him, and the way he grew up to be strong. Gladion, whose pokemon was more overtly abused, and evolves through his care into Silvally who can take on any type the way Gladion is forced to learn how to adapt to being by himself, and then to being a member of the community? And Lillie with Nebby, who starts out weak and defenseless, helpless, imprisoned, and escapes despite that and gets by through relying on other people, until she learns to take care of herself--and her buddy evolves into the legendary that defends the Alola Region from alien threats like her mother????

fuck that game was good. it fit so well with the themes and aesthetics of pokemon. I really wish they'd make more like it.

#pokemon #pokemon sun and moon #lillie #gladion #guzma #lusamine #posting

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bi-writes · 3 months ago

Note

Could you do one of Simon forgetting to bring his lunch and so his wife brings it except she turns up in a cute sundress??

mail-order bride (18+)

"simon...simon riley?" you ask.

the officer raises a brow, looking down at your ID and then back at your face. he frowns a little, scratching the back of his neck.

"he's a lieutenant," you add, biting your lip. "uhm...and he works with...with john."

"john?"

you suck in a shaky breath, biting your lip nervously.

"captain john price?"

the officer just glares at you a little before picking up his radio.

"yes, ma'am. wait here."

he turns his back to you, walking a little ways away, and you hear him speak into the radio lowly.

"...got a civilian here asking for lieutenant riley..."

"...negative, sir..."

"...oh. affirmative, sir. right away."

the officer comes back, giving you your ID back. he looks sheepish now all of the sudden, and he smiles at you, which unnerves you almost.

"u-uh, so sorry ma'am. you can park near the main office, right that way," he points to a building far to the left, "i'll have someone come meet you there to take you inside. again, apologies...we're going to put you on a list, mrs. riley."

you frown a little, shrugging. you're not upset. it's a miltiary base, for christ's sake, and you've never been here; of course they would be apprehensive about letting you in. but the private looks terrified out of his mind, so you just smile a little and make your way towards the parking spot he pointed out.

when you get out of the car, you push the door closed with your hip, picking up the bag in the passenger seat. there's a woman standing by the door, smiling and waving at you. she looks very smart, in a nice pantsuit. you smooth your dress down, smiling back at her, and you swing your purse over your shoulder before making your way to her.

"hello, mrs. riley. the lieutenant's wife, i hear?" she asks. you nod and shake her hand.

"y-yes...he...he said he was just doing administrative stuff today, but he forgot some things so...i just wanted to do something nice--"

"right!" she nods her head towards the door. "i can escort you to his office. uhm...i believe he's debriefing with captain price this afternoon, but i'm sure he can make some time." she winks at you when she says that, and you bite back a shy smile.

she takes a seat at her desk, picking up the phone. she yaps for a few minutes, and you take a seat in an empty chair, smoothing your skirt out. your wearing one of simon's favorites, the cherry-printed mini dress he loves so much, but you realize maybe he might not be the only one. there's a myriad of privates and soldiers that walk past you, and you hear some whistles by some of the bolder ones. you suddenly feel very self conscious, tucking your legs underneath yourself. you're wearing white strapped wedges, your hair styled nicely with a bow to match the dress, but now you feel silly, stupid.

why would you go to a military base dressed like a fucking pin-up girl?

"wot are you doin' 'ere?" a rough voice demands.

mmm. that's why.

you look up from your chair, smiling wide when you see him. simon stands with his arms crossed over his tact vest, tilting his head to the side as he glares at you from under his skull mask. you've never seen him strapped before, though. he's got a gun tucked into his thigh holster.

"h-hi," you pick up the basket next to you, standing up, and when you come close, simon is rough, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you near him with a short growl.

"oi," he snaps, but you just flutter your lashes at his harsh voice, smiling bigger. "can't fuckin' come 'ere lookin' so pretty."

you giggle, and even though you're wearing heels, you still find yourself standing on your toes as you try to get close to him.

"you forgot what i packed for you, simon. how could you forget?" you pout a little. he sighs deeply, smoothing his gloved hand down your back before nodding his head.

"c'mon. can't 'ave ya out here. fuckin' muppets starin' at my wife."

he turns and immediately starts walking. he's entirely too fast, and you skip in your wedges practically to try and keep up with him. when he notices, he slows his pace, and you grip the basket better in your hand before reaching for his with the other.

your hands intertwine, and you look around as you walk, reading the plaques on the wall, the shiny medals, waving at johnny when you see him holding a bag of crisps upside over his open mouth.

when simon shuts the door behind you in a dark office, you set the basket down on the desk, pushing back the kitchen towel fabric.

"okay, so i brought those muffins you like from that little shop. they had blueberry this morning, oh my gosh, simon, they also started putting out these little scones that--oh!" you gasp as he grabs you from the fat of your hips, a big flat palm over the base of your spine as he pushes you flat onto your stomach onto the desk. "simon!"

simon sucks on his teeth as he flips up your skirt, letting out a low whistle as he palms your ass, spreading the fat of it so he peek at the seam of the white lace you're wearing. you lay your palms against the desk and whimper, not used to simon being so rough, so upfront, so bold.

