#stretching assistance pls

[liillyliilly]

Alamort - half dead from exhaustion

yaku morisuke x reader words; 1117 synopsis; it's been way too long since Yaku's stretched properly, and who else better to help him than the girl he's been teasing relentlessly for months?

Yaku rolled his shoulders and groaned slightly, it had been way too long since he had stretched out any of his muscles. But how could he when Nekoma hardly had a break from all of the practice matches?

The libero had been through the ringer, bouncing on and off the court more than twice of what was usual for him. While holding his arm over his head and stretching out to touch his opposite shoulder, he caught her staring at him before turning her head quickly.

Yaku licked his lips slightly, his tongue just barely peeking out from his teeth to wet his bottom lip. Even though he is noted as a mature and respectable senpai, that never stopped him from going out of his way to flirt with the second-year manager. How could he not? Whenever he approached her, she always did that timid smile, holding her hands behind her back and shifting her feet, and he loved it. He loved that he made her nervous.

Whenever he teased Y/n or made remarks about her, she always turned to look at him with that deer-in-headlights look. Yaku swore he would one day be the object of her affection, but for the time being, he was satisfied with her being the object of his affections. As she started picking up water bottles and cleaning up the Nekoma bench for the day, Yaku made his move.

Like a cat on the prowl, he approached this mouse. She never squeaked, but she did scurry. He had to measure out his approach for the maximal benefit and yield from his approach.

Just like last year, with the introduction of her to the team in the first place. She and Yaku had shared homeroom, but she was in the more advanced classes for her core subjects. Yaku had sat behind her, in the back far corner. Her desk was also so organized and perfect, his was messy but for him it had a dysfunctional functionality.

Yaku almost lost his mind when she bit her pen. Her pen was a bright yellow, with dark yellow spots around it, just like a block of cheddar cheese but in pen form. That was where the mouse comparison began.

"We need a manager, I'm close to dead." Kuroo rubbed his eyes after he and Yaku had just spent the last thirty minutes tidying up the gym. Kuroo has flitting through the various paperwork. "I don't even know how to sort some of this stuff."

"So we need someone organized?" Yaku stated, beginning to list off the ideal qualities for their manager.

"Obviously."

"We need someone who is a first year, so they'll have to stick around."

Kuroo shrugs, "A first year would be nice, we just need someone."

"Preferably a girl."

"Yes, preferably." Kuroo finished sorting papers, with a miscellaneous pile that was a majority of the documents. "It sounds like you have someone in mind Yaku?"

"Hell yeah I do."

He slipped the application form into her cubby after school the next day. Her filled out application was turned into Coach Nekomata before the end of the day. Yaku never knew exactly why she just accepted the form, why she filled it out, and why she so quickly turned it in. All he knew was that from then on, she was apart of his life a little more deeply.

His approach to her was timed to perfection, she had just begun digging her shoe into the linoleum floor. He pounced.

“Are you busy?” Yaku knew she wasn’t. She tucked her hands into her pockets and shook her head. “Okay, can you help me stretch then?”

Yaku grabbed a hold of her forearm lightly and tugged her over to the cool-down area, where Lev and Kuroo were already sitting on the floor and touching their toes. When Kuroo caught sight of Yaku pulling their manager along, he smirked to himself before pulling Lev away, telling him to help clean up the gym.

“Um, what do I do?” She pulled her hands out of her pockets, wiggling her fingers lightly. Yaku froze for a moment before sitting down.

“You just need to push on my back, so I can stretch it out.” She hummed an affirmative noise. She set her hands in the middle of his back and pushed down lightly. “Put your hands up more, on my shoulders. You can also put more pressure.” Yaku could hear her swallow thickly, gulping lightly as she slid her hands up to rest on his shoulders.

Yaku reached forward past his feet, she leaned her weight on his shoulders. Just to mess with her, Yaku flexed his back and shoulder muscles slightly, causing her to gasp before quickly closing her mouth. Yaku stood up and turned to face his manager again.

“Next stretch, I’m going to lay down on the mat and then you're going to need to hold my thighs down as I do a few sit ups.”

“Hold your thighs down?” She raised her eyebrows lightly. Yaku was sure if her touched her cheek it would be burning hot.

If she wanted to question his unique stretching methodology, she kept it to herself. In fact, none of her athletic study books ever mentioned a stretch quite like this one that Yaku was proposing. But if he was one of the top liberos in all of Tokyo, then of course his stretch had a form of validity to her.

Yaku could tell that she was thinking just deeply enough, but skimming the surface of it. He thanked her trust in him mentally.

“Or you can sit on my thighs? Whichever works for you.” Yaku shrugged, a grin dancing on his lips.

She shook her head and held her hands out, “I can hold them, no need to sit down.”

Yaku leaned in, not holding back the smile on his face. “Even if I asked you to?” She looked like she could faint any moment.

“Well, I mean, if that would be effecti-” She mumbled, her words crumpled like a balled-up piece of paper.

“Then yes.”

Soon, Yaku was laying down, and she was straddled over his thighs. Yaku spoke up, “Hey?”

“Yeah?”

If there was ever a time for Yaku to be bold, it was going to be now. The gym’s final occupiers had finally left, leaving him and his favorite person alone. “Can I kiss you?” He leaned up, holding her waist, he slightly raised his legs, causing her to fall into him. Their bodies pressed up against each other.

She was stunned, her entire body going slightly rigid. Before exhaling the tight breath held in her chest, giving Yaku her answer, “Yes please.”

[harryspet]

well kept [3] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all the feedback so far :)

word count: 4.5k

In which it's your first day working from home with Rafe and you have a new lesson to learn.

well kept masterlist

The Cameron residence was fifteen minutes outside of downtown Charlotte and situated in a large neighborhood where hills and huge oak trees hid all the houses. You didn’t really see his house, only what you could tell was large pond, until the driver was at the end of the mile-long driveway.  When you did, you felt woefully underdressed. Assuming that being inside all day meant you could opt for something casual, you’d chosen a cream knit dress. 

Following Rafe’s instructions, you sent him photos of each outfit you tried on, but he hadn’t told you which ones you could return. It was another blow to your confidence. You began to doubt whether he’d even been serious, but the fear that he might mention it the next day kept you from taking any chances.

Stepping out of the black Escalade, your eyes widened as you took in the architectural masterpiece before you. The house was a striking blend of traditional and modern styles, with a light-colored exterior contrasted by dark shutters framing the windows. A stone chimney rose from the roof, and the three-car garage with wooden doors added a rustic touch.

After your car drove away, a tall and impeccably dressed staff member named Anthony guided you up the stone-paved driveway. From your cheat sheet, you recalled that he was the House Manager. Rafe required a full team: Anthony, two housekeepers, a private chef, a driver, a gardener, and now you—his personal assistant. The inside of the house was as intimidating as the exterior. The expansive foyer featured high ceilings and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. To the left, you caught a glimpse of the formal dining room. Each room you passed was more impressive than the last. Anthony informed you that there were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.

“I don’t usually work on Fridays but Mr. Cameron wanted me to give you a tour of the house and show you the ropes of house management. It’ll be important for you to be able to oversee the staff when I’m absent and understand the scheduling.”

Once again, it was all too much to take in. Today was your fifth day working for Rafe, and you’d barely survived until now. 

“I want to clarify that what happened yesterday stays between us. That includes Eleanor. Okay?”

That was all he said about his outburst. There was no apology for groping you, for pinning you down on his office couch, or for taking your virginity. If you were to tell the story, you’d have to mention how your body had betrayed you—not once, but twice. But you had said no. You didn’t want to use the word that described what happened to you. You didn’t want to think about it at all.

And it didn’t happen again—not over the next three days. He continued to be harsh, forcing you to apologize for every small mistake, even those you weren’t aware of.

As you followed Anthony through the expansive kitchen, you couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and sophistication. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with gleaming marble countertops that seemed to stretch endlessly, state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, and custom cabinetry in a rich, dark wood finish. An oversized island dominated the center of the room.

At the far end of the kitchen, massive glass-paneled doors stood, offering a glimpse of the world beyond. The porch was furnished with elegant wicker seating with plush cushions. The space was perfect for elegant parties, with enough room to accommodate at least a dozen guests.

Beyond the porch was a stunning infinity pool stretched out towards the horizon. As you walked closer, to the right, you took notice of a garden. You spotted the gardener, Tyler, who Anthony had mentioned earlier. In simple clothes, the young man blended easily into the scenery. 

“This is where Mr. Cameron will typically entertain his guests,” Anthony said, 

The beauty of the outdoor space was undeniable, but so was the control that permeated every aspect of it. You wondered what hand Rafe played in how spotless it looked. You could almost picture him, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a harsh intensity, if even the smallest detail were out of place. It was easy to imagine him demanding that every leaf, every petal, every stone be exactly where it belonged. 

Did his staff ever make mistakes? Did he make them beg him forgiveness like he did with you? 

“Shall I show you the study? It’s approaching seven-thirty.”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He was kind but part of you didn’t want him to hear your voice shake or your face contort into an uncomfortable position as you struggled to get your words out. 

There would be enough struggling today, you knew that. 

Surprisingly, Rafe’s home office was more quaint than you expected. Dark wood panneling decorated the walls as well as floor-to-celing bookshelves. As you made your way around the room, you took note of the picture frames containing images of what you believed to be his family. Here, it seemed he had a heart. The four of them stood on a dock, sun shining down, and his arms were wrapped a young girl with dark brown hair. His smile was genuine and there was darkness lingering in the blues of his eyes. 

Other than the bookshelves, the room only contained his desk, a set of leather couches and a coffee table. The smaller room still managed to exude sophistication but it was far less imposing than you expected. 

The room almost felt intimate as sunlight trickled in through light colored curtains. You were standing behind his desk, glancing out his office window which faced towards the nearby pond. Beside it, sat a gazebo, although you couldn’t imagine Rafe enjoying it. You wondered if he lived here alone as you saw no traces of the other three people in his family photo. 

“Boo,” You yelped as you heard Rafe’s deep voice. 

You placed a hand over your beating heart as you looked toward where he stood in the doorway. Having been deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door opened. He knew that much which explained the amused look in his eye.  

Everything flooded back at the sight of him. The air had already left your lungs. You felt his body pressing down on yours, warm breath against your ears, and that pain between your legs. 

The door clicked shut, making you flinch.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

It hit you then, you hadn’t greeted him like you were supposed to.

You were taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain navy t-shirt, a stark contrast to your heels and carefully applied makeup. You weren’t sure why you were expected to dress up, especially when he looked so casual.

“G-Good morning, Sir,” You crossed the room, his eyes locked on yours. You remembered where he liked you, near the door, ready to greet him and present yourself to him. You hated how your voice always betrayed you, how weak it made you sound. Your only saving grace was that you’d already memorized his schedule for the day, having spent the entire commute looking at your laptop. You recited it to him, including the midday Zoom call he had with Kelce and Topper.

Topper, you had learned, was Eleanor’s husband. Rafe hadn’t ever touched her but the way Eleanor always answered your questions with vague responses made you suspect that her relationship with Topper mirrored your own with Rafe. She hadn’t warned you but now you were suspecting that was because Rafe seemed to always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

You froze the moment his hand reached out to touch you. His fingers curled around your side, hovering just above your stomach but dangerously close to your breasts. His grip was surprisingly gentle as his thumb grazed over the fabric of your dress. You stiffened as his other hand mirrored the first, sliding across to the opposite side of your body. “Eleanor picked this,” he murmured, his brows knitting together as his gaze slowly traveled down your figure. A jolt shot through you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a wave of panic coursing through you.

“Y-You don’t like it?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He clicked his tongue, “Turn around for me.”

You did as he said, “Doesn’t do enough for your figure,” Your heart panged in your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your own shape, “Are you wearing the panties I sent you?”

All you could do was nod. Rafe never commanded you to wear the panties everyday to work but you didn’t risk it. Luckily, they were all comfortable despite the lace and cheekiness. 

“Pull up your dress,” He said next. 

You’d spent the last three days in a fog, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to understand why your body betrayed you. When you were younger, you always asked the universe why you couldn’t speak like the way all your friends at school did. Now you asked the universe why Rafe’s voice made you want to clench your thighs together. Why you had felt empty ever since he’d finished inside of you. Why you wanted to try again, to experience that intimacy again without so much fear. Your life was so simple before but now it felt like it was too late to turn back. 

Your thoughts were too jumbled. Rafe cleared his throat and you realized you were just staring back, “I’m not gonna fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Please-”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me ask again.”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m nnn-nn-not comfortable—”

“Just do it.”

You reached down to the edges of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric to your waist. It was nothing he hadn’t already seen and yet you were shaking, “Turn around. Face the other way.” Like a robot, you obeyed. You’d chosen a light pink color today. 

“Good,” You felt him against you. He pulled your hair back over your shoulder and leaned down against your ear, “Maybe I should make you walk around naked while you’re here, hmm?”

You bit down on your lip, wanting to contain the protest that was about to leave your mouth. You wanted to lean into his touch, to embrace the comfort that would accompany the torture. He brushed past you just as you tilted your head back, “Go make me a coffee,” He commanded. 

He made his way behind his desk and you reached down to move your dress, “Did I say to pull your dress down?”

“N-No, Sir,” You moved your hands quickly to your sides.

“I could make you walk around like that, couldn’t I?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

He tilted his head and you realized you needed to answer. You gave him a painful look. You could say no but what would it cost you, “I . . . I don’t know,” He wasn’t satisfied by your answer, clearly. It was torture to force the words out, “Y-Yes.”

“Right answer,” He said, “Pull down your dress, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but see the irony in the fact that despite that you upgraded to a salaried job, you were still making coffee for the rich and spoiled. The opulent kitchen had an even fancier coffee machine than his office. Your movements as you prepared his steaming mug of coffee were precise despite the turmoil in your mind. 

Searching for solutions, your mind landed on the idea of trying to assert your competence. Sure, you could make a great cup of coffee but the whole point of getting a real job was so that you could have real skills to market yourself. You could be perfect at this job, anticipate his every need, and you could more than an object to look at. 

You re-entered his office quietly after realizing he’d begun his first meeting of the day. Carefully, you set his coffee down on the edge of his desk. He was always so intense, so completely absorbed in his work, and that unwavering focus made you even more anxious. Maybe that’s how you should be, more composed, projecting an air of confidence.

Unsure of where you should settle, you made yourself comfortable on one of the leather couches. You checked your email on your laptop, finding several reminders from Eleanor. You found yourself frustrated by how she picked and chose what information to share with you but you balanced those feelings with the fact that she was often your saving grace. 

She gave you a list of tasks including arranging for a delivery of documents that needed to be signed by Rafe, confirming his dinner reservations for the night, and proofreading the notes you took from yesterday’s meetings. You told yourself by the end of the next week, you’d be able to handle things by yourself, and you wouldn’t have to lean on her so much. You’d have a day, eventually, where Rafe didn’t point out anything you did wrong. 

“I was thinking-” Rafe’s voice cut through the silence. You were so focused that you hand’t realized his meeting had ended. He folded his hands over each other, his eyes on you, “From now on, I want you to wear what I pick for you each day.”

“How …y-you’re not happy with what I’ve been choosing?”

“It’s not about not being happy. Now I have more of an idea of what I like on you,” His voice was smooth and authoritative, “You want to reflect my taste, my standards, yeah?”

You mustered the courage to ask your next question, “Can I-I dress a l-little less … formally when I work at home with you?”

“Less formally?” He tasted the words on his tongue, “You mean, like more casual?”

“Yes, Sss-sir. Like more comfortable.”

“We could experiment with that,” His tone was deceptively light, “On my terms though. Yeah?”

You nodded and were grateful that he hadn’t reacted lightly. He seemed to enjoy that you were asking him for permission.

“You’ll have to wear something different tonight though, for dinner. Eleanor is coming by towards the end of the day to bring you your outfit and take you to get your nails done.” 

“Oh,” Your eyes opened wide, “I-I thh-thhought it was more of a personal-”

“I won’t keep you out forever,” He said, “You got plans or something?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, Sir.”

Rafe worked through lunchtime, so you brought him the meal prepared by his chef, Stevie—an elegant older woman with blonde hair. She had made a pesto pasta salad that looked like it belonged in a gourmet magazine, despite your protests and insistence on eating your own packed lunch. Only after delivering the meal did Rafe grant you permission to take your break elsewhere.

You settled on the outdoor patio by the pool, enjoying the peacefulness of the space despite the distant, steady hum of a lawnmower. For a moment, you didn’t feel out of place. Your dress, though apparently unflattering to your figure, was worth a small fortune, and the gourmet lunch you were now enjoying was a far cry from the PB&J you’d packed.

Thirty minutes later, after finishing your lunch and enjoying a lengthy chat with Stevie, you reluctantly headed back upstairs. Hearing Rafe still on the phone, you decided to explore a bit more. His office was situated in the private wing of his house, and as you meandered through opulent corridors, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance into the master bedroom. It was cozier than you had anticipated, with tall gray walls that gave it a masculine feel and a plush bed draped in navy linen blanket that created a snug, cocoon-like atmosphere.

Rafe ended his call a minute later and the afternoon wore on. You settled into a rhythm, completing the various tasks that you’d added to your own to do lists and ones he’d assigned to you. You spent some time organizing files in his office. His gaze burned into you, even more when you were turned around, and surprisingly, you were starting to get used to that unnerving feeling. 

He waited for you to make a mistake but you used a hundred-percent of your effort to make sure that didn’t happen. 

The clock inched towards the evening, and the day grew even more quieter, more intimate. “I was looking over your notes from yesterday’s meeting with the board members. I highlighted some sections for you to read back to me,” He waved you over, his voice gruff after a long day of talking. You joined him behind his desk and you moved to lean over and get closer look, but he placed a hand on your hip. The gesture was firm, possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. With effortless strength, like a wolf guiding its prey, he maneuvered you onto his lap, settling you on his thigh. You felt the power in his grip, the unspoken control, and all you could do was comply.

“Rafe–” You started, an desperate attempt at a protest. 

“Start with the first section,” He commanded, his grip tightening. 

“I’ve been working on proofreading them–”

“Sweetheart,” He warned, not needing to add that you were making him angry. You could feel it, the heat coming off of him. 

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to read each sentence. Even if you didn’t have a sentence with a small typo, you still stammered over several of your words. He slid the chair closer to the desk and you yelped. 

“See right here,” He pointed to the screen but that only pressed him into you. You breathed slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, “This whole section needs more detail. I don’t want to have to ask more information.”

You were taken aback when Rafe actually began to instruct you on what you were meant to do. He spent at least ten minutes walking you through each sentence, explaining how to word your report, and deleted all the unnecessary details you added. He was surprisingly patient. 

“Now, your turn,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair. For a moment, you thought he was letting you up, but the pressure of his hand on your waist told you otherwise. “Fix it.”

You swallowed, hesitating as your fingers hovered over the keys. Ever keystroke was amplified in the quiet room. Doing your best to actually use your brain, you carefully made the changes he suggested. He watched you closely, his hands first placed on your hips but soon one wandered between your thighs. 

“Good,” He said. You could do it again, you thought, and not be so scared. His touch was teasing, a reminder of what he could do to you, all the pressure that built inside of you a spilled over. You could impress him, you could be beautiful, and not turn into a crying mess when he was inside of you. You could be more than a fragile thing to be broken.

Each word was a small victory. It was a battle you thought you could win until his fingers slipped inside your panties and his other hand grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. It was unbearable, and as he made small circles, you found your fingers slipping clumsily over the keys. 

You pressed your palms into his desk, your body tilting forward. A frustrated sigh left your lips, you couldn’t contain it, and Rafe’s chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Do you ever touch yourself like this? Be honest with me this time.”

“Y-Yes,” You whispered. 

“How do you do it?” He pulled you away from the desk, pulling your torso against his, “You use a toy?”

“J-Just my fff-fingers,” You admitted. 

“Like this? How do you like it?” Carefully, he switched between different approaches. He rubbed circles over your clit, smaller ones and then slower, bigger ones. Then he stroked you up and down, fingers slipping easily into your warm hole as he wandered lower, “You put those little fingers inside of you?”

“Rafe, please.”

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Or I’ll stop.”

"I-I don't usually put them inside… ," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I always use my pillow…”

He hummed against your ear. "See how much better this is when you cooperate? You can be such a good little assistant when you try."

You nodded, unable to speak, and let the feeling consume you. He brought you right to the edge, you were seconds away coming undone, but his movements slowed. Before you could register the feeling as disappointment, Rafe was hoisting you off of his lap. 

Moving with sudden determination, your feet were suddenly off the ground and Rafe was carrying you out of the room in his strong arms, “Rafe!” You clutched his shoulders as he carried you down the hall.

You turned your head as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, the heavy thud of the door slamming shut reverberating through the room. With a swift motion, he laid you gently on the bed. The softness beneath you was just as you had imagined, but the thought barely registered. You shot him an incredulous look, your face flushed with a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He leaned over you, grabbing a pillow from behind you and placing it in front of you, “Show me.”

You shook your head instantly and moved to crawl away. Somehow, you could let all of his other sleazy behavior slide by but this was an insane boundary for him to try to cross. He’d already been inside you and yet this was a thousand times more intimate. 

He grabbed ahold of your thigh, “You’re so close, sweetheart. I know you want it,” He challenged you, “Probably feels like you need it.”

“Please,” You tried, your voice threatening to crack. His hands found your hips again, slowly positionin you over the pillow. The soft fabric brushed against your most sensitive spot, the familiar sensation making you bite down on your bottom lip, “Rafe.”

“You saying my name like that just makes me want it more,” Balancing on his knees, he grabbed ahold of your face and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the intensity of his desire, how much he wanted this, and it left you dizzy. 

When he pulled back, he looked over you. Your hips started moving in a familiar motion despite your embarrassment. You trembled from the vulnerability, the pounding in your chest, but you chased that high he gave you. It ignited your fire again, and since you didn’t have the full force of his touch anymore, you focused your eyes on him, “Good girl,” He said again and you whimpered, “Look at me just like that.”

You rolled your hips harder, faster, imagining his kiss, his touch, as the tension coiled tighter inside you. His gaze never left yours, his words a constant stream of encouragement and control.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” 

His words all jumbled together. 

“Just let it happen.”

“I want to see your face when you cum, sweetheart.”

“You look so desperate.”

“So needy.”

“You’re gonna make yourself cum, huh?”

“Just because I told you too.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Look at you.” 

The words pushed you over the edge, finally, and you were able to let go. He watched as you rode out that wave of pleasure and his hands found your body again, his grip grounding you. “Fuck,” You heard him say but you couldn’t respond. 

You were too overwhelmed to respond, your mind unable to fully process what had just happened. All you knew was that you felt good, embarrassed, and strangely satisfied that you'd pleased him, all at once. 

When you manage to look at him again, the doorbell rang. 

Eleanor navigated through the upscale nail salon, a palace of white and silvers, with ease, like she was a regular, and this was just an extension of her universe. You imagined this place as an escape for her, from both Rafe and Topper. She secured side-by-side seats near the back of the salon and you followed her lead as she set down her purse and removed her sandals. Her movements were fluid and assured. 

“Have you thought about what color you want?”

“Oh, um, n-no,” You tried to make yourself comfortable in the pedicure chair, “What d-do you think Rafe would like?”

“Maybe something pastel. You can’t go wrong with a soft pink.”

“Is that what you’re getting?” You asked, unassured, as you glanced around the luxurious setting. It wasns’t like other nail salons you’d been to where the technicians and customers talked at whatever volume they liked. It was quiet and each technician wore matching black uniforms. 

“I’ll tell them you want ballet slipper on your nails and white on your toes.”

You nodded, grateful for her guidance, “Thank you.”

As your pedicures began, the warm lavender-scented water soaking your feet, two technicians took their places by your sides, working silently as they filed your nails. 

“How are you holding up?” Eleanor asked.

“Fff-fine,” You said, “I’m trying to . . . t-to understand him, I guess.”

“You’ll go crazy doing that,” She laughed lightly, flashing a look that said “poor you”. 

“How d-did you meet Topper?” Her face tightened at your question, “I mean, y-you didn’t say.”

“I’m from the same town as them, Rafe and Topper. Not really the same town, my parents didn’t have money growing up. But I worked at the country club they all went to. That’s how I met Topper.”

“And you started dating?”

“Something like that,” She made a small shrug, “I owe everything I have to them.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of her words despite the lack of detail. Another piece to the puzzle you were trying to put together. Maybe the two of them had an attraction to girls struggling to get by.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She asked and it made you pause.

Your instinct was to mirror her shrug, but you hesitated, wondering if you could trust her with your thoughts. If anyone could understand what you were going through, it had to be Eleanor.  “I-I just ffff-ffeel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only heard good things.”

“A-About me?” She nodded and your lips parted in shock. 

“Yes. I know you feel uncertain right now, but I think you'll be glad if you can stick it out. Topper… he’s a bastard, but he takes care of me. Rafe likes you too. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, but…” She paused, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s filthy rich. That would be enough for me.”

In that moment, her brutal honesty felt almost like reassurance. You weren’t sure if Eleanor truly grasped the extent of Rafe’s inability to show affection, that his pleasure came from humiliating you, from making you cry. Just as you couldn’t fully know what she endured with Topper. Her words weren't necessarily comforting but at least they felt real.

Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :)

[suashii]

— 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ sfw ﾉ some vaguely suggestive bits ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ flirty teasing ﾉ pet names ( darlin', princess, honey, sweetheart. . . i went crazy @.@ )

my comeback to writing for hsr! first time writing for boothill so pls don't be too tough on me :3 hope u like ! !

masterlist ౨ৎ next part

the new farmhand at your grandfather’s ranch is trouble.

he shouldn’t be, not with the way your grandpa speaks so highly of him—he’s exactly the kind of help this place needed, he tells you. starts on time, is thorough in his work, and takes good care of all that your grandfather holds dear. you should love him simply for that—taking a weight off the old man’s shoulders and putting his heart at ease—but you’ve seen an entirely different side of the so-called saint.

ever since you arrived at the ranch a few days ago, the one called boothill has been a pain in your neck. it took nothing more than you stepping out of your car for him to label you that city girl, the “little lady” who looks like she’s never stepped foot in mud a day in her life.

from that moment onward, it’s been nothing but sly remarks at your expense. you don’t miss the chuckles he makes no effort to hide as you refamiliarize yourself with the animals and get used to the scent of hay and manure. his not-so-subtle smirks when you’re simply passing by have been the most irking. your mere presence is seemingly a joke to boothill.

you’ve made it your mission to steer clear of the man but the task is proving to be difficult. the fact that he’s now living in what you used to know as one of the guest bedrooms coupled with your grandpa’s oblivious albeit innocent nature seems to be enough to throw a wrench in that plan of yours. 

your trip here was meant to be a relaxing getaway from the hustle and bustle of city life but you’ve only taken on a new role as boothill’s personal assistant if the tray with two glasses of lemonade is any indication. if it were up to you, you’d be enjoying a peaceful breakfast without worrying about the man bothering you but it’s just your luck that your grandfather caught you before you could make the meal, politely asking you to deliver a cold beverage to boothill who has been working since the sun rose over the horizon.

luckily for the farmhand, you can’t say no to your grandpa.

that’s how you find yourself wandering the grounds in your satin pajama set and the boots your grandpa prepared for your arrival. your legs move in muscle memory as you navigate the vast stretch of land in search of boothill. thankfully, you don’t have to go much farther, catching sight of the man at the entrance of the barn.

he’s gone for a simple look today—a white t-shirt and jeans paired with the dirtied boots you haven’t gone a day without seeing him in. his shirt is already stained and is darker around the neckline, dampened with sweat. he’s made an effort to tie back his black and white strands of hair, though, a few of the shorter ones have escaped and frame his face. the hat you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him in, strangely, isn’t sitting atop his head.

he must see you approaching out of the corner of his eye because he turns to face you, an immediate grin taking over his lips. it makes you grip the tray tighter.

he looks you up and down as he pulls off his gloves, stuffing both in his back pocket. when gray eyes settle on yours, he tells you, “nice get up.”

you roll your eyes because you saw a comment like that coming. everything you do down to the way you dress is scrutinized when it comes to him. even though you’ve only been here a short while, you’ve come to expect this kind of behavior from boothill.

he huffs out a laugh at your reaction before his gaze falls to the tray in your hands and the glasses that sit on it. “that for me, darlin’?”

against your will, your heart jumps in your chest. that, you haven’t grown accustomed to. you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to him throwing around pet names at you like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to him. it’s easier to blame the heat blooming in your cheeks on the sun’s beaming rays rather than boothill’s sweet talking.

you hold the tray out to him, hoping the effect of his words isn’t visible on your face. “courtesy of grandpa.” you can’t have him thinking this gesture was born from the kindness of your heart. his teasing would be merciless then.

“of course,” he drawls, grabbing one of the glasses and swallowing a few gulps. the shine of the lemonade is left on his lips when they pull away from the brim, his tongue poking out from between them to lick up the lingering drops. your eyes remain on his lips longer than they should, long enough to see them curl up into that annoyingly handsome smile. “little miss city girl wouldn’t be caught dead out here on her own accord.”

he can only stay charming for so long. “did you miss the whole part when my grandpa told you i grew up here?”

“no, no, i caught that.” he takes another sip of his drink. “it’s just that you strike me as the type who spent more time riding the horses than cleaning up after ‘em.”

you keep quiet and nurse your glass of lemonade because the only other option besides lying is telling him that he’s right. in your defense, what ten-year-old wants to spend their summer hauling hay and shoveling up horse crap?

“look,” you start, “i’m not some delicate glass figure who can’t get her hands dirty. i’m perfectly capable of helping out.”

boothill raises his eyebrows, a glint of humor sparkling in his steel irises. you know the look of a challenge when you see it and it almost makes you regret trying to defend yourself. “oh yeah? then the princess wouldn’t mind lending me a hand?”

“i wouldn’t,” you tell him. contrary to your statement, you really don’t want to spend more time with him than necessary, even if that means proving a point and settling some stupid argument. your mind races to find a believable excuse that’ll let you off the hook. “but i’m barely dressed to do any work. another time, maybe.”

he waves his hand in dismissal. “don’t worry, darlin’. what i’ve got in mind ain’t much work and won’t steal too much of your time.”

you nervously chew your cheek as boothill takes the tray that’s tucked under your arm, setting the now empty glasses on it and finding a place for them to rest. he nods his head in the direction he wants you to follow and, reluctantly, you do just that. he casts a glance over his shoulder to look at you. “just help me get this hay inside the barn, will ya?”

the job seems easy enough, a surprisingly straightforward request from boothill who seems to derive pleasure from giving you a hard time. too easy, you think to yourself as he heaves one of the rectangular bales of hay from the top of the stack. the task looks effortless when he does it, a short grunt being the only suggestion of exertion on his end.

he disappears into the red building and you take his temporary departure as an opportunity to pick up a bale of your own. you grab a hold of the twine keeping the hay in its shape and immediately grimace at the way the fodder pokes and prods at your palms. you’re tempted to let go and step away but you have a point to prove and plan on doing so. with a groan, you lift the bale, or at least try to. it’s heavier than you expect it to be and the scratching against your exposed legs is uncomfortable, sure to get worse with the distance you’re meant to walk.

you’re about to drop the bale back in place when a pair of arms reach around you, calloused hands joining yours to carry the collection of hay. boothill’s unexpected presence catches you off guard and the proximity of his mouth to your ear makes your breath catch in your throat. “having a bit of trouble, love?”

love? your skin prickles with goosebumps at yet another pet name. this time, it’s more difficult to blame the heat running beneath your skin on the sun. it takes a moment for you to find your voice and when you do, the ones you manage to get out refute his claim. “i’m not. i told you i wasn’t dressed for this.”

he snorts at your reply as though he can see right through the flimsy excuse. “right, well, you’re in my way, so why don’t i help you with this one?”

before you can protest, boothill is on his way, dragging you along with him. your steps match his, his bigger boots trailing behind yours as the two of you walk the path to the growing supply he likely started before you interrupted. you’re released from your place between the bale and boothill when he drops it on top of the other.

you’re free to make a move, to slip away from the charged air and reclaim your personal space. instead of doing so, you simply turn around to face him. you’re met with his broad chest before you tip your head up to meet his eye. “i could have done that on my own.”

“i’m sure you could have,” he says, but the smile pulling at his lips tells another story. he reaches behind him with one hand to pull the gloves from his pockets, waving them between you as an offer. “these might help.”

you happily take the gloves as he takes his leave, slipping your hands into the protective gear. they’re larger than you need and there’s extra space in them but you don’t mind, not if they’ll help you show boothill that you refuse to be reduced to some city girl.

and they do help, at least with shielding your hands from the unpleasant sensation of hay against them. the bales are just as heavy and just as awkward to haul but you’re able to get the job done, nonetheless. for every one you carry, boothill lugs two more past you. his familiarity with the job means the two of you are finished one within a reasonable amount of time. 

you drop the final bale with the rest, a relieved sigh pushing past your lips at a job well done. boothill stands off to the side and whistles as you snatch the gloves off, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “well, would you look at that.”

“surprised?” you ask, tossing his gloves back at him.

“honey, anyone can hoist some hay.” he catches the gloves with ease, stuffing them back in his pocket. you’re almost offended at how easily he dismisses your efforts but you don’t have time to let the annoyance sprout before he’s approaching you, tipping your chin up so that you have no choice but to look at him. “though, i doubt they’d look as pretty as you doing it.”

you can’t tell whether he’s trying to get a rise out of you or if he truly stands by his statement. all you know for sure is that his sugary words and the feel of his skin against your face leave you unmistakably flustered, so much so that you can’t control the erratic beat of your heart and can’t stop the little nagging voice in the back of your head from whispering that you don’t dislike him as much as you let on.

boothill is trouble, but not in the way you thought he would be.

“i have to go.” you knock his hand away and turn on your heel in a rush to get back to the house, far away from boothill.

you can escape the sight of him, the feel of him, but not the sound of him as he yells after you. “see you around, sweetheart!”

thanks for reading! consider reblogging if u enjoyed :3

[cherryredstars]

so I seen you 1k prompt ! And my eye gyat (😭 I need help ) something’s And I see you have a boss reader and I was just thinking . What about a boss FM reader who’s is dominant like 😏 think about it! and Miguel is like a civilian that is married to reader because of his love not because Of this look, his built body, no it how he laugh his, his eyes, the way he caring, and his ass personality 🤭..

so what about a sub/dom Miguel , like your game , and your assistant fic 😌☝️ can you mix these two pls !!

1k Prompts and Company Matters Extra

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Handjobs, Blowjobs, Unintended Edging/Orgasm Denial, Bondage, Praise

Summary: Appreciate your employees! 

A/N: Subby Migs!!! Welcome back, dear!!!

Word Count: 1.7K (Unedited)

Part 1. Part 1.5, Part 2

You needed a break. 

The paper work wasn’t helping your budding headache, and you were in desperate need of some coffee. As if he knew of your distress, Miguel knocks on your door. He slips in, a coffee cup in his hand. It makes your shoulders relax in relief, watching him as he smiles at you and places the coffee on your desk. 

“My savior,” You mutter while taking the coffee and sipping it. Just how you like it. 

He shrugs, looking at the ground as he chuckles with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “It’s nothing. Just thought you’d need a little pick me up.”

You hum around the edge of your cup, eyes scanning Miguel. He’s wearing a grey button up that stretches over his wide torso, a loose charcoal black tie to match his slacks. You cross your legs as you pull the cup away, licking at your bottom lip. With your keen eyes, you can see how Miguel’s eyes track the movement, eyes slightly darkening before he blinks it away. He stutters a bit as he goes to excuse himself, turning around and giving you a perfect view of his ass. The way he looks right now has to be considered extremely unprofessional.

“Miguel,” You call out, standing up from your desk. Miguel turns around quickly, looking eager to meet your demands. “Come take a seat.”

You have no chairs in your office besides your own. Made it that way to make snobby businessmen uncomfortable when they come to your office to pester you. You can see Miguel’s obvious confusion on where he’s supposed to sit. His lips part in realization when you pull your large leather chair back slightly, and he walks over silently. He walks past you, watching you the whole time as he moves to sit. His eyes don’t leave you even as your hand pushes at the center of his chest, making him fall into the chair.

“How about you? Where will you sit?” He whispers out, nervous at being so close to you. He can still feel your hand at his chest. 

You smile down at him, an almost predatory one. How sweet, still wanting to take care of you. “Right here.”

Miguel’s breath catches in his throat when you throw your leg over his thighs, caging him in. You’re hovering over his lap, and you’re thankful that you decided to wear your flared slacks instead of your pencil skirt. Your arm is thrown lazily over Miguel’s shoulder, your other hand toying with his loose tie. 

Miguel swallows loudly as he stares at you, “What are you doing?”

“Y’know, I appreciate you so much, Miguel.” You ignore, eyes watching the way his tie unravels with a light tug. “You’re so sweet to me. Such a good boy for me.”

Miguel lets out a shuddering breath, squirming under you as he grips the chair’s arms tightly. His knuckles are blinding white. “I-it’s my job.”

You let out an airy giggle that makes his brain fuzzy. His eyes are lidded and hazy as he watches your finger trail down his chest, slowly starting to undo a few buttons. Your hands burn against his exposed chest, and you can feel his rapid heart beat against your fingers. You smirk, leaning in and mouthing at his jawline. It makes Miguel gasp out, hands twitching to grab onto you. Your hands continue to rub at his chest as your mouth comes to his ear. 

You give the lobe a small nip, breath hot against the shell of it, “Let me show you how much I appreciate you.”

You can feel Miguel’s thighs twitch under you, pushing away from him. He almost whines as you get up, but it dies when you slowly part his legs and sink to the ground. You try to not laugh when he whimpers out an ‘oh shit’ as he watches you. Your hands rub at his clothed thighs, moving up until they’re at his belt. They slowly start to undo it, pulling the black leather out of his belt loops as you look up at him. 

“Would you like that?” You ask, basically cooing at him. He nods quickly muttering out a breathy ‘yes’. Good boy. 

You reward him by undoing his zipper, pride coursing through your veins when he instantly lifts his hips so you can pull them down. As you slip  them down to his thighs, your eyes zero in on the large bulge in his briefs. He whines when he finds you staring at it so intensely, his cheeks burning. Your hand ghosts over it, and he can feel your nails scraping against him gently. He curses softly when he bucks his hips into your hand, breathing in deeply. 

Your hand slips into his underwear, and he groans when your warm hand wraps around him. You pull him out gently, pumping him in an agonizingly slow pace. He cries out when your thumb brushes over his slit and you snap your face up to him. You coo at him, letting him go and standing up again. He whimpers at you as you let go of him, an apology is at the tip of his tongue. However, he quiets when you take the tie from around his neck. 

“Be a good boy and open your mouth for me.” You say sweetly, and he blinks up at you as he slowly relaxes his jaw. 

You hum, rewarding him with a slow caress to his cheek. He melts into the touch, but his eyes instantly widen as you shove the tie in between his parted lips and start tying it around his head. He speaks around it, his talk muffled. 

You bring a finger to your lips, shushing him gently. “Gotta be quiet, baby. Never know when someone might come up here.”

He nods in understanding, watching as you pry his hands away from the arm rests. You grab his belt, starting to tie his wrists together. “And this… is just for fun.”

Once the belt is secured, you sink back down to your knees again. He slumps in the chair, manspreading so you can sit comfortably between his legs. Your hand slowly begins to pump him again, and you can hear him sigh against his tie. You give him slow pumps, occasionally massaging under his mushroom head. It makes him whine and buck, eyes fluttering from the pleasure as he watches you play with him. You continue to praise him as you work him, muttering about how pretty he looks. 

Once you begin to tire of playing with him, you suck his tip into your mouth. It makes him moan out, tugging at his restraints. His hands itch to tangle in your hair as you bob your head around him. You take more and more of him into your mouth, pausing when he hits the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks and try to take more of him in, and he moans loudly while bucking his hips. It makes you gag around him, and you push on his abdomen warningly. He whines apologies through the tie. They die down as his head rolls back, a dragged groan filling the room as you shake your head slightly. His eyes roll to the back of his head, nails leaving crescents into his palms as you move your head up and down with vigor. 

You can feel him twitch in your mouth, and you smirk from around him. Miguel’s whole body tenses in preparation of the orgasm that’s about to wash over him, babbling nonsense around his gag. You move faster, closing your eyes and letting him hit the back of your throat repeatedly. Miguel’s hand clenches and unclenches, hips lifting off of the chair as h-

Knock, knock.

Both you and Miguel freeze. The knocking continues once again, and the both of you look at each other. Miguel has a wide eyed and pleading look in his eyes. Is he begging you to stop or continue? You slowly pull off of Miguel as the person on the other side of the door calls your name, your thumb wiping away the spit from the side of your mouth. Miguel lets out a muffled whine, a pained look in his eyes as his poor cock aches with his built up release. You quickly throw your hand over his mouth to muffle him further, glaring at him as you hold a finger to your mouth. 

Both of you stay silent, until the person on the other side curses, mumbling something about forgetting a file at their desk. The sound of footsteps retreating meet your ears, and the two of you relax as it becomes quiet again. Miguel’s chest is heaving, brows furrowed. He whines again when you pull your hand away from his mouth. His orgasm has completely died down, and he bucks his hips up in hopes to lure you back in. 

Hope jumps in his chest when your hands reach down, but it quickly dies as you begin to undo his belt. His eyes are desperate as he mumbles ‘please’ around the tie and shakes his head. You coo at him, massaging his wrists before tucking him back into his pants and underwear before zipping him up. You button up his shirt again, removing the tie around his mouth last. 

“I know, I know. But break time is over. You gotta get back to your desk before that person comes back.” You shush as he begins to beg you to finish what you started. You caress his cheek lovingly, taking the wet tie and stuffing it into his pant pocket. He whines again, but nods his head in understanding as you ease him up from the chair. You give his cheek a small peck, before he’s rounding your desk and walking towards the door. 

You sit back in your chair, sighing as you pick up a pen and grab a piece of paper. Miguel readjusts his clothing as he opens the door, making sure he looks appropriate. 

“Miguel.” 

He turns quickly, gulping and half-hoping you call him back. But instead, you’re leaning against your desk with your coffee cup in your hand. “Be a doll and warm up my coffee.”

Miguel takes a deep breath, his grip on the doorknob tightening. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

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[k0yaz]

if you still write for danganronpa could i req a kokichi x afab (preferably gn) reader smut oneshot? pls n thx!!

molded

Pairings: kokichi x gn!reader

CW: nsfw, gender neutral pronouns, afab reader, breeding, no dom/sub dynamics, sort of vanilla sex but kinda rough??? kokichi being out of it? that pussy was too good

A/N: sorry I’ve been inactive for a few days I needed some time to collect myself lol also this one’s short bc I got not so creative feel free to request again if you want more detail or longer?

Heavy breathing and strained gasps echoed off the walls of the surrounding room. New sounds were wrenched out of your throat every time you felt Kokichi bottom out inside you, dragging himself in quick, yet rhythmic motions. Every thrust inside you sent euphoric waves throughout your body, your mind blanking from every time his tip hit that one sensitive spot inside you.

Kokichi knew damn well that as much as he wanted to hear your gorgeous moans, he couldn’t hold back his own voice no matter how much he wanted to. Between each fervent thrust of his hips colliding against yours, his lower lip dragged between his teeth, muffling his own grunts as his hard cock pushed into you. The sensations enveloping your bodies was too much. It drove you over the edge upon feeling Kokichi press several sloppy kisses against your flushed skin between his movements, it was honestly an adorable attempt to show his love for you.

A guttural moan escaped your throat upon feeling him push himself to the hilt into your cunt, as if he was trying to reach inside you as far as possible. The way he buried himself into you was slow, yet calculated. Stretching you out from the girth of his dick and practically molding your pussy to slip around his cock perfectly. You heaved several shallow breaths upon feeling the delicious intrusion within you, clawing into his back and raking your nails down.

“K-Kokichi…” you drawled out weakly, biting back another moan as you clenched around him. Kokichi however couldn’t even respond, nor could he tease like he usually does. He was so lost in the sensations, drool piled up near the corners of his mouth and sweat beading down his whole body. At this point, the two of you were just giving in to any raw desire you had and going along with it.

Despite being so small in terms of height, down there he certainly wasn’t based on how you were practically screaming for him. Your thighs trembled in his grasp as the muscles tightened upon feeling his steady movements in and out of you once again.

The way Kokichi’s cock was lodged inside you, mixed with the rhythmic motions of each rugged thrust only assisted by your slick submerging his cock for smoother movements, drove him insane.

“(Name)- please I can’t-“ Kokichi gasped out, his head thrown back as he was evidently biting back a string of obscene noises.

He hissed under his breath, his thrusts becoming more sloppy and quick. Skin clashed against skin as you felt his hips roughly collide with yours, with lewd squelching noises filling the air shamelessly. Kokichi shamelessly pounded into you, his own moans now slipping out of him with tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. Euphoric sensations washed over your whole body, your eyes rolling back every time you felt the veins of his cock ridge along your walls, driving you mad.

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, your eyes losing themselves in his violet gaze like you always did. You loved him so much. “M’gonna cum…can we? At the same time?”

Kokichi could only nod between his labored breathing and fervent thrusts, immediately pushing himself forward into you and filling you up completely. His head fell back, fingers digging into your supple skin and heaving out a low moan as ropes of his cum poured into you, your own orgasm washing over you not too long after.

Your chests heaved as you came down from your high, bodies stuck together as if you were both molded for each other. You pressed a kiss to the top of his nose, smiling at his flushed face and dazed expression.

“Wanna go for another?”

A/N: delaying anything in my box because I got a personal request!! Hope u don’t mind short fic

[ssahotchnerr]

thinking about celebrating jacks bday with aaron🥺

like maybe it’s just a chill year and you guys just go out for dinner and do cake later in the day

or bday party with all his friends and it’s star wars themed

awww yes 🥹 tw food, the haley part makes me want to sob btw

jack's birthday happens to fall on a weekday, so he has school, both you and aaron have work.

so when you wake him up!!! hehe you shower him with sooo much love and make sure his morning is off to the bestest start. both you and aaron tease him a bit too 🤭 - asking why and how is he growing up so fast and to please stop so he can be your little jack forever (and jack pinky promises he always will be 😭😭😭)

instead of the usual oatmeal or cereal for breakfast, aaron got jack's favorite doughnuts 🥹 and hehe you even put a birthday candle on one so you can sing happy birthday to him before he's off to school. and if there's time, jack gets to open one present to tie him over for the day 🥰

you also pack jack's lunch with some fun surprises too <33 maybe instead of a sandwich, he gets a lunchable which is a somewhat rare occurrence and he is THRILLED to find it at lunchtime. also!! you baked brownies for jack's class so they can all celebrate him, but you put an extra brownie in his lunch to spoil him just a lil more

and after school <333 you lounge around with jack until aaron gets home 🥹 since it was his birthday, he has a no homework pass from his teacher 🫶🏻 so you hear all about his fun day, watch his favorite movie, play with the gift he got that morning (legos), and hehe jack is sooooo impatient for aaron to get home to begin all the birthday festivities; he just keeps asking you "whennn is dad gonna get home🥺"

and when he (finally) does 🥰🥰🥰 jack opens the rest of his presents, the three of you go to his favorite restaurant (or order it to go to enjoy in the comfort of home, whatever jack's feeling), and finish the day off with birthday cake of course <333 and if jessica is available!!! she joins as well 🫶🏻

and 🥺 at bedtime, the three of you snuggle up closely in jack's bed, and aaron get's jack's 'haley candle' for him to talk to her - this is a must on his birthday. jack tells her about his day, his favorite things he's done the past year, and anything he wants to do the next 🥺 (and while jack doesn't express any sadness per se - he's just talking to haley so easily and naturally - you peek over at aaron and see him very quickly swipe away a tear☹️☹️☹️☹️ you stretch your arm out behind jack to give aaron's shoulder a comforting squeeze 🥺) (wait i wanna write a blurb about this) once the candle is extinguished, jack get's his goodnight forehead kisses, and both you and aaron tell him how much you love him, and how much he is loved, and wish him happy birthday just one more time 🥹

and over the weekend!!! jack's two birthday parties 🥳 one with all his friends, at some bounce-house place or something of the sorts. (pls aaron just in complete dad mode😭 wearing a tshirt and dad jeans, standing there with arms crossed 🤨 as he supervises the kids and assists you as needed <3333) AND one with the bau family of course 🥰🥰🥰

[aseaofyoongi]

behind pixels 1 | jjk

jjk x reader (f)

genre: sex worker au (jk)

rating: mature audiences only (strictly 18+)

summary: with rising stress, being caught touching yourself and no satisfaction for your own imagination you decide to take your friends advice of using a certain little app for assistance.

warnings: not another college smut au . . you guessed it lol; foul language; sensual/dirty talk; masturbation; computer sex; strangers to sex worker jk helping you out for the night lol (pls stay safe of the world wide web yall); mentions of sexual intercourse - but ofc there is none; cum eating. . she licks her fingers after.. yeah; open ending and no preparation for a pt. 2 so dont hate me.

next part: behins pixels the sequel

word count: 3,3 thousand words

posted: april 8th, 2023

-

-

-

BunnyBoy98 is typing…..

Is this your first time

here?

Sorta.

You can’t sorta be

here for the first time.

It's a yes or no question.

I thought this site was

no questions asked. No

strings attached?

You against conversation

or something? Desperate

to get right to it?

Not desperate. . but that is

what we’re here for.

Right bunny boy?

Right.

There was a second of silence in between messages. For a brief moment you interpreted his quietness as a goodbye but he was still online. . Perhaps, he thought you to be too straightforward and that turned him off entirely and he moved on to the next user.

Still, there was a faint hope within you that he would reply so you sat in the dead stillness of your room, lights turned off to avoid recognition, door locked with only your undergarments to hug your body.

Typically, this wouldn’t be the event to make-up your Friday night however stressed induced days. . and the simple fact that you were in a torment of arousal twenty-four seven with no further satisfaction stemming from the guidance your imagination had on your fingers.

BunnyBoy98 is typing…..

You sat up on the bed in anticipation of his reply even though you'd never admit it to the stranger on the other side of the screen. He was about to help you get off, so you were definitely at the gates of desperation. It trickled all throughout your body as if a rain cloud sat right above you drenching you in its honeyed ardor.

Your skin turned to goosebumps as the chat bubble continued appearing and disappearing again and again.

Fine. But at least

tell me how you

found me.

I wasn’t specifically

searching for you.

Then who?

Anyone really.

Ouch. You know

I actually felt a bit

special for a second.

You still should. You’re

description helped me

choose you.

Be honest, was it

the tattoos?

If I say maybe would

you be mad at me?

Not at all.

Then, yes.

Plus your description

says you have long hair.

Who was the

runner-up?

Someone named Tae. But

I remembered a friend

visits him often.

So you found out

about us through

a friend?

Yes.

We can do either a

video call or messages.

Which do you prefer?

Video call.

If you’re up for it.

I’m OK with it

as long as you are.

I’ll call you in 5.

I’ll be here.

The rippling anticipation waved through you like electric currents rumbling your entire being right off its course. Though, BunnyBoy98 was a complete stranger you were minutes away from stripping yourself of every bit of shame and vulnerability right before him.

You couldn’t believe you actually went through with it.

And it all began about a week prior. When your friend had walked in on you in a . . less than ideal situation. You succumbed to the pleasure of your favorite toy, legs stretched wide and completely bare on your bottom half. Overcome in the feeling as you maintain focus on chasing your own orgasm. You remember hearing the hinges on the door creak but you weren’t expecting anyone so you remained painting a fervor image behind your eyelids. Envisioning slender fingers being pumped in and out of you repeatedly.

There were beads of sweat strolling down your body as you were in position; about to be catapulted into outer space. The atmosphere you set for yourself was serene and the only sounds that could be heard were your occasional whimpers and the music that played softly in the background. Everything drove you closer and closer to where you wanted to be.

Where you needed to be.

You were so close then a gasp inundated the air around you. A gasp that most certainly did not come from you.

“What the fuck?” You shot your eyes open and quickly saw your friend buried into a corner near the door. She faced the wall but you could only imagine the revolted look on her face, “can you lock the door next time?”

“Oh my,” you quickly pulled the covers over your sweaty body, “can you knock next time?”

“I did knock,” she yelled back, “but you were a little busy.”

“So you just barge in?”

“I thought you might have been dead in the toilet or something,” she shrugged and turned back around to find you sprawled in your bed, “oh, you’re done?”

“What do you think?”

“I mean don’t stop on my account. We all do it,” she sat across from your bed and began spinning around on your computer chair, “I personally like to meet Tae when I’m in the mood but you know this all works too.”

“Who’s Tae?” you questioned sitting up in the bed; wrapping your bed sheets around your figure tightly.

“He’s from this app where guys kinda help girls get off,” she said it so casually you almost didn’t fully decipher the words escaping her lips.

“There’s an app for that?”

“It’s the twenty-first century there’s literally an app for everything.”

You cleared your throat, “is it safe?”

“Are you interested?” she waggled her brows.

“No,” you scoffed, “did you need something?”

“I can’t come over just to spend time?” she shook her head, “I should’ve let you finish. Maybe you would have been in a better mood.”

“Fuck you,” you giggled.

“At least use this next time,” your phone dinged after she quickly sent you a text, “let me know how it goes.”

Her exit was barely audible. You were too preoccupied studying the link she sent for the app called ‘Eargasm An App for Women in Need.’

BunnyBoy98 is typing…..

I’m ready.

Can I call you?

Yeah.

You can call.

The ringtone echoing amongst your walls was taunting, and your nerves nearly fooled you into letting it ring. And while it took a lot of physical and mental strength to actually pick your hand up and move it towards the mouse pad you were finally able to press the green button lighting up your screen.

BunnyBoy98 sat up against a wall; glowing under blue LED lights. His black hair was long as detailed in his description and it sat right above his shoulders. Though it was hard to tell under the stark ambiance his eyes mimicked the tint of chocolate and his piercing stare was aimed at you on the other side of the screen. . Well, it was actually aimed at your dark screen. Though, it was selfish of you, as you hid cowardly behind your turned off camera you wished he would remove the black mask hiding the bottom half of his face.

“Hi,” he greeted.

“Hi,” you murmured, perhaps a bit scared that someone might hear this interaction play out although no one would. You made sure your door was locked this time and you didn’t even have a roommate. “Should I continue calling you BunnyBoy or is there something else you prefer to be called?”

“You can call me JK,” his voice was sultry, soothing, grave. Somehow a mixture of all three in one; it vibrated in your inner ear like some sort of an invasively soft tune, one you know you’d be replaying many times after tonight.

“Sorry about the dark screen,” you attempted to swallow down any ounce of nervousness, “I guess you can say I’m a bit nervous.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” his reassurance quickly eased your frazzled nerves, “though I’ll admit you did sound a bit more assertive over messages.”

“I tend to come off over-confident through texts,” you snickered, “it’s a natural flaw.”

“Confidence is sexy so I would say it’s a blessing.”

The word sexy sounded so enticing coming from his lips even as they were hidden behind that damned black cloth. You roamed through countless fantasies of the man sitting right before you, about the way he possibly looked without being covered; how his touch might feel on your scorching skin and the tone of his whispers closer in the proximity of your ear.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he voice was playful, but it was so hard to read his expression behind his covered face, “have you begun having fun without me?”

“No,” you mumbled, “I haven’t.”

“Good,” he said, “why don’t you tell me what you like.”

“Like during. .” you drifted off.

He nodded, tucking his hair behind his ear, “What else are we here for darling?”

“Yes. Of course,” you huffed, slapping your palm on your forehead undoubtedly astounded by your own stupidity, “Uh, I like. .” You gave it some thought but kept rounding the same corners leading to you cluelessness, “I’m not sure I know what I like.”

“Forgive me for being blunt but have you touched yourself recently?”

“That’s the exact reason why I ended up here.”

“You’re addicted to masturbating?” He whispered as if he was keeping some big secret.

“No!” you answered back quickly, “Not at all. I’ve just been a bit stressed lately and well. . something else happened.”

“What happened?”

“My friend kinda walked in on me,” you whispered.

“It happens to the best of us sadly,” he chuckled, a sound so beautiful and gentle it matched the soft tune of songbirds in the morning, “how about you begin by telling me about the last time you were aroused. Just walk me through whatever got you in the mood that day.”

You closed your eyes leaning your head against the headboard. Your thoughts traveled back to a couple of days prior when your body sunk into the mattress under the hex of your fingertips. You were stripped down bare but you recalled the way every inch of your body was covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“I had just gotten home after my classes,” a small white lie was the price to pay to save any once of dignity you had left in the eyes of the stranger before you — in reality, that very day and every other day you’d found yourself under the amorous touches of your sinful fantasies whenever you saw him, the boy employed at the campus student center.

You didn’t know his name and in reality he only lived in your mind in small flashes. The first polaroid was composed of his cheeky smile framed by indents of his round cheeks. While other snap shots focused on the way he always wore in a half up half down style or a bun; others were centered around the numerous tattoos inked into his right arm, especially the snake sitting right above his wrist and the patchwork tattoos on the dorsal side of his hand.

“Were you thinking about someone?”

“Yes.”

“What were they doing?”

There was a rush of heat traveling through you as you recalled the way you dreamt up his touch against your body, the way his fingers left behind trails of goosebumps on your skin.

“First he began touching me softly,” It was like your body was on auto drive and before you knew it you set the laptop beside you on the bed and began getting comfortable on the bed.

“Was he touching you anywhere specific?”

You hummed in response, “he drew all kinds of figures into my inner thigh, kept inching closer and closer and then he would pull away abruptly.”

“Did you enjoy him pulling away?”

“Yes, it made me want it more.”

“Ok, I’m gonna ask you to do a couple of things. If you don’t want to do something just tell me. I’m here for your pleasure.”

You nodded, then realized he couldn’t see you, “Yea, that’s fine.”

A strain of the jitters ate away at your nerves and you weren’t sure if you’d ever come down from that rollercoaster of anxiety. You were sitting at the peak in a single-person cart waiting to be plummeted down the valley of the tracks leading you to the finale; the culmination of an enticing ride.

“Are you naked?”

“Somewhat.”

“Take it all off.”

Even in the stillness of darkness removing your bra and panties made you feel entirely vulnerable. You were technically alone but JK was right there just a couple of pixels away.

“Close your eyes, doll. I want you to begin touching yourself just wherever it feels good,” he instructed and you weren’t sure if it was your mind playing tricks on you but you could’ve sworn his voice became more bass, “start high and slowly make your way down to your breasts. When you’re there let me know.”

His words were tainted with sin meanwhile he still sat back nonchalantly. You'd imagined he was satisfied in the way your soft whimpers overtook the air as you began pinching your perked nipples but you couldn’t tell for sure not while he still wore his mask.

“I’m assuming you’ve made it.” he chuckled.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You’re not very good at following instructions. Are you, doll?” he rolled up the sleeves of his crewneck, finally exposing the infamous tattoos he detailed in his description. They were like pieces of artwork adorning his entire arm, not a single spot was left visible—and as much as you tried to get a better look at them for some reason you found it impossible to focus on just one.

“Sorry,” you muttered once again, “I was caught up in the moment I guess.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he offered, “but I need you to be vocal since I can’t exactly see you.”

“I’ll be more vocal. I promise,” you said, still toying with your nipples in between your fingers, “right now my hands are still at my tits.”

“Are you bored of that yet, doll?” the onset of his tumultuous utter; it was thunderous, like music for the soul, “you wanna aim lower?”

“Yes.”

“With the tips of your fingers I want you to move down your cleavage,” he said, “and stop right at your pelvis.”

Quickly, it felt like the evening had rushed by and the sun had been relocated right beside your bed. Though you complied with his command any form of coherent words became jammed in your throat incapable of rolling off your tongue.

The way your fingers slid past your folds earned a string of whimpers from your lips earning a satisfied titter from JK on the other side of the screen.

“Nice and slow, doll,” JK said, “be gentle but I want you to apply a bit of pressure every time your fingers meet your clit.”

JK’s voice was no longer muffled from the laptop’s static microphone. Instead in this version of your altered reality he was laying right beside you on your bed, and his fingers substituted yours against your cunt. His touch contained something yours simply did not possess, composed of a sort of spell that left you babbling moans. And as his fingers traced whichever incoherence they wanted into your clit you felt closer to your pinnacle.

“Fuck,” he stuttered, “I love the way you say my name.”

The bubbling daringness dazed with pleasure drove you to chant his name over and over in between your pants and obscenities. “You have no idea the things I would do for you to fuck me right now,” It was your best attempt at trying to break past his professional shell — His head fell back against the wall as his adam’s apple bobbed up and up, his eyes were shut tightly and his hands fidgeted with something off frame.

“You have no idea how much I’d love to fuck you but this is a contactless doll,” his breathing became uneven, “I’m afraid we could never meet. You could never know who I am and I could never know who you are.”

“N-never say never,” the contract enforced by the site was clear and simple, both parties must grant their consent to the meeting online without disclosing their identities. For safety measures you understood the implications of the rules applied but what of it when you genuinely just wanted to meet the dulcet stranger and ride along him for the wildest time of your life.

“Just focus on the feeling,” his voice was rugged; raspy as a result of the groans he sang into the air, “Focus on that shiver taking your back hostage and that very knot tightening in your core. I want you to only let your thoughts be consumed by that very feeling.”

You sat up using your elbow for support, still thriving to maintain the mental image of having JK near in curated colors. Again, you were in the presence of the man dipping the mattress beside you as he laid down with eyes to scorching their umber tone surrounding you in warmth.

“Now, finger yourself.”

The squelching sound of your finger pushing past your entrance had JK sitting up straight like he was intrigued by your facile compliance but you thought it was obvious that by now there was very little you wouldn’t do as long as it came from him.

“I wish I could see you doll,” he confessed, “I bet you look heavenly with your fingers inside of you.”

“C-contactless r-remember,” The motion living up to your satisfaction was hastened —you became divulged in the feeling of your walls on your fingers. You felt soft, warm, tight. All of the sensations combined to create a feeling so addicting your fingers developed a mind of their own as you drove themselves in and out of you with ease.

“Right. .”

“Fuck, this f-feels,” you swallowed to ease the desert developing in the back of your throat, “it feels s-so fucking good.”

“If I were there,” he mumbled, barely audible but your ears still perked up at the lulls of his voice, “First, I would serenade every inch of your skin. Your body would be the portrait I’d paint with my lips.”

“Mhm. .”

“I would cherish your body so well. Eat you out until your legs shake and fuck you until you’re a candid mess.”

“O-oh, fuck! JK don’t stop.”

“I would fuck you so well, doll.”

“I-I’m so close,” your arm became numbed yet, you kept fucking yourself with your fingers still succumbing to the fantasy of having JK in replacement of your own hand.

The temperature in your room draws beads of sweat on your body and the more you strive to reach your high the more scorching the temperature becomes. The creaking of your bed accentuated the speed of your movements, it was like a song featuring your constant moans.

“Until you’re babbling nonsense, and your headboard is marking up the wall and the neighbors finally know my name.”

JK’s words were laced with a delectable nectar, so sweet, a once off taste wasn’t enough and as you pleaded for more and he complied, continuing to fill your ears with sinful promises you crashed hard. Coming in spurts of white coating your fingers.

“I have a surprise for you,” you panted in between almost every word, “you ready?”

He nodded.

Call it post orgasm tipsiness but after sitting up a bit and adjusting the laptop to leave anything that wasn’t your mouth out of frame you turned on your camera for the very first time that night, pushing your glistening fingers which once invaded your walls past your swollen lips.

His hands rose to his hair and he slithered his fingers through it lightly before gripping his roots into his fists looking a fair amount aroused and frustrated. The tattoos you desperately wanted a peek of were finally on full display. After turning off your camera once again and JK began uttering praises your way, you began scanning the ink on his arm from his forearm up slowly. The artwork adorned his skin beautifully.

As you neared his wrists you noticed a very similar serpentine snake—one who you have stared at too often.

“Typically, things here are a bit different,” you finally registered his voice, “you would turn on your camera and I would provide more detailed assistance but I hope you still had a good time. I did.”

“Yeah,” your mind was in outer space, “I had a really good time.”

“Don’t shy away from visiting me again, OK?”

“Yeah,” you said, “bye, JK.”

Once the camera was off and you shut your laptop tightly, coming to the realization.

JK was him.

The boy, your boy from the student center.

-

-

-

an: i was bored and im so sorry lol

reblogs, likes, comments, replies are always appreciated 🫶🏽

[brynn-lear]

When The Cypress Tree Wilts [Yandere!Kamisato Ayato x Reader]

Prompt: Kamisato Ayato, the sole survivor of Teyvat, struggles to cope with grief. He finds solace in the company of a fellow survivor, (Y/n), on the Astral Express. Although the two came from different universes, with him being a fictional character on (Y/n)'s end, he had grown fond of them. Perhaps too fond for Mister Yang's liking. He has seen this story played out once already. [Dedicated to @jessamine-rose]

Content Tags: (light?) yandere themes, major character death, we ain't trusting getting roses again after this one boys

For twenty-seven years, the cypress tree stood alone. Its branches, exhibiting complete fortitude to withstand erosion, have been a home for many animals. A guardian of many and a home for herons. It's no stretch to say its artistic seriousness made the Cypress tree the Warden of the Forest. 

What happens, though, if the forest catches fire? What happens when everything it held dear—all the pillars ingrained in the firmest soil—is reduced to ashes in a single glance? When the forest's life-loving temperament disappears, just what is left of the guardian tree? 

There's only one answer: the Cypress loses its Inazuman function. Harmony, balance, and peace wither away from the tree's symbolism. All that's left is the alternative Enkanomiyan myth: cypress trees must only be planted as a mourning tradition. 

The Warden of Death...

Kamisato Ayato closed his eyes, making his umpteenth attempt to breathe steadily. 

He sat upright on one of the Astral Express's couches. It's been more than eight months since he had found himself as the sole survivor of his world. So far, everything that had been told to him had been unreal. 

Gone were the clan, his retainers, and his dearest sister. None were left as he watched their remains swept by the wind. Memories of Ayaka's burnt hair and cheeks crumbling refused to leave his every waking moment. He tried desperately to hold on, but the ashes kept slipping through his fingers until his family's white heron was reduced to a lifeless husk. Her feathers were plucked too soon.  

He cannot have her back. He cannot have his clan back. His world was forever unsalvageable.

That was his fate as the Remembrance's souvenir. He can carry the weight of survival while the memokeepers preserve Teyvat's memories.  

But at least he has someone in a similar position as himself. 

"Mister Yang," you called over the older man hushedly. Welt glanced at the mopping mess and knew just what you were hinting at. Better to alert someone who can assist him better.

"Are you alright, Mister Kamisato?" Welt asked, sitting beside Ayato. He passed his cane onto his other hand so he could pat his shoulder. Ayato only laughed stiffly. 

Thankfully, it's not an entirely hopeless cause. There was, at least, a silver lining to make up for it. No matter how dim the glimmer was, he at least had the Express's understanding. 

And yours as well. 

Ab███████, h█ed his pl█as.

"—to, you can still think this through!"

"Stand back, Himeko."

Just like him, you lost your world, too. You came from a fabric of existence wherein he was deemed fictional. A video game called "Genshin Impact", as you called it. You were terrified when you discovered your universe crumbled because of some time-travel paradox. But in spite of your enormous losses, curiosity triumphed over fear. You would prefer exploring the galaxy than thinking about how much work you still need to do for your college classes.

But today? You rest. After all, the express is landing in Penacony.

While Welt did his best to provide consolation, you handed them warm drinks. Ayato gave you a gentle nod. 

He gave it a quick sip. Unlike Himeko's, your brew was more tame. Not at all professionally made— it's everyday coffee— but that adds more to its appeal. Ayato politely wiped possible stains near his lips. You can't help but notice how his mole was placed below it. 

He's definitely a video game character, that's for sure. They don't make people this attractive in your old world. 

Just holding the coffee you made… feeling its warmth in his hands… It gave him strength to speak. 

Ayato sighed. "Apologies, I simply… will take longer to recover my mental composure. I am not usually this easy to rattle or ramble often. I deeply apologize for the trouble I caused the express thus far."  

"I do wonder if I had wronged the Gods. I committed plenty of misdeeds in the eyes of the Shogun, yet they were pardoned. But perhaps the Heavenly Principles…" He muttered, thinking he was inaudible. More than half a year without his retainers and constant troubles had dulled his vigilance.

Welt shook his head. "Do not be harsh on yourself by culminating these harmful… ideals, Mister Kamisato."

"I agree." You said. "At any rate, you'll end up miserable for the entire month if you keep overthinking what that Silver Wolf said."

His mood had been visibly dampened since Silver Wolf's last visit. She claims that he was "destined for ruin based on Elio's script" and that it was better he knew about it now rather than later. 

Ayato looked away. "I suppose so… This wishful thinking brings me nothing but thoughts such as to save my one and only sister, with this pitiable strength— how can I recreate the past?"

Welt grew cold with mild horror. Then, he cleared his throat after a suspiciously long pause. 

The past Welt knows is not the past he wants a repeat of.

"Why focus on that when the future awaits you?" He said, but with how the older man refused to meet his lilac eyes, there must be more he won't let on. 

"Your reluctance… Does this have something to do with what the memokeeper previously stated?"

"...What Black Swan said?" You tilted your head. 

Welt sighed. "So many things must be runnin' around your head... I don't usually encourage drinking, but maybe you should have a few shots later."

"I shall consider it, but I must know now, Mister Yang." He looked at him. "What did she mean when she said I was an alternate version of your acquaintance, Otto Apocalypse?"

Welt coughed up his coffee. 

Re██y his angu█████ c███s.

"-to, don't do this. You can't bring ██████ back—"

“Your farcical tangents will distract me no more. Do not play parlor tricks with that cane of yours. My mind is sound, and my decision is final."

"..."

"..." 

"..." 

Ever since Ayato was dubbed as a new Nameless alongside you, he's been bombarded with both blunt and subliminal messages of his supposed "true" nature. One faction agrees he's an existence not meant to be trifled, while the other wants to cultivate him into a villain. 

You don't know much about that. Unlike whatever hero's journey he had been experiencing— you're detached from trouble. Your new life was spent writing, dressing up with March, eating with Stelle, and reading through Dan Heng's data banks about constellations & other aesthetically pleasing biological entries. You were a quiet existence. Black Swan remarked you're amicable for someone who cannot return to normalcy. You embrace change far better than others.

But you think that's because there's enough grieving for the Express to carry; they don't have room to acknowledge yours… 

"You're Kamisato Ayato, not Otto." You told him firmly. "Don't overthink what she said."

"It is not as if I do not know that, how—"

"No, there are no buts or howevers; that's final."

Ayato laughed softly, no longer tense. 

"Understood. I'm your Kamisato Ayato, right?" He tilted his head like a dog. 

"Yes, yes, you're our Ayato." You sighed. 

He's a lot cuter when relaxed. 

You shook your head. 

No, better not let this develop into something else. You don't want to have a crush on a guy that's essentially no different from a flatmate. 

Furthermore, you exclusively confide in him. You'd rather your relationship as each other's anchor remains the same in the future. After all, you're not the type to let everyone in the room know your baggage. So was Ayato, but... His trauma lends itself to the extremes.

While you were lost in thought, adorable footsteps strutted closer. 

Angry, adorable footsteps. 

"What are you guys doing drinking coffee?! The train is about to jump soon!!!"

Pompom huffed. They put their little paws on their hips, scoffing at you three. You apologized profusely, forgetting that your trip to Penacony was in ten minutes. 

"Sorry, Pompom." Welt sheepishly said. 

Ayato looked at Pompom earnestly. "So am I."

"Whatever, okay, but you better change later! You can't join a wedding wearing those clothes!!!"

You frowned. You were already dressed, though. You thought you already looked perfect for the evening. Maybe you should've tried harder... Perhaps you were too relaxed about this...

"Oh, but I'm sorry…" You told them, frowning.

Pompom shook their head, panicking. "Not you, (Y/n), you're always so harsh on yourself— you always know how to dress pretty. I'm talking about these two boys!"

They stared at each other before laughing awkwardly, provoking the conductor further. 

Pompom growled, grabbing the broom. 

"You know what?! Get off the sofa! Change! NOW!!!"

Abu████ce, stir this b███ft ████e, 

"WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL HIM?!? HE WAS LIKE A BROTHER TO US!!!"

It's clear that someone isn't having the best time.

Penacony weddings are too lively for Ayato's tastes. But much like shadows, nobody can evade the bright lights. 

He nearly tumbled when he saw you. By the looks of his pale face, the lively atmosphere had been draining him senseless. While he maintained his elegant demeanor when talking to Aventurine (and failing), you were refilling your cup at the food aisle. Once Ayato reached you, he desperately wanted to place his head on your shoulder. 

“Please… lend me… Five…”

You smiled and opened your arms.

"Don't speak, I got you."

He leaned on your shoulder.

The five seconds you assumed were startlingly morphing into five minutes. You can't feign as a warm statue for that long. While you worry about your willpower, Ayato sank deeper into his thoughts to meditate. 

From this angle, he looked like a resting cat.

"You okay, Ayato?"

"The SoulGlad, it's so…"

Ah, right. You figured he might've drunk.

"Not once had it been a passing thought that excessive alcohol and fire displays would be a common wedding practice. The culture shock is astounding." Ayato leered quietly. "Thankfully, I no longer care about putting on a social mask. I cannot stomach participating in copious amounts of… festivities."

You laughed. Is it bad you find his suffering entertaining? 

"Is it so different from how they conduct weddings in Inazuma?"

"Hard to say… The Clan may be focused on cultural ceremonies, but I purposely avoided weddings. It helps steer clear talks of arranged marriages. I can only name Chisato's as an exception on top of my head." Ayato placed a hand on his chin. 

He continued. "Extravagant weddings such as this had a decline for two years. The dismal lives of vision wielders immensely affected how much pyrotechnics and other displays were available. Any commonplace joy could be marked as vulgarity by the Shogun at any second... All those charges just for an insincere ceremony."

"I… See." You assumed the answer was a resounding no. "Sounds like you're against marriages of convenience."

Ayato pulled away, looking at you. 

"Not entirely. I understand why it's a necessary evil, given our politics." He said. "But I still firmly believe that when there's true love, nothing should stand in its way."

His eyes reveal that he's starting to sober up. In Penacony, it was probably a beneficial phenomenon. Might as well give away hangover relief if you market alcohol as the icon of your dreamscape. 

"(Y/n), this may sound peculiar, but I glimpsed at an apparel store nearby."

You nodded slightly. He knew you had an affinity for fashion. When you visited the Xianzhou Luofu, he mapped out stores that might interest you. Ayato likes the way you dress. Sometimes, he would even approach you for a consult. 

"And? What did you see? Did you take a picture?"

He groggily nodded and pulled out his phone. 

"Please, take a look."

…

You blinked, turning red. 

"Ayato, these are wedding dresses…"

"I do know that, yes, but don't you believe some of these would suit you? Oh— this one is a particular favorite of mine."

…

He said it so casually that you were beginning to doubt if you were insane. Do friends casually daydream about another friend in a wedding dress? Is that a norm for platonic relationships? You looked away and gently pushed his phone away. 

… You hate how you liked what he picked out.

And you know he noticed it, too. Cheeky bastard. 

"Let's hold that thought for now."

"May I ask why?" He tilted his head, slightly pouting. "I think a traditional white wedding dress would compliment you. Are you, perhaps, seeing flaws I have missed?"

"Y-You're really not getting it, huh…"

Whatever was troubling you, he wasn't about to dissect it. His thoughts were reduced to simplicity that evening, just down to you look gorgeous tonight. The two of you should extend your visit to Penacony for much longer. It is always night here… 

How unfair that you dressed so prettily; he wished it was for his eyes alone. The delicately lace-adorned pastel pink dress suits you well. It felt like a grave sin for him to keep staring at the delicate sapphire necklace resting atop your neck. Not to add, a few strands of your hair framed your face, and your hair was tastefully swept into a neat (h/c) bun. What completes the look is the strappy heels. 

When will it be your wedding, (Y/n)?

Your face contorted. "How drunk are you?"

Ayato smirked curtly and shrugged back to what March calls his "nobleman smile", gazing at you intently. You weren't sure if he was listening to you anymore. 

"Enough."

That was his reply, short and simple. 

As long as your eyes mirror his, it's enough for him. 

“LAAADDIEESSS AND GENTLEEEMEEENNN AND OTHER LIVING CREAAATURREEESSS!!!!”

A rather shrill voice shouted through a microphone. It's the wedding's host. From the volume, anyone can discern that it came from the event room. You placed your cup down. It's that time— noises from excited guests, lonesome people, in particular, were shared around. No one can miss their hands, which tremble with excitement. 

You jolted.

Shit, that's Sparkle. You promised Stelle and March that you four would take BFF pictures in the costume photo booth before the final farewells. Something about silly masks and hats. Miss it, and you're guaranteed to enter the next fight without a shield. Worse, you might wake up with a bat-shaped wound on your head. 

You grabbed Ayato and swerved past the crowd.

“(Y-(Y/n)?!”

Ayato's mind went blank. 

You voluntarily held his hand. Gloved hands. Still, he thanked March that she gave him a pair for the occasion. His hands were sweating, and his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. 

Public displays of affection are generally subdued in his old world. Handholding raises questions regarding those reared into nobility like he was. His upbringing was far from liberal, so he did his best to give his sister more freedom, yet he is not accustomed to this skinship.

He gripped yours back weakly. Ayato can't stop staring at your determined expression. He gulped. Can you sense it? Are you secretly enjoying this? Do you know what you're doing? 

Can you feel your effect on him?

He's not just drunk. 

He might be hopelessly in love with you.

Ayato grew hotter by the second. His breath was stripping away bit by bit. This epiphany was consuming him. He's been trying to deny it for as long as possible, but how laughable is it to do so when he had often pictured himself in peaceful household situations beside you? Can such desires be kept in the shadows, much like his Shuumatsuban work?

He wants you.

Kamisato Ayato wants you as his sole partner.

Wherever you're taking him, he'll follow you to the end, down to the last seconds of this script.

"THE BRIDE IS ABOUT TO THROW THE BOUQUET!!!"

Many lonely guests packed together like penguins. When the bride spun the bouquet around her palm, their reactions ranged from hopeful and cheerful to downright competitive and miserable. They thought a few flowers would ensure marriage, which is a little absurd, but who are you to spoil their fun? Simply because they obstruct your path does not warrant your discreet resentment—

Ayato stopped, halting you as well in the process.

"Ngh…?!"

You looked back, and such an act almost felt as forbidden as Orpheus' most egregious mistake.

If there was a semblance of variety in those women's faces, they were unified in one fell swoop. Their faces soured when the bouquet was passed down to its next owner. Worse, the flowers sat so beautifully in his arms.

That's right. His.

Those red roses…

"AALLLLRIIIIGHTTT! IT SEEMS MISTER KAMISATO GOT IT!!!" Sparkle cheered on. She had a crooked smile on her face. It didn't ring as malicious; instead, she was conflicted before she donned a playful mask. "And sheesh, while holding (Y/n) 's hand too— CONGRATS TO THE SOON-TO-BE-S!!!"

Ah, damn it. Instead of this, you wish people had applauded when you presented your thesis. No matter how crestfallen some were, they were at least good sports. They clapped and teased; you even spotted Himeko raising you a glass at your shared table, laughing. Beside her, Welt did you the courtesy of reminding you that you're hands were linked together. You gawked, pulling away as though Ayato's hand burned. Immediately, he cleared his throat and looked away. 

To Ayato, this was the only sign he needed.

With enough time and effort, a leafless tree could still be saved, new birds could still migrate, and an abandoned forest could still be restored. Gradually, he was discovering a fresh cause for optimism instead of a substitute for the people he had lost. There he was, Kamisato Ayato, a hidden custodian of Inazuman traditions, with his feet rooted in a foreign land. Though not very stable, his groundwork keeps him on course.

If he could revive the Kamisato Clan on its brink, how can he not do the same for his life? It's just like what his late father said:

Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

As long as a hand still reaches out for him, he'll do anything to grasp it. 

Unfortunately for you, it was yours that held his so tightly.

Hence, whether you like it or not, amidst the guests' congratulatory remarks and the bride's laughs, he had made up his mind.

Ayato will pursue you until you wear the gown of his dreams. 

More people trailed behind Sparkle and the bride as they went down the stage and to Ayato. You made an effort to get in touch with him to return to your starting point. However, it was challenging, given the number of people around. To hear what bashful comments he said was an even taller order.

That was until the bride dragged her new husband towards you.

"Here, dearie, the garter!"

You blinked.

"What?"

"You know the tradition, bouquet, and garter— I know it ain't as exciting as a bouquet, but ya can't be a pair without it." The husband grinned. "C'mon, take it!"

Your eyes widened.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly—"

"Aww, please, do you think we'll get in the way of love when we just got married?" The bride joked. Even though you don't know her well—you just know she's Stelle's friend—you didn't like how this sounded. "C'mon, take it! Don't make poor Mister Kamisato sad."

Did Ayato request this?

You looked back at him. He was smiling at his fellow guests.

He must've made a drunken joke.

"Alright, I'll have it." You'll be a team player, too.

Unbeknownst to you, Ayato's heart was brimming with joy as soon as you accepted it. You twisted the garter around your hand and tied it into a bracelet, and his eyes wrinkled. His face was beaming, and the guests warmly pointed out that it was definitely NOT the drink.

You laughed softly.

Maybe Stelle wouldn't get too angry after she sees these "loots".

Unfortunately, unlike the worlds you once immersed yourself in, your life was not a game. This second try was no exception.

There's a stark difference between the people he loves and himself, Ayato later found. The latter cannot sustain a better life for those he warded, while the former cannot attain the luxury of a peaceful death.

Readers would have gone crazy over how the author mercilessly punished and blamed the main character's dreams if his life had been a work of fiction. If it were genuinely one, he would venture to say that the systematic fate that everyone else was subjected to is the primary criticism.

His mother, his father, his sister, his clan.

And then you?

Ayato had already lost everything twice. 

There's no restraint left for him to hold on to. 

So…

"Mister Kamisato, please hear us out!" March begged, the shrill of her voice becoming hauntingly akin to a dull knife— repeatedly cutting through ears in prolonged agony. 

Ayato scoffed. His blue locks framed his face as he gazed down.

He's heard enough. 

Why shouldn't he challenge his fate?

Why shouldn't he challenge Elio's script?

"Whether I permit you or not, there won't be an intelligent word out of you." 

No other voice came to disparage him. This silence was loud. As if a voice was missing. Ayato looked at the ground.

He had almost forgotten he had used his former "brother" as a sacrifice. Silently, he thanked Dan Heng- or perhaps Dan Feng- for all that he had done for him and his "bride".

This act angered the rest. His temporary family brandished theirs in unison, with Stelle moving to the front. His response greatly saddened March. But Mister Yang? He was frozen. He didn't seem to move an inch. The older man looked deep into his lilac eyes. There must be more he won't let on. 

The past Welt knows is not the past he wants a repeat of.

But unfortunately, history is a vicious cycle— and it repeats itself.

He materialized his haran geppaku futsu, letting Dan Heng's blood drip while its azure glow shine bright. But what shone brighter was the cryogenic "coffin" behind him.

You may have lost your battle with this curse, but you have helped him not lose his. 

You were looking out at a night with a full moon in your last moments. The pitch-black moon seemed to loom life itself. As you strolled alone, every step wet your feet, but there's a persistent sense that you might have been staring at your reflection the entire time despite the void's lack of offerings.

It's always night in Penacony. You have heard that innumerable times. Night never sleeps. The chitchat never stops. The tango doesn't halt. But time stands still for you as the rest of the world rejoices. 

But Penacony was not your resting place. It was the Xianzhou. 

How unfortunate that you forget that in your last moments. Mara has a knack for erasing the memory of its victims. The only solace that your admirer gets is that your previous recollections are of him, of you, and of the bouquet and garter you received. 

At least before you closed your eyes, you thought of him. 

Ayato gazed at your mara-struck face once more.

Beauty is eternal. Despite the chill seeping into your bones, your clothes were nothing short of ethereal. A traditional white wedding dress, floor-length with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt, would've been given more justice if the wearer was not frozen in time. The laces and beadwork detailing were reminiscent of sakura petals, with a sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves.

You're holding a bouquet of roses mixed with sakura...

Just like you, Kamisato Ayato always had a good eye for aesthetics. 

It's a shame the little life left in his eyes was wilting away.

It's a shame that this wedding never happened.

It's a shame you told him you needed more time to think.

It's a shame you're frozen in time.

However...

As long as a hand still reaches out for him, he'll do anything to grasp it. And Yaoshi has plenty to reach for.

With that, using the blood of the Vidyadhara he had slain, he summoned his new Aeon.

One that he does not particularly believe in. And if he had never placed his blind faith in the Shogun, he doubts he would do the same in Yaoshi.

So, Aeon of Abundance, with the former High Elder's blood on his hands...

Prove him wrong.

"Abundance, heed my pleas,

Repay my anguished cries.

Abundance, stir this bereft peace,

Awaken love from death's disguise."

Bring his soon-to-be Kamisato (Y/n) back to him.

[sweetteainthesummerx]

THE LOVE LASTS SO LONG (11)

In which the Europe trip starts

series masterlist

Note: this is kind of a filler chapter, but I'll keep updating! If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know. Enjoy :)

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

aubreyyang posted on their story

caption: ready for the next two weeks :)

dior.n.goodjohn replied

GONNA MISS U AND U BETTER COME BACK W A MAN

aubreyyang

gonna pretend I only heard the first part ILL MY U TOO

aubreyyang posted

aubreyyang looking for a London boy

tagged: alexandrasaintmleux

liked by swift_009, alexandrasaintmleux and 99,003 others

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taylorswift love

-- aubreyyang OH MOTHER

alexandrasaintmleux hâte pour l'europe avec ma belle 💞

-- aubreyyang YAY je peux pas attendre!!

user1 damn she getting brave

user2 someone tell her ollie is from essex

charlesleclerc did u just steal my girlfriend

-- aubreyyang I got tired of third wheeling

olliebearman posted on their story

caption: in London today 🇬🇧

landonorris replied to your story

U ARE NOT SLICK

olliebearman

??

alexandrasaintmleux posted on their story

alexandrasaintmleux with my boyfriend, his son and my girlfriend

tagged: olliebearman, aubreyyang, charlesleclerc

aubreyyang replied to your story

WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME

alexandrasaintmleux

pls just kiss the tension is wild

Sighing, Aubrey slipped her phone back into her pocket. Alex and Charles meant well, but…Ollie meant too much to her to ever risk ruining their friendship. When he crashed, she remembered halting the scene they were blocking because of the sheer amount of notifications she was getting. Her phone dropped out of her hand when she read the first headline, one of the assistants catching it and placing it back into her shaky grip. She felt tears welling up at the photo of the mutilated car. Finally, when he picked up, the relief had hit her like a tsunami. She was afraid of what this sweet boy could make her feel. 

“I’ve got it.” Ollie came up behind her in the aisle, chest pressed up against her back, long arms looping around to hoist her (very heavy) luggage easily into the over head storage.

The last time they'd seen each other in person was the club in London. Even then, when they'd only known each other for a little bit, he had given her a hug, guided her where to go, held her drink for her...

And she realized that he was such a touchy feely person and she loved it.

She flashed him a grateful smile in thanks, and tucked herself into the window seat. She watched as he put his much smaller luggage up and helped the elderly woman behind him too.

As she watched him, she realized something. Obviously, he was tall. His mom, Terri, as the older woman insisted Aubrey call her, had shown her some photos of his teenage years, lanky and stretched, with big hands and feet like a huge puppy. But he was one of the tallest on the grid now, the growth spurts of youth still seemingly present. But she hadn’t noticed how broad he’d gotten. Sure, he’d been toned when they met, and she’d been very taken by his arms, but his shoulders looked so wide in his blue sweatshirt and his neck so thick. His chest was maybe four of her hands outstretched. She wanted to check. For science, of course.

He sidled back to her, long legs stretching put and bumping hers.

“Excited?” He grinned, and she had to smile herself.

“It’s a two hour flight, Bearman.”

“Yeah, so we have lots of time. What’s your favourite colour?” 

“What?” She laughed, a little shocked.

“No, I’m serious.” He poked her arm, “We hardly talk about this stuff. I want to know you better.” 

“Red. I think I really like red.”

charles_leclerc posted

charles_leclerc bread. beer. bon.

liked by charl_locklerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and 990,226 others

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charl_locklerc yo who took that photo of him and Alex

aubreyyang never eating a pretzel again

-- charles_leclerc this is why you pace yourself

-- aubreyyang you would know

-- user1 THE SHADE BAJAJA

-- user2 CONFIRMED SHES WITH THEM IN GERMANU HIEFJIEK

olliebearman don't tell them about the beer

--bearheartxx WHAEJOT HES WITH THEM TOO HIM AND AUBREY HAVE TO BE DATING RIGHT RIGHT

aubreyyang posted to their story

caption: pretty view 🏞️

olliebearman replied to your story

pretty girl more like

aubreyyang

I had a very handsome photographer

dallas_liu replied to your story

BRING ME BACK BREAD PLS

olliebearman posted on their story

caption: actually pretty wild

f1wagsupdate posted

clip one: a video taken from afar on a grainy iPhone camera, four figures walking out of a club in Berlin, Germany. It zooms in, and we see that it is two renowned Ferrari drivers, Leclerc and Bearman. Walking between them with linked arms are Saint Mleux and Yang.

f1wagsupdate during the f1 summer break, Ferrari drivers Leclerc and Bearman are seen with girlfriend and potential girlfriend partying in Germany.

liked by f1girlypop, user1 and 8620 others

f1girlypop YES WERE ABOUT TO GET SUCH GOOD CONTENT

user1 manifesting this is real PLS

user2 stop the hand placement 😫 Ollies hand on her back

cutiesgrid24 the height difference is everything my cousin was there and she said right after that video he picked her up and carried her because her heel broke

-- user1 WIEHFIJOE I just went into cardiac arrest THATS SO CUTEE

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

Taglist: @callsignwidow @iloveyou3000morgan @honethatty12 @taygrls @destinyg237

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[harvatat]

snowing in snezhnaya || tartaglia (childe) x reader

❥ when you head to the snezhnayan outpost on the mondstadt border, you expect to be turned away, not greeted so... enthusiastically.

❥ the chief assistant, if you can call her that, introduces herself as inessa snezhnovna, and politely asks you to wait, before ushering you in a warm room and a very exhausted-looking ginger.

❥ "hello," you smile gently as inessa shuts the door behind her quietly. "that was awful brave of you. and dumb," you roll your eyes fondly, making your way to his bedside as he gives you the look of a kicked puppy.

❥ "the least you could do is praise me," he whines, looking greedily at the food you warmed up right before you entered snezhnaya. "not even master bothered to talk to me..."

❥ "poor baby," you chuckle as you blow on his food. "neither your master nor the fatui treated you well, huh? did they give you raw fish again?"

❥ "i could taste the scales." childe responds with exaggerated disgust as you laugh. "don't laugh! this is a very serious matter, солнышко!!"

❥ "mhm, i suppose it is," you nod as you fake-wipe stray tears from your eyes, childe looking at you with a gentle smile on his face. "i love you, ajax, the biggest dumdum i have ever met." you add as your lover slowly stretches a tightly bandaged hand towards your gloved one.

❥ "Я так сильно люблю тебя, мое сердце. ты вынуждаешь меня открыть слишком многое, как луна одинокому путнику." he muttered sleepily as you stroked his hair, shifting slightly to let you cuddle up against him.

i miss him. @hoyo put him in some event in natlan too pls i'm beg

солнышко || solnyshko - little sunЯ так сильно люблю тебя, мое сердце. ты вынуждаешь меня открыть слишком многое, как луна одинокому путнику.|| i love you so much my heart. you force me to reveal too much, like the moon to a lonely traveler.

[satinsummer]

Chapter 1: Likewise

Summary: The first time you met Sam you knew you had to have her but how would you get her?

Culinary is your major but sports media is your side quest that turned you into a dual degree seeking mf! ;)

Chapter 2: https://www.tumblr.com/satinsummer/761133841884889088/chapter-2-movie-night?source=share

WARNING: Suggestive Language, Drug Use (Smoking Weed) 18+ No men or minors pls and thanks!

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Nobody POV

It all started at Y/BF/N's soccer game, after a long day of running around a hot kitchen with no break, sitting on the cold metal bleachers was the only thing that brought Y/N some sort of solace that fated night.

Sitting all the way at the top wasn't the best choice with the way her legs and feet were aching but it was tradition, especially since this was not only the first game of the season but this was Y/BF/N's first senior game and Y/N wouldn't miss it for the world! As she's scanning the crowd and just taking everything in Y/N noticed the "Core 4" + Anika as Chad so happily calls them making their way through the packed area.

Tara, Mindy, Anika and some mystery lady Y/N has never met stop and start talking to Quinn who just so happened to know few players on the team. Chad just continued to climb the bleachers until he reached Y/N.

"Yoo Y/N" Chad says with a big ass smile on his face, arms stretched out to hug her. "Hey Chad" Y/N says smiling but not moving an inch. "Sorry I realllyyyy don't feel like standing up unless I absolutely HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE but to" She stated now eyeing the mystery lady following behind Tara while they continued their ascend up the bleachers having now finished the conversation with Quinn.

Before Y/N or Chad get to say anything else Tara is barreling past him and pulling Y/N into a hug. "Where have you been all day, under a fucking rock??My girlfriend has not stopped talking about how sad she is because she didn't think you'd make it. I was honestly starting to think she loved you more than me and so I had to show her who she belo-" "OKAY THATS ENOUGH" Slapping a hand over Tara's mouth be she gets too carried away. "Anyway I was afraid of not making it because dinner service was a shit show and- Who's She?"

Y/N had finally stood up and looked behind Tara after pulling back from the embrace to shoot Mindy and Anika a small wave and smile but instead she was met with the most gorgeous set of chocolate colored eyes she'd ever seen. It felt like her the entire world stopped.

She stood there just staring back at her, eyes dark and brooding scanning over your face as Y/N did hers. Her hair was framing her face perfectly, her eyebrows were knit in concentration or maybe it was confusion either way Y/N just wanted to reach out and soothe it over with her thumb but she fought against it.

"Keep staring and I'll make sure I'm the last thing you see" And that's all it takes to knock Y/N out of whatever spell she was under while looking at mystery lady. "SAM! You cant threaten to kill everyone that looks at you, especially not my girlfriends best friend. Y/N she didn't mean that. Right Sam?" Tara said ending her sentence with an elbow to Sam's side. "Yeah, Right" she grumbled rolling her eyes at Tara before sitting down.

A bit after you and mystery lady's SAM's moment, everyone gets settled to watch the game as it begins. "So Sam, is this your first time at a soccer game?" Y/N asks, looking over at sam who was already looking at her. "Yeah" Sam replies never taking her eyes off of Y/N. "Want me to explain it? Help you under a bit better?" Y/N offers. "Nope" and with that Sam turns her back around to the game and doesn't say another word. That is until the game is over and Y/BF/N is running to Y/N as she pushes her way on to the field to greet Y/BF/N.

Y/BF/N played one of her best games EVER tonight, she came away with 2 goals-2 assist and 3 steals. She plays hard so when her and Y/N finally meet in the middle she's throwing her body on Y/N like a kid seeing their mom after the first day of school. She's overjoyed to have won and to know her best friend, her girlfriend and their friends were there to have witnessed it. "I'm so fucking proud of you, Y/B/NN. You were a goddamn storm out there!" Y/N shouts while rocking back and forth still embracing Y/BF/N. As the two girls pull back from each other and start doing their handshake, the rest of the group has made their was down to the field and over to them.

Tara pulls Y/BF/N into a big ass hug that ends in a kiss Sam would've paid money not to see. The rest of the group just standing there awkwardly talking amongst themselves as it continues.

"How's the chef been? You ran off to Jersey for the summer and have been MIA since you came back" Mindy points out and just like that all eyes are back on Y/N. "She didn't run off" Y/BF/N interjects after finally pulling away, jersey was still a sore topic for the two but at least Y/N could count on Y/BF/N not to force conversations about it.

As Y/BF/N headed off to the locker rooms to shower and get changed, with Tara following close behind Y/N seen this an opportunity to answer Mindy's first question. "Anyway, the chef is great, I'm in my final year so it's more stressful now than it has ever been but the world deserves to taste me so I'm dedicated to perfecting that." "Taste...you?" Mindy snickers a sly smirk playing on her lips. "Yeah, taste me and I know your gutter mind ass is taking it there so I won't divulge but I will extend you an offer to stop by the kitchen and learn somethings" Y/N states matter of factly looking straight into Mindy's eyes and suddenly she's the one acting all coy and bashful. "Damn, Y/N. You go MIA and come back trying to be Miss.TakeMyBitch" Anika says feigning betrayal. Laughter erupts between all of them and suddenly Y/BF/N and Tara are making their way back to the group. Looking a little "freshly fucked" might Mindy add but she saves them the embarrassment for now.

As everyone is walking through the parking lot and getting into their respective vehicles. Y/N can't help but let her mind wonder and eyes wander over to the brown eyed goddess she had met earlier. "You're staring again" Sam says "Can't Help it" Y/N replies. This makes Sam stop dead in her tracks as Y/N kept walking trying to keep her facade of being smooth as fuck under control. "Come on Sam, We are riding in Y/N's Car" She hears as is grabbing her arm and leading the way.

"Damn Y/N/N, when can I get a ride in that" Chad Says while looking at her car. She had recently purchased an Inifinti Q50S, it was painted titanium grey with an all black interior to match her rims. "Must be nice to have mommy and daddy get you everything" Sam sneered to no one in particular but Y/N heard it. " I don't have a mommy and daddy to do anything for me. This is NIL money, baby" Y/N retorted. "NIL?" Sam questions.

"Name, Image, Likeness." You, Y/B/N and Chad all say in unison. "Y/N is the best sports media journalist Blackmore has ever seen. She built media platform and gave the athletes here a voice" Chad Explains. Truth be told Y/N was glad nobody double back about the "no mommy daddy" comment because she didn't have the mental or emotional capacity for that tonight. "Alright, can we go now? I just played my ass off, I'm hungry and a little horny" Y/BF/N groans closing the car door as her and Tara climb in the backseat. "Guess that means you're riding shotgun Sammy" You tease. " Call me that again and I-" "Yeah, Yeah, save the threat. We both know Tara won't let you" Effectively cutting Sam off and starting her car.

Sam refused to admit but Y/N was actually pretty decent and before she knew it her mind was clouded with thoughts of Y/N. The way she would easily slip in and out of traffic, never breaking too hard or go too fast for Sam or the other two sucking face in the back to feel unsafe. Sam found herself now being the one to stare at the girl and my god was she glad Y/N was focused on the road. Under the glow of the city lights and the ones slightly illuminating the inside of the car Sam got lost in her side profile, with Y/N hair now pulled back she had a chance to examine the other features she may have missed earlier like the one dimple Y/n on her right cheek, the small scar above her ear that traveled down to the base of her hairline. The way Y/N's nose was the perfect slope from this angle.

"You're Staring" Y/N says glancing over at Sam when she stops at a red light. All Sam can do is open and close her mouth like a fish having just been caught doing the same thing she threatened Y/N for doing previously. The soft hum of the engine and music fill the rest of the car ride as the girls make their way to the " Carpenter Habitat" as Y/BF/N calls it.

As the car pulls up in front of the apartment building, Tara begins begging Sam to let Y/BF/N sleepover and much to her surprise she gives in not before giving a stern "door open or living room" option with no room for rebuttal. Sam then looks to Y/N as if she was going to say the same to her but Y/N is quick to correct. "I won't be staying, Gonna head back to the kitchen and get prepped for the dinner service happening tomorrow. You kids have fun" Y/N states looking at all three of them while leaning on her car and lighting a joint. "Wanna finish this off before you go up?" Y/N says to Y/BF/N who looks over at Tara for the go-ahead. "Fine, but just one and you better shower again" Tara directs at Y/BF/N. After kissing Tara, Y/BF/N walks over to your car and takes the lit joint from you. Tara and Sam begin to walk inside and up to their shared apartment where they both watch Y/N & Y/BF/N smoke and interact like predators hunting prey.

"You sure you don't wanna stay?" Tara yells down to Y/N after the smoke session has ended and Y/BF/N has made it safely inside and upstairs to her girlfriend. "Yeah, I'm sure. You and Y/BF/N deserve some time together after that game she played" Y/N says with a knowing smile. Y/BF/N needed her "Tara Time" after long days or hard games and who is Y/N to stop that.

Before getting in her car, Y/N spares one last glance to the balcony Tara was just on only to see the older carpenter staring back at her. With a small smile and a wave Y/N bids farewell to Sam "It was nice meeting you tonight..Sammy" "Likewise Y/N" Sam replies softly watching as Y/N slips into her car and disappears in the city traffic.

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

AN: this is my first time writing something like this so pls bear w meeeeeeeeeee. if you have any suggestions on how the story line should progress, critiques, etc feel free to lmk!

any ideas on what to name the fic? submit themmmmm

[shellswritesstuff]

squad damocles hand holding hcs!!! i love these three so much

꒰sᴍ𝟸 ᴛʀɪᴏ ʜᴄs! - ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ʜᴀɴᴅs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ s/ᴏ꒱ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

ah how sweet and heartwarming!!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ pls hold these guys close, the horrors of the 40k universe must do numbers to their mental,,, id faint even seeing a cherub HSAJK- 

Gadriel

Tries to be nonchalant about it. 'Oops, didn't mean to touch your hand..' type deal.

You don't buy it for a moment, though. If it was such an accident, why is it happening for the third time this week?

After a few more attempts at playing the cool guy facade, you go ahead and make the first move. 

"You're so cute, Gadriel." You shoot him a knowing look, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Oh, and that was an accident, too." 

You'd run away, leaving the space marine behind. 

Next time you wouldn't get away that easy. He'd grab your hand just before you would take off, and offer a rare smile. 

Bonus points if Chairon happens to be walking by when it all goes down. He is NEVER gonna let him live that one down! "Oi, Lover Boy." 

Chairon

A lot more straightforward than Gadriel. Who knows if he'll be here tomorrow? He makes it a point to tell you how he feels before it's too late.

Chairon holds your hands, one of his more than enough to encompass both of yours. He'll bring them to his face, your knuckles feeling the texture of his surprisingly soft lips.

He's a romantic at heart, one in a million in this world. Will pick you an exotic flower from whatever plant he was dispatched to. (This may or may not have lead to a fire in the barge. Captain Acheran scolded him about "getting laid at th expense of his brothers.")

 He now settles for pretty rocks. A radiation risk waiting to happen, but I digress.

"I made sure to thoroughly clean off the guts this time." Chairon would lean against the door, surprising you with an early return. "I and don't just mean myself."

Titus

Imagine you're out assisting his squad on a mission. (Okay, lore accurate maybe not but work with me here. ;;) You hang back, providing fire from behind Titus, picking off any snipers. 

You're too concentrated on your lover that you failed to notice the two hormagaunts jumping for your skull. 

Titus, the knight in shining blueberry armor he is, rushes over to your rescue. He throws the first tyranid to the dirt, stomping it flat. You heard its thorax collapse under the weight of his boot, it's structure cracking and crumbling like rotten wood. 

Once that was dealt with, Titus snatched the second bug out of the air. He put his hands on either side of its head, plunging his thumbs into it's now oozing eye sockets. As you fell backwards, your lover ripped the monster in half. The sight of it's organs stretching to accommodate the tear; it almost made you throw up.

"Are you alright?" Titus dropped the corpse to the ground, forgetting it in favor of you. You gazed up at him, your bloodied protector held out a hand for you to take. 

And that's the story of how you first held hands with Titus. It was a lot more romantic to the man then it was to you. 

[bandgie]

need more yj and kai poly relationship thoughts pls 😭🤍

this post anon is referring to

MDNI 18+, oral (f!), pussy inspection, fingering, cum swapping

ᥫ᭡ thoughts...

I think yeonjun would give pussy inspections. just to make sure you're wet enough for their cocks. i see kai as his little assistant, keeping your legs spread for your check up

you need to have a real good cunt to take them, yeonjun won't have anything less. he'll blow on your bare core to watch it tense, making sure it gives good reactions

huge tease about it. you're complaining and telling him that you've already fucked him, that you've already fucked the both of them, but he isn't having it. he's so certain that you need to be able to fit their fingers before you even think about their cocks

there's a total of 4 fingers in you, two of kai's and two of yeonjun's. they spread and stretch you. yeonjun will make kai spit on your clit for extra lube

I just knooowww kai loves eating your pussy at any given time. hooking a leg over his shoulder and pushing the back of his head so deep between your legs that you can feel his nose. defo cum swaps with yeonjun and you when you cream on his tongue !

ugh I need a doctor!yeonjun and nurse!kai fic, someone write it please... maybe I will.... later

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; vi

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 11k LOL SORRY

summary:  "Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike."

warnings:  blood and gore, graphic descriptions of violence (reader and others), allusions to noncon/incest/pedophilia (Feyd Rautha and the Baron), referenced past abuse, blood kink, predator/prey kink, allusions to dubcon, knife kink, rough unprotected PiV, slapping, flashback to Feyd-Rautha warning maybe i should say, drinking and making dubious decisions... pls lmk if i left any out.

notes: hi to my friends here who are reading this series! thanks for the patience I know its been a little bit since i last updated but in return, this chapter is the longest yet with almost 11k words... i promise itll be worth it!! things are moving along!! new chapter on AO3 is also coming soon :) as always please feel invited to leave feedback, its how i get motivated! love u all i hope you enjoy!

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My Dearest Niece,

I received your letter with great joy, though I regret to inform you that I will not be able to attend the Space Trade Referendum or the arraignment as planned. It is with love that I must share the news that I am set to give birth around that time, and I am unable to travel in my condition.

Please know that my absence does not diminish my support for you in any way.  Though I cannot be there in person, I will be thinking of you and sending you all of my love and support from afar. Should things become dire, please remember that you are always welcome at House Ginaz. Our doors are open to you, and we will do whatever we can to assist you in any way possible.

Take care, my dear niece, and know that you are never alone.

With all my love and best wishes,

Lady Ginaz

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The planets look tiny and unimportant from so vastly far away. 

You've decided, in the last few days, that you are not particularly keen on space travel; The ship that transports you and the members of House Atreides is incredibly massive and freezing cold, and the empty void of space that sits just to the right of your bed has been a present reminder of your mortality. 

You stare silently out the expansive window that covers one whole wall of your chambers; out into the deep dark, your breath nearly fogging the plexiglass from your proximity. Your lip, chewed raw, has cracked down the middle and bleeds gently as you sigh, one hand toying with the sleeve of the dress you wear. 

It is now only three days until the summit Referendum is drawn - four days, then, until your fate is charged against the rest of the Landsraad - when you could lose your planet and your name, your right to marry Paul, your claim to the Noble class. 

"I want you to be prepared," Duke Leto had said last night at dinner, "Baron Harkonnen will be in attendance, and it is likely that either of his nephews will be with him." 

Your eyes bore holes into the window before you, showcasing the wide expanse of space that stretches deeper than you could fathom. The thought of seeing Feyd-Rautha festers in your mind; a dangerous, hungry beast that cannot be quelled but with the taste of flesh and blood. 

It is with a twist of your gut that you realize you want him to be there. 

Ever fiber of your being screams with the desire to see him, to scream, to rip the skin off of his face. More fearfully, though: deep down inside you feel a longing, quiet and unsure, that sings in your heart. There were those days when Feyd would come to you late at night, muscles weary, and he would lay with you; nothing more than his head on your chest, his breaths labored, as he fought back the gruesome memories of his uncle's vile ways. He never particularly opened up about his experience completely - but in those moments, where you'd tenderly stroke his head and listen to his uneven breathing, he'd whisper evil truths to you; truths that prove even the worst person you know can be hurt by another. 

You'd shared moments of tenderness with Feyd-Rautha, even though it is now completely unimaginable - warped and disintegrated by the cruelty of your stay, the horror of their culture. Fingers, dipping into a bowl of black paint to be smeared over his taught torso; Lips, smeared with the same color and pressed on his palms, where he'd clutch blades in the arena.

Small gifts; the bright red wax currants from your homeworld, smuggled when the Baron was none the wiser; a new dress in your wardrobe the day after he'd ripped one apart. Feyd's hands, surprisingly soft when he was placated - pressing against your waist, or smoothing over your cheeks. The same hands that hit your skin and the same lips that said horrible things to you; the teeth that broke skin, the blades that cut yours. 

There was once a semblance of care between you, however skewed and twisted it was; Now, all that remains is hatred. 

A knock at your door makes your brow furrow; the view from the plexiglass window, thick and slightly warped, reflects your surprised expression. You are not set to land on Kaitain for another few hours. 

"Yes?" You call, voice sharp; you are unable to shake the anger that has grown in you the last few minutes reminiscing upon your relationship with Feyd-Rautha. 

"My lady," Your handmaid calls - it is not Hestia, but a sweet maid who is younger and less inclined to speak freely. "Lord Paul wishes to speak with you." 

You find yourself relieved that it is him who wishes to speak with you, not sure you have the energy to face anyone else now. You send her a small faux smile, hoping to ease her anxiety - wherever it may stem from - and nod, "Let him in, please." 

A few moments before he walks in, steps quiet against the floor as you stare out into the vast darkness. It's been over a day since you've seen Paul - consciously, at least - and he looks quite different away from the winds of Caladan. His eyes are dark, framed by those long lashes, face more serious than usual; a feat you never thought possible. Much like yourself, he is dressed quite formally - curls tamed away from his face, dark dress uniform that has the brass sigil of Atreides on the collar. 

You wetten your lips as he arrives next to you; you taste the tang of your own blood, familiar and warm, as you greet him. "Hello, Paul." You say, turning to nod at him. 

You haven't spoken alone since the few nights ago in the garden; during meals and meetings upon your travels to Kaitain you've exchanged pleasantries and discussed options for trade routes and embargoes, but nothing more. It's a good thing you're seeing him now, you remind yourself - to become acquainted with being seen publicly by his side. You'll land in a few hours and stand together upon arrival; a flicker of anxiety flares within you. 

I don't know why you pretend to know anything about me. 

He says your name, and it gives you that odd feeling in your stomach at his timbre. His eyes don't hold yours for long after greeting you; silently, he resigns himself to watch out over the ocean of space with you. Perhaps it's the sense of foreboding that lingers over your head, or the desperation that crawls through your veins when it hits you; while unlikely, there is still a possibility that you could lose your engagement to Paul in a few days, and by extension, lose the only grasp at power you might have. 

His breathing is low and slow; you match your own breaths subconsciously, unaware of the comfort you find in his presence. "Will you sit in with your father for the drawings?" You ask, unsure why he's chosen to visit you before it is time to land and chosen to remain mute; but you are curious to know what he is thinking. It will be more beneficial to be on each other's good side going into the next few days, and it's better to start with tortuous slow talk as to avoid the arguments that are bound to sprout up. 

"Yes," He affirms, "But not for the trial; only House representatives may sit on the bench." 

You hum, your hands clasping in front of you, smoothing over the rich texture of your dress. You're not sure if it's a relief or another anxiety that Paul will not be sitting front row at your arraignment.

The starlight reflects in his eyes as he stares at you, as if unsure what to do. A violent rush of emotion floods through you - you realize in this moment just how much you've come to rely on him; not in the way you had with Feyd-Rautha, where you'd had to rely on him out of necessity, but because he understands what you are feeling, if not just a tiny bit. 

It's been a lonely many years, and to finally trust someone - with your life, your future - uncertainty blooms in your gut untastefully, but you are finally beginning to let yourself ignore it. You're learning to let things happen as they come; resistance holds more pain than fortune in some cases. It's much easier to ignore your troubles when Paul's standing beside you, watching the stars silently. 

"I used to get nauseous during space travel." He says quietly; introspectively. The corner of your lip quirks; you haven't felt too good yourself since setting off on the ship. You debate even responding, but curiosity piques you as you turn to regard him.

"Have you traveled off-planet much?" You ask. You've only ever been to Sabberon, Giedi Prime, and Caladan; Though once, when you were just barely fifteen, you convinced your father to take you to one of the smaller moons under the jurisdiction of your House, but fell ill and had to stay home. 

He shrugs with one shoulder in that peculiar way he does, shaking his head. "Not particularly, but I've gone with my father to High Councils and meetings on Kaitain." 

You nod, considering. "Is it really just one big city?" You ask, willing to play a pleasant game of small talk. His eyes are locked on a particularly bright star in the distance. Paul's response is thoughtful, his expression distant as he recalls, "It's mostly Corrinth City," he muses, choosing his words carefully. "There's certainly more variety than just buildings, but the parks and vegetation they have lack authenticity."

A wistful smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you remember the natural beauty of your home planet, impressed by Paul's fascination with different cultures and planets. "Fresh air." You mutter. He watches you as you turn back to the glass, toying with the necklace in your hands. "Giedi Prime is similar," you confide, a touch of bitterness seeping into your words. "Not a single part of nature there that wasn't synthesized."

It's quiet for a heavy moment in which you're thrust into black and white memories of thick air, an oppressive sun, unwelcoming glares and hisses. 

There's a brief pause as he considers his next words, a thoughtful furrow appearing between his brows, "I can't imagine what it must have been like," he admits, his tone gentle. "But I admire your resilience."

It's not a particularly enticing subject; the thought of Feyd-Rautha has you seeing red, and the prospect of it happening in a setting like you're about to be in is sickening to you. You are tired of people repeatedly telling you that you're resilient or strong after being forced to survive such tragedies; there is nothing irrepressible about it when enduring is the only choice. You sigh, "Maybe one day people will stop telling me how strong I am." 

He turns to look at you in your peripheral. "And what would you have them tell you instead?" He questions. 

You find yourself interested in the small glint that reflects within his green stare; attention fully on you, you've never particularly noticed what Hestia had once said to be true: There is a side to Paul which enjoys a small bit of humor, however odd it may be. And perhaps you are starting to recognize a similar side within you.

A pang of longing washes over you suddenly; a selfish wish. To enjoy your youth while you still have it grasped within your hands, to relish in the attention of the handsome boy who stands before you - no matter who he is - and to bask in the wealth and prosperity of the house you're marrying in to. When you were eighteen, before leaving Sabberon, you would have felt overjoyed to have such a connection with your future husband. Even in the eclipse of your anxiety of the days to come, a resentment grows within you - towards everything, perhaps, that threw you into the midst of crimes you did not commit, to have to answer the call for your family after those who cast it killed them. 

"I don't know, maybe something shallow and complementary for once? That they like my hair, or the dress that I'm wearing." Your voice is tired - less sardonic than usual, though, and you find a kind of warmth within it. You shrug, "What do people usually tell noble ladies like me?" 

Paul stares at you, and for a moment you flounder under the scrutiny: have you just embarrassed yourself, for acting so childish? But then, who is to say you shouldn't act childish, when your young adulthood has been so tainted and tarnished? 

His small grin eases your worries quickly and even stirs something deep within you; you've never seen his expression so relaxed, so pleased except in dreams; The thought sends your stomach flipping. "Well, I do like your hair." He says simply, shrugging.

You send him a flat glare, ignoring the heat in your face at the blunt compliment. This is certainly untread ground. At your expression, Paul shrugs, pointedly staring at your knife that lies untouched by your resting area. "To be fair, if someone tried to compliment your appearance I believe you'd carve their tongue out."

You scoff, "Just because you think I'm some monster-" 

He doesn't let you go off on another tangent this time; he dares interrupt you instead, tilting his head as if to prove a point. "-And as for your dress," he added, his tone teasing as he takes the time to take in your appearance, "I like the color. But I'd say it pales in comparison to the woman wearing it."

 You roll your eyes at the cliché, the way his grin looks innocent and boyish in the starlight, and you shake your head. Concealing your heated cheeks with a glare, you huff, "I should cut out your tongue for that. That was painful." 

"I'm simply following your orders, my lady." He defends, hiding a small laugh. His own amused smile looks completely foreign and quite beautiful upon his features, you can't look away. "Shallow and complimentary." 

"I didn't mean it like that." You mutter, crossing your arms. He turns towards you; the viridian of his uniform is striking against the matte architecture around you. "You seem not to know what you want." He shakes his head. 

This is, for some reason, sobering. 

You clear your throat, smile dying down as your thoughts spiral, concern growing the closer you close in on Kaitain.  

You hadn't acted much like a noble lady, especially when you'd arrived; though Duncan does not hold it over you, the look on everyone's faces after they'd seen the claw marks you'd left him is fully ingrained into your memory. You'd lashed out, been cold and distant, unwelcoming. Even as Paul tries to navigate through the thick haze of both of your dreams, you've been difficult - but you've come to understand that his introspective nature, which you initially perceived as snootiness, is just introversion and a sharp mind.  

"I may not act like it all the time," you say smally, unsure who you're admitting it to - him, or you - "but I am very grateful for your help. Your house has shown more kindness than I deserve. And I'm sorry for the times that I seem less than so." 

Like in the garden the other day, you almost add; hesitating, you let the words hang above your head. It's a hard thing, to trust him with your future. Despite the uncertainty that looms over you both, there's a quiet reassurance in his presence - even as he takes a step back from the window and looks towards the hall. 

He doesn't say anything, but the corners of his lips uptick in a gentle smile. 

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The weather is warm and sunny when Paul steps out of the space port.

The House Atreides is received by members of the Imperial House; Paul's father pulls one of the men into a tight embrace for a moment as he watches, a smile growing on his father's face. Each one of them wears a mask, even you; Paul stares on at the people before him with his chin up, just as he was taught in his youth. 

You stand next to him, his father on his right and his mother on the other side. The sun burns brightly today - it's about midday, and though he is exhausted from travel, Paul's gaze is immediately drawn to the grandeur of the cityscape; the bustling city that reflects in your hairpiece as you tilt your head in his peripheral.

There are towering spires of gleaming metal - gold, too - and glass that stretches towards the heavens, reflecting the fountains below them. The fountains adorn the main plaza where a convoy waits to shuttle the house to the lodgings -  cascading waters create a soothing symphony amidst the hustle and bustle of the city. 

The entire walk, you stand beside him, your back straight as ever; your eyes are wide with awe at the vibrant energy of the city. Banners and posters line the boulevards, boasting of the Trade referendum; convoys with tinted shields carry other Noble Houses to and fro under the watchful gaze of the large conference building that towers above the other theaters and galleries. 

Paul never cared too much for a large city, preferring the sparce Cala City with its docks and canals. 

The ride to the accommodations is filled with views, too: grand theaters and lush parks, each more impressive than the last - a gentle breeze, barely a cloud in the sky above all the skyscrapers, statues of previous Corrino Emperors watching down the boulevards with golden stares.

His parents murmur gently in front of him - you, however, stare out the window solemnly, your eyes stuck on the large building in the distance: The Imperial Opal Palace.

There is a worry between your brows that does not subside the entire trip towards the accommodations; to save your dignity, Paul pretends to not see it. 

He is likewise stuck with a sense of apprehension for the days ahead, but doesn't dare voice his thoughts out loud. He's spoken with his father already about his concerns - The political landscape of the Landsraad is fraught with tension now more than ever; every decision made during the referendum will have far-reaching consequences. Not to mention, the very present chance that, after the arraignment, you may be stripped of your House's land and wealth - most of which was absorbed by the Harkonnens but some of which still remains on Sabberon.

Blinking away drooping eyelids, Paul rests his chin in his palm. Sleeping has become quite a chore as of late, and he's found that more often than not, each slumber leaves him less rested than before.

It's only thirty minutes until you're being received again at the gates of their lodgings; A plethora of people in uniform who bow to the members of House Atreides and their staff before shaking hands, pressing small kisses to you and his mother's knuckles. You look stricken with panic; though your face is completely schooled and placated, he can see in the tenseness of your neck and the way your eyes flicker sharply that you've found that feeling again - to run. He almost feels it, too. 

Glancing sideways at you while staff directs everyone to their quarters, Paul feels his hand brush against yours; a fleeting accident, but the look you send him before entering your own quarters is less than chilly - he turns forward, leaving you without a word when a maid gestures him down a different hallway. 

The days on Kaitain are long and filled with conferences, galas, and 'town halls' in which Paul takes diligent note of every single person, who they are, and what their stance is on the upcoming voting; His father insists on debriefing each evening and then again in the morning. There is little time for rest and even less time for speaking with the others. 

Paul cannot help but miss the routine of life on Caladan; perhaps he's grown keen to the architecture that has held up his entire life - intricate windows and hexagonal wooden floorboards that creak every third left foot - but the streets and buildings of Corrinth City are much less pleasant and too gaudy for his taste. 

The sun is more inviting on this planet; he decides the intermittent gloom that creeps into Castle Caladan might have put an even worse damper on the anticipatory moods of him and his House members. 

During supper the second evening, his mother mentions the court building she'd accompanied you to with Thufir earlier in the day. You'd gone to provide your genetic data for the upcoming trial and arraignment, as well as sign the correct paperwork as final heir to your house. Paul has to suppress a look of exhaustion when you make a face at the thought of the courthouse. 

"Was it bad?" His father asks you, a glint of amusement in his eye. You, as you often do, miss the jesting in his voice. "It was perfectly pleasant, I suppose, despite why we were there. I didn't quite like the golden dome, though." 

They love their gold here, Paul thinks. Your eyes flicker to him after a split second and he blinks, somewhat startled by the sudden attention.  

It's over as quick as it came, and dinner sullies on. 

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You don't see much of Paul or Duke Leto in these days leading up to the Referendum; Attending the meetings and councils for the Great Council are forbidden for you. Deemed a person of interest, you are not allowed a seat at this conference; instead you stay back and try to ignore the impending doom growing in your gut. 

The few days between your arrival and the actual Referendum are littered with pointless social gatherings; you observe as Paul attends every single meeting, gala, dinner, and everything in-between with a grace you never actually thought imaginable. He's up bright and early each morning, mumbling deeply at the breakfast table and rubbing the sleep from his eyes while reviewing subjects with his father. Besides the short visit to the court building to provide genetic data, there is nothing for you to do besides wait for the others to return and relay information to you, waiting to hear your thoughts.

There is a play you attend at the opera house that one of the Emperor's daughters is also in attendance to; this is a big buzz for the other Nobles, who you have grown to detest even more through the last few days. Lady Jessica keeps her stay with you when she can but attends several of her own more mysterious meetings off-campus; some that leave you wondering and doubting, spending hours of your day staring at the wall, trying to recover the full knowledge behind the Shortening of the Way.

Hestia was unable to come with you, and though you enjoy the company of your maid, she is quite jumpy around you, and stares with fear at the knife that sleeps beside you on your pillow. Despite being around many, you still feel alone - more than you have in a while. Perhaps that is why you fall asleep so early the night before the Referendum.

Perhaps that is why you dream what you dream. 

Your feet slap bare against the cold floor of the halls; your breath comes, but it is ragged. 

If Giedi Prime's atmosphere was capable of it, you'd imagine a harsh ice storm slamming against the echoing walls, berating and mocking your racing heart. Plumes of clouded breaths betraying you as you pant, holding a shaky hand to your lips as you turn your neck. 

A distant shout; His voice rolls, feet sliding down the same hallway upon which you crouch; Your heart thunders in your chest, fear striking you as the dull heat in your stomach grows lower, aching in your core. 

You should not feel excited for what is to come - but something dark in you dares Feyd-Rautha to come near you, to try and best you in combat; you, unlike the others he fights, are not drugged. 

Despite your fear you're as sound as ever tonight, because it is your nameday. And you know what the Harkonnen grooms gift to their betrothed on their first nameday spent together - it is strapped to your waistband, sheathed and perfectly pristine. 

After tonight, that blade will weep with blood.  

A deep chuckle through the walls; you slide as quietly as possible from shadow to shadow, the billowy dress skirt you don providing no ease. Perhaps another day, you'd find this entire thing a complete waste of time - if Feyd-Rautha felt the need to exercise his control over you, he need not look further than, say, your living quarters, which were small and attached to his; the slaves they gave to serve you, with their tongues cut off; the complete regulation over anyone you come into contact with; the times you go to the arena and train or fight. 

Every part of your life, he can control - except one. 

One part of you, nestled deep down from the last few years on Sabberon with your mother holds onto the power of sex; a power of yours that Feyd-Rautha yields to quicker than anybody else. 

It is not exactly true, either, to say that he takes things of that nature from you unwillingly; though he'd probably enjoy to anyways. Because the worst part of it all is that deep down - in the evenings, when the shadows glint over his brow bone, in the mornings, when you agree to paint him before he goes to the arena, when that smooth chuckle echoes in your chamber, when you take down yet another competitor in the arena and you meet his hungry eyes, or even when his hand wraps around your throat - you like it. You love that deep arousal, the simmering fear that bubbles into hunger.

You've begun to crave the darkness that spills out of him, relish in the feeling of him on your body far after he's gone. 

Feyd-Rautha's appetite cannot be satiated; he is hungry for you, for warm skin against his, constantly. He has his Harpies, and you are thankful for that; without them you fear you'd have to kill him in his sleep. 

Tonight is different, though - because you have just celebrated the first steps in a long-seated tradition of House Harkonnen and are now hiding in the depths of the stronghold, hiding away and hoping your betrothed cannot find you. 

The walls creak, hallways groan; something disgustingly personified about some of the areas of Barony's Castle that sets your skin on edge. Fingers shakily skim over the leather hilt of your new blade - curved, silver and foreign, it is engraved with an odd language that you do not wish to read. 

Suddenly, a chilling laugh echoes through the empty halls; back flying rigid, shivers wash over your spine. Freezing in your tracks, your eyes scan the darkness for any sign of movement, knowing he is much closer than you'd wished. 

You've made it - from what you can tell - a long time running from Feyd; he grows impatient with every breath, every step - though you are not on your way towards either of your quarters, you wish you had been. There is a dull ache that has sprouted in your anticipation that you know Feyd-Rautha will be eager to satisfy your arousal after the ritual; though you are unsure if either of you will be in a state good enough for it. 

You hear a whisper around a corner and shrink back further into the shadows of the room you've slid into. Across your vision lies a grand table, its legs a thick dark wood with a glossy finish in the moonlight. 

And then, like a specter, his shadow slides up against the backlit hall - casting a tall frame over the glint on the table. You resist a gasp, your eyes pealing over the twin knives that hang dauntingly in his grasp. "Come out, little pet," he taunts, his voice a sinister whisper. "There's no use hiding. I can smell your fear."

He might be bluffing, but you're not sure; there is a part of you that has fear quaking through your bones and nearly sets your teeth to chatter - but a larger part of you is ravenous, hungry for a chance to get your hands on him. 

You press yourself against the cold stone wall, heart pounding in your chest as you make a quick plan; you're not foolish enough to believe you are any match for Feyd-Rautha in your current state of panic - But still, you refuse to give in to despair; You might be able to outwit him for just a bit longer. 

He draws closer, entering the room. The footsteps echo ominously in the silence and send a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a silent prayer to the void, you dart down a narrow corridor, footsteps quick and light as you seek refuge in the darkness. But Feyd-Rautha is relentless in his pursuit, his laughter echoing through the halls as he gives chase.

"You can run, little mouse," he calls, his voice filled with cruel amusement. "I'll still find you."

Desperate, you press yourself into the shadows, not daring to breath as you wait for him to pass; then, with a surge of courage, you spring from your hiding place, drawing your knife from its place at your hip.

For a brief moment, your blades clash; he, with a small light of shock in his dark eyes, and you with fury and anger. You're too weary from running for over an hour - he, on the other hand, had adopted a leisurely stroll through the castle he's known for years longer than yourself; barely winded, he attains the upper hand in moments. 

You get several cuts in; he, per tradition, does not have a shield on and takes the pain with a glinting smirk.

You relish in the crimson that beads at the seam of each strike.

But you are too little, too late; in a sudden blur of motion, he is upon you, his frame crashing into yours with a force that sends you sprawling to the cold stone floor.

The impact is harsh; you squint your eyes to ward off the dizzy spell that accompanies the ache in your skull. For a moment, you lay there, stunned by the impact and mind reeling as you struggle to catch your breath. Feyd-Rautha follows you to the floor swiftly- you feel his weight pressing down on you like a jolt of electricity.

It's a sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced before; a heady mix of fear and desire, arousal and revulsion, all swirling together in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that makes you scream out, exhausted and petrified. Feyd-Rautha's hands roam over your form, one blade still in his fist; lifting the tip of it, he traces the curve of your jawline gently. You gasp at the cold metal, the sweet sharpness slicing gently down your cheekbone. When the blood pebbles, his tongue is there to lap it up; a shaky sigh you admit into his ear lets him grunt and from there, he's all but forgotten the purpose of the hunt itself. 

You, foolishly, drop your blade in a last-ditch hope he will too; instead he leans just so, dragging the curved knife over your neck and down between your breasts, where he begins seamlessly slicing your dress down the middle. You squirm under his thighs; not for discomfort - no, that would be too sane - but in desire, your body alight with a primal hunger you cannot deny. 

Your mind rebels against the intrusion, screaming out; you should push him away, fight back against the overwhelming tide of desire threatening to consume you - but why shouldn't you? He will be your husband one day - there is nothing wrong about satisfying your desires with him. Perhaps it will distract him from his task.

You yield easily; into his lips, a whisper against sharpened black teeth and a hungry growl. Your body melts against his touch in a dizzying haze of surrender and desire - "Have you ever tried spice, my pet?" You think he asks. You shake your head, body trembling as the knife lowers across your waistline, nicking against the pair of underwear you don. Your hips buck with desire in response. 

He hums, tongue sliding from your bleeding cheek to your chest; teeth marking you as he chooses to do every night; over the cacophony of yellows, blues, purples, blacks and browns. He tsks into your throat as he throws the blade to the ground; having cut open your dress you are nearly bare for him, spread out and eager on the stone floor. "When we go to Arrakis we will have it." He promises; an odd thing to remark but you can barely focus as he presses his length, hard and eager, to your heat.  

Your eyes close, trying to visualize where your knife's gone, and where his are; because at some point, he will have to finish the job, and you will be prepared. A harsh twist of your budding nipple has your back arching, pain and pleasure flaring within you. 

"Are you listening to me?" He growls. You yelp in pain, hand slapping him hard across the face. His eyes roll back as he inhales sharply; a twitch as he roll his hips against you. "I'd listen better if your cock were inside me." You dare say, fed up with waiting; you glare impatiently as he stares with pupils so wide they swallow your next words. A hand on your throat, pressing you into the ground with a snarl. 

"When I am inside you, you tend to forget your own name." He grunts into your ear, hand fumbling with his own belt; with anticipation you move against him, hand snaking down to pull his length from his slacks. 

"You caught me," You breathe into his ear, risking a reminder of the game you'd been set to play and how deliciously it'd been forgotten. "Claim your prize, na-Baron." 

He does. 

Unfortunately for you, you are not as lucky as you'd hoped after Feyd enters you. Indeed, minutes later when you are at the very apex of your own pleasure and he is just about to find his, he must come to his own senses; and that is very unfortunate for you. 

Your legs tightening around his hips, back arched and bare chest pressed against the rough texture of his tunic, you barely feel his hand slip from your throat and upwards, to your left above your head. If you'd opened your eyes, you'd have seen the sadistic smirk upon his face when he thumbed the virgin blade, as your breaths of satisfaction fogged it up. 

You feel it very presently when it happens. 

You've hit your high; spasming, gasping, fingernails drawing blood in streaks across Feyd-Rautha's scarred back, yet you feel the blade as it pierces through your skin. 

You freeze for a moment and your eyes widen; he's watching you, eyes fanatic and excited as he plunges the blade just between your ribs; just so, shallow enough to avoid serious injury but still enough to stake claim. You scream louder than you ever have before. He moans along with your curdled, cracking voice as he slows his thrusts, your legs spasming and arms pushing him away in shock and pain. 

His spend leaks from you as you gasp, hands shaking as blood seeps from your torso, hatred coursing through your very veins. How dare he defile you, take your own virgin blade and stain it with your own crimson; you're luckier than most Harkonnen brides, perhaps if only for the fact that you knew of this ritual before it began, but you are filled with a newfound hate for your betrothed. 

It doesn't make it any less real when the wound heals but the scar does not; the feeling of Feyd-Rautha's tongue lapping your blood never quite subsiding even years later.  

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The day of the referendum finds Paul in an extremely dreary mood.

He is plagued by a horrific dream - one he knows is more of a memory - and cannot bring himself to eat breakfast, stuck avoiding your stare all morning as the members of House Atreides break fast together.

There is no time to speak with you about what you dreamt, but the fear that has clawed in the back of his mind - what is being set up for us? - is starting to wage a serious war within him.

The minutes tick by in droves as Paul's mind whirs; calculating constantly- your eyes, flashing to his every time he thinks about you, as if you know. You couldn't possibly know, though? 

His mother stares at him intently, too; a gaze that he'd usually just find mildly concerning but has since grown with every day pushing towards the outcome of this trip. 

His father discusses the plans drawn from the previous day with you and you're perceptive; insightful as you double-check Gurney and Thufir agree with your opinion on fruits exports at the end of summer harvest, should the redrawn routes go less in the House's favor. At one point, to Paul's surprise, you even coax a short laugh out of Gurney and the Duke. 

But Paul is too consumed to tune in himself. 

Chewing on his lip, he sticks a slice of melon between his teeth and chews half-heartedly, struck by another bout of confusion concerning the entangled dreams. 

At first, he had considered the possibility that it was some manipulation by the Bene Gesserit. Something that was cast by the Reverend Mother and carried out by his mother - a subtle ploy to influence your relationship, to harden the bond that was indeed barely there at all. This can't be, though; Paul has grown up his entire life preparing to marry a complete stranger, as is requested by almost every noble person in the known universe - why, then, wouldn't they trust him to carry through with it, even if he had once believed you to be a spy? There is no dire need to ensure the marriage would happen - both of you have admitted your reluctance, but not once have you nor him declared to refuse the union.

But this last dream was a memory, he's sure; and he wasn't in it, which implies many things he wish not unpack presently. Not to mention that even his mother, with all her training and abilities, has never found a semblance of this kind of connection, through conscious or subconscious, with him. 

A stroke of concern clouds his mind at this; might this be a manifestation of his Mentat abilities - some latent aspect of his training that allowed him to perceive the world in ways others couldn't? To see into your mind and, in turn, project his into yours?

Paul's eyes accidentally find yours again; he casts his gaze to his plate, recalling unpleasantly the blood-curdling scream you'd let out as that same knife you still carry was plunged into your ribs. A sense of unease stirs deep within his core.

Resolutely, there are other matters to attend to that are more time-sensitive. He and his father are informed that their transport has arrived, and so with tight nods and farewells, they leave for the final addendum. 

Paul will have to ask Thufir about these concerns after the convention; But for now, Paul tucks the question away in the recesses of his mind, awaiting the opportunity to seek answers.

The chamber hums with anticipation as Paul sits attentively beside his father - looking over the crowd, he notes representatives from each of the Great Houses Major and Minor of the Landsraad, along with delegates from the Spacing Guild and stakeholders of the Imperium fill nearly every seat in the grand hall, their voices a low murmur punctuated by occasional bursts of conversation.

He can only imagine how it will feel for you tomorrow; each face staring down at you as you perch on a stool, subjected to answering for the family that never answered you. He bites his lip, recalling the trunk he'd requested be brought with them on the trip to Kaitain; perhaps you could use a distraction tonight from what's to come - or would that just make you more skittish, more ready to bite any hand near you? 

He hopes you aren't agitated by what he'll offer this evening - don't you deserve to enjoy at least one part of this whole trip, even if the worst may come in the morning? Paul suppresses a groan, wondering when any of that ever started to really matter to him. 

The lights are too bright and it makes his eyes squint; drawing, somewhat unintentionally, to an unpleasant splattering of black and paled, sickly skin just several rows away.

His spine straightens, stomach curdling. 

"House Harkonnen." He whispers; his father hears it, though, and his eyes trail over to the grotesquely gigantic man who takes up two seats - the machine suspending him as he reposes with several others around him. Memories, faint and not his, flash in his mind and disgust trickles through his veins.

Paul flares in fury; His father sighs, "Paul, you mustn't start anything." 

As if he was going to walk up and slit Baron Harkonnen's throat in the middle of the Referendum?

He grits his teeth, "I won't." He says calmly, eyes stinging from the stare he casts. 

A deep-seated rage simmers within him even as the meeting begins; fueled by a sense of injustice and a fiercely warm burning in his chest when he thinks of you- left to fight alone for years. The Harkonnens represent everything he despises: cruelty, deceit, and a complete disregard for the well-being of others - his House's deepest enemy, the vilest of beings. 

Paul maintains his composure and pays attention to the council, but an extremely violent hatred gnaws at him relentlessly. Is one of those heads glinting in the fluorescents Feyd-Rautha? Will you have to stare into his eyes as the charges are read to you tomorrow? 

His fingers twitch, but he does not dare disrupt the meeting. Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike.

Things do not get better after this. 

One by one, the representatives from each House cast their votes, their voices ringing out in the vast hall. Paul watches on with a sinking feeling as House after House sides with the proposed changes; Not necessarily a sealed fate for the economy of House Atreides, but certainly putting it at risk should the Baron decide to leverage his holdings.

After a recess, the final votes are tallied; Imperial Mentats, their eyes flashing, approve of the calculations. The presiding official steps forward - Paul, too lost in his thoughts of your dream last night, had missed the man's name - and addresses the gathered delegates.

"Esteemed members of the Landsraad, members of the Imperium," he begins, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The new spacing trade routes have been decided."

Paul's mind whirls with possibilities as the herald of change continues, "The routes are set to transform, with a large expansion through the Epsilon Opiuchi system and the Campas system," the herald announces, "along with direct routes through the Core Worlds of the Imperium." 

As the implications of the announcement sink in, Paul feels a bizarre wash of calm; If nothing changes within the proprieties of the surrounding systems, the new routes present opportunities for expansion and growth. On the other hand, they also represented a shift in the balance of power within the Imperium; the Spacing Guild is in the Harkonnen's palm and the risk of the Baron leveraging this against the rest of the Landsraad is concerning.

Paul pushes through his mental calculations to admit that despite the changes, there are still open routes they could take without relying solely on Spacing Guild transportation if the market becomes saturated. With a quick turn to his father, he makes eye contact with Gurney. "What do we do now?" Paul asks, voice barely a whisper. His father's jaw is tight.

"We adapt." He responds. 

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You're in the beginning stages of panic when the request comes. 

Having bathed and taken a good thirty minutes to stare at the wall, letting your insides eat you alive in apprehension of tomorrow, you're startled when your handmaid comes and informs you the Lord Paul Atreides has requested your presence in his chambers.

Your brows furrow; it's much too late for that, but you are certain you'll go crazy if you spend the evening on your own. 

You barely blink, hair still drying as you slip on a night gown, following the woman down the hall. Your anxiety is gnawing on you from the inside; and how does Paul seem to find you in every moment, with any weakness you may find? Several times before he's taken the grace to check in on you, be it out of duty or order by his parents or simply his good will and empathy, you are caught off-guard each time and still keenly unsure how to react.

Supper this evening was an affair dampened by the recounting of the official Referendum outcome; an event which boasted very little confidence in your small group considering the possibility of Harkonnen route monopoly. You’d barely touched your food and Paul looked more trouble than he normally does (another feat, considering the constant analysis he seems to impose upon his mind at any moment). In fact, you do wish to speak more about it- and freely, if you dare say so, without the hawk ears of the Sisterhood nor the political influence of the others to weigh in. You'd like to hear what Paul really thinks about it. 

When you do enter Paul's room, you stare, bewildered, at the sight before you. 

It's certainly not what you expect. 

The table, positioned just near the lit hearth, is gaudy and full of at least five wine bottles - two fine crystal glasses rest, untouched, next to them. 

Paul sits, his expression somber, as he uncorks one of the bottles; with a pop, the rich aroma of the wine fills the air and you tilt your head, walking cautiously further. 

This is certainly not what you'd expected.

 "Celebrating with a few bottles of wine, are we?" you remark, tone laced with bitterness. 

Paul looks up, meeting your gaze with resignation. "There's little else to do but drink." he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of irony. This is not necessarily true - this planet is full of parks, theaters, galleries, clubs, even. Paul seems uninterested in this tonight, though, and you barely got yourself over to his own chambers without disassociating for less than thirty seconds - there's not a chance the two of you will be venturing out into the Kaitain air tonight. You've got quite a big day ahead of you tomorrow. 

You take the seat opposite him, body heavy with worry. "I suppose." you concede, fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you watch him pick up the bottle. "Your hard work's all but finished."

He doesn't respond to the jab and it makes you feel even worse.  

"You told me once that you've never tried wine." He states simply, as if you weren't teetering on the edge of the worst day of your life, "I thought you'd like to taste." He says, tilting the bottle into your glass; the liquid flows viscously, a deep maroon color that reminds you of blood. You suppress the warmth that blows through your chest at this, surprised he remembers those off-handed few sentences you exchanged so many moons ago.

"They taste mostly the same to me, but I prefer red." His eyes don't leave the crystal, watching as it stains with the dark color. 

You're so shocked - bewildered - and exhausted that you can only grin; a true, unimbued smile, because you do not want to think about what will happen tomorrow, and perhaps Paul can see that. 

Looking at the glass, you bite your lip: you should have just stayed in your quarters and gone to sleep; But you don't necessarily want to be alone, either.

You wait until he's filled his own glass and then clink the rim of yours to his; watching as he lifts the liquid to his lips. His eyes flicker, lifting a brow when he sees you hesitating. "It's not poison." He mutters dryly. You sigh, taking a sip yourself as you avert your eyes. 

It's bitter, but not in an unpleasant way - your gums tingle slightly, the smell of oak and a deep hint of pitted fruits. Cherries, plums, dark licorice... It almost tingles on your tongue. Spicy, deep.

You're pleasantly surprised as you swallow, making a noise of content. It feels warm all the way down and leaves a peculiar taste on your tongue after. 

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Paul's lips are stained a reddish color by the end of the third glass.

Things seemed to slip from your grasp by the tasting of the second bottle - a Zincal, from the Southern Continent of Caladan. It was much more robust, and though Paul doesn't know much about wine he has studied his homeplanet's culture enough to impress any guest who visits - and talks you through each tasting as if he were a professor. It almost makes you want to laugh - the first sign that you are not completely your sane self. 

The second sign is the low simmering heat that begins to grow the second that Paul leans back in his seat and stretches his shoulders back; the uniform from earlier discarded he is still in his under-tunic, a white number that was more unbuttoned than when you'd arrived earlier in the night.

His chest and exposed throat, gleaming and flushed from the heat of the room and the tannins of the wine, glisten gently. Your heart pounds hard in your throat; is this what being intoxicated feels like? 

You're sure your lips are just as purple-stained as Paul's, but your mind is too fuzzy to consider this at all. You feel warm, surely the fire in the hearth is too high - your cheeks are on fire and your mind is more at ease and foggy than you've even felt in your dreams. 

There's that distinct feeling again that you'd had days ago on board the ship before landing at Kaitain; like yourself, but more careless, free. Content, despite the doom that rumbles in the near distance. 

On the fourth tasting - a bubbly white wine that is crisper than snow and delicate as lace - you feel yourself loosen, opening to Paul and letting words flow freer than you'd ever found before; he listens with gentle, large eyes as you sprawl on the floor, having taken the liberty to get more comfortable in his chambers. 

"I met the Harkonnens when I was young." You explain, leaning back to stare at Paul through your lashes. "My mother was instructed to have me mate with Feyd-Rautha when I came of age, so we saw each other twice before I was sent there. Once at ten, then at fourteen."

There is a noise of disgust from the bedpost.

Paul lays, un-chivalrously sprawled on his bed; head upside-down, his dark curls hanging in tendrils towards the floor. His features, handsome and sharp, look most foreign upside-down, even as you sit on the rug, toying with the strings that have come loose with time.

His eyes are heavy with the effects of the wine, the room smells like cinnamon and cherries. You stifle a laugh at his noise and even more so at the look upon his face at your choice of words. Your hands move over your face but you don't really know if you have control over them, a feeling of lost control sending nothing but amusement to your muddled brain. 

"It was a Bene Gesserit match?" He asks blurrily, but you know he knows the answer. You laugh - had you been slightly less inebriated, you'd never dare let out such a girlish thing, especially in his presence, but you can't help it. 

You swipe hair away from your eyes. "Of course, it was." You sigh, leaning back to support yourself on your palms, head tilted sideways; His brows are incredibly full and move oddly, as if he's trying to make you laugh again. "As is ours."

It's a disquieting thought - one that sends you reeling through your drunk mind, trying to recall the Kwisatz Haderach and all you've learned about it. He seems to be lost in thought, too- his brows have settled low upon his lids in a calculating look, his hands laying neatly folded over his chest.

His face is red; perhaps from the hearth, or the wine, or from laying with the blood rushing to his head - it occurs to you with a bitter jealousy that he looks pretty even like this. 

"It's late." You observe, watching the clock as it chimes; Paul hums in agreement, lazily tilting his glass until the remnants drop onto his tongue. You watch on with a fuzzy, aimless interest.

You should return to your bed- you'll be up in the morning early to be escorted to court.

A pang of fear and resistance courses through you. 

You don't want this evening to end - or, you don't want the morning to begin. Plus, leaving Paul's quarters would require fighting to walk all the way back without rousing anybody else and settling in to bed on your own. And you quite like the blissful ignorance the wine has given you; an excuse to just be you for a night, not the disgraced and fallen noble woman, not the betrothed-twice and likely never again. 

You sigh. "I don't enjoy sleeping like I used to." You hum, finishing your own glass and reaching for the half-empty bottle beside you. Your voice is syrupy and sweeter than usual, and it floats warmly in the room. 

Paul watches your motions with slight amusement, eyes widening microscopically when you try to gnaw off the cork with your teeth. You suppose you’ll be embarrassed by this in the morning.

"I can't imagine why that could be." He muses, voice barely more than a murmur. You like his voice, you realize; it's quiet, deep, but contemplative. 

You shrug, finally plying off the cork, blinking in surprise when your vision shifts with the movement. The vertigo reminds you of the feelings you find in those more pleasant dreams, the ones with Paul; the ticklish feeling of lips fluttering around your throat, a playful nip of teeth against your breast, the tight grip of hands upon your hips, pinning them down - that must be the reason for the words to fall from your lips so carelessly. "Some of my dreams I don't mind." Your words almost echo in the chamber, the fire crackling and spitting in the silence that follows. 

This captures his attention, his eyes snapping to your frame quick; you ignore the gaze, focusing intently on pouring yourself another helping of the wine. This one, the fifth bottle, is more sweet - dessert wine, Paul had explained. 

He doesn't respond to your words, but his lips part in a soft exhalation of breath. 

You offer the bottle to him and numbly he nods, as if still reeling from your admission; you try to ignore the heat in your cheeks at such a profession, the weight of the words occurring to you only after you've said them.

Perhaps due to your state, you finally let yourself consider the thought that's been actively repressed for days: If he's been dreaming similar things as you, does that mean he dreams of... all of it? How does he feel about that?

Your eyes flicker to his hands, how deftly they move as he cracks a few knuckles - the vein that trickles down his arm, the creamy smooth skin that glows against the fire light. Does he see you similarly when he observes you in waking hours? Does he, in turn, dream about your sighs, about how it may feel to run his fingers through your hair as you lie on that white sheet in the middle of nowhere, to touch your heat and feel your desire? 

You’re unsure what flares hot in your stomach at the concept; you can’t find it in you to care.

I don’t mind some of my dreams either.

The voice is low, no more than a distant rumble of thunder in your mind, a decisive declaration; with a fuzzy stare you register that his lips don’t even move. 

Your blink is syrupy as you watch him with intrigue, staring under lidded lashes. 

You can't be bothered to move more than a crawl; your head pounds, but there is a warmth within you that spreads like wildfire in the summer when you move. 

He watches you with a stare that sends a shiver of intrigue over you- a predator frozen, watching prey creep forward. It is not what you expect; you expect wide eyes or maybe a blush - his cheeks are already pink, though, and there is something dark and hungry below his hazy, inebriated stare.

"You got me drunk," You say suddenly, blinking down at him. He stares back at you, lips parting - lips that are plush, pink, stained with the red from the very wine he'd brought all the way from Caladan

"Did I?” he asks, skeptical as he watches you upside down. You nod but it feels sloppy. Truthfully, you've never been safe enough to be drunk before, but you feel more safe than you’ve been in a long time here, on this strange planet, with this strange boy. 

He shakes his head, "I told you to slow down," He furrows his eyebrows like he always does, but it looks very peculiar from where you sit before him, "