"can't just come here all dressed up, baby," simon grunts, shaking his head. "and not expect me to take wot i need...been surrounded by nothing but wankers all fuckin' day..."

you relax a little, giggling.

"simon," you sigh, your eyes closing as you push your hips back into his hands. "i missed you so much..."

"tha' why y'came down 'ere, luvvie?" he asks, smirking under the mask. "ya missed me? missed y'r husband? what'd ya miss, baby? tell me."

you arch your back a little, bowing it, and you laugh when he gives your ass a firm grab before picking you up and spinning you around, caging you against the desk. you smile up at him, dazed, a little dizzy, and he winks at you, eye-black dark and deadly around those killer brown eyes. he's so big, so hot, and you're suddenly very aware of how big simon looks in all his gear.

"i don't know," you say softly. "it's so cold in bed at night..."

simon snorts, "tha' right? 's cold? the lil' shits don't keep ya warm?"

"our girls like to sleep on your pillow, i think they miss you, too."

"fuckin' lil' bastards," simon chuckles, and you sigh, sliding your hands up his vest and tugging him just a little closer. your spread your knees to let him between them, and he reaches down and grips your thighs, hiking them up around his hips as he sits you onto the edge of the desk. "fuck, you're so fucking pretty..."

you tilt your head back for him.

"i miss eating with you. it's so quiet when you're not around."

"mmm. i bet, luv."

"and i miss you when i'm alone," you whisper. "i miss you when it's just me..."

simon narrow his eyes, "tell me, swee'eart."

you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down towards you. you kiss him over the mask, tasting sand and ash, licking over his lips through the cotton. it's lewd, disgusting, but he groans under the fabric.

"when, simon? when?" you ask, and he hums lowly.

"when? 'ow about right now?"

"no way, you're so gross, simon," you giggle. "our first time is not going to be on a desk in some dingy office where you work--"

you seize when he cups you between the thighs, big gloved hand palming your cunt through your lace panties. you arch your back and gasp, gripping his biceps tight as you lean into his touch.

"don't need t'make it our first time," simon tilts his head to the side. "can still make it real fuckin' nice, baby."

"oh, now you wanna touch me?" you suck in a shaky breath. "just because some of your men wanna look up my skirt?"

"oh, for tha', i'll make ya scream my bloody name, for oll of them ta hear," he growls, and you smile wide up at him.

"guess they need to learn i'm a lieutenant's wife," you giggle, and simon whistles low, tugging your panties to the side, and you whimper when you he prods at your entrance with two big gloved fingers.

"ahhhh..." simon hisses. "ya like tha' title, tha' it, baby? yeah...yeah you like tha'..."

"i like it," you whine, and when he meets your watery eyes, he plunges those big fingers deep, thumbing at your clit. your mouth falls open, your nails digging into his sleeves, and you suddenly wish you had asked him to take you to get your nails done so you could really claw it. "i like it..."

"could make these boys lick the fuckin' ground ya walk on," he mutters, and you whine when a particular rough thrust of his hand squelches between your thighs. "they'd do anythin' to please me, baby...even johnny would chew your bloody food for ya if i asked him to--"

you reach down and grip his wrist, your thighs shaking as you jolt. it feels so good, your entire body is on fire. his fingers are petting a nice little spot inside of you, stroking it as he pumps his hand nice and steady inside of you. his thumb is working you in gooey circles, flicking at your clit and putting taut the little string in your lower belly. your whole brain feels like it's fizzling, your blood rushing, and you stick out your tongue, licking over his masked jaw as you start to feel like you're gonna pass out from the wet slick, slick, slick sounding from your wet cunt.

"simon--simon--" you pant, and he groans, nodding his head.

"so pretty, baby," simon breathes. "so fuckin' tight, gonna 'ave to work ya open before i give ya my cock, lovey..."

"it's so big," you mumble, and simon coos, nodding his head.

"i know, baby, i know, 's big, real big...but you can take it, remember?" he laughs. "you can take it woteva i give you..."

you nod.

"i can take it--i can take it--!"

your vision blurs. there's tears coming down your face, sweat lining your forehead, your back, but you can't wipe the giggly, lazy smile off your face. simon cups the back of your head with his free hand, sitting you up, and when he pulls his fingers out from between your legs, his gloves are stuck to his hand practically, completely soaked through.

"y'r so pretty when y'cum," he murmurs, and you stick out your tongue for him. he gets the message, shoving his mask up just enough, and he bends to kiss you warm and wet.

"well then," you meet his eyes, all languid, all relaxed, a devious little grin on your sweet face. "why don't you give me another then?"

simon grins, all teeth.

"woteva ya want."

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut #simon riley smut #order up

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the-dendrophile-bookdragon · 4 months ago

Text

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face. It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryan #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd fic #house of the dragon fic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfic

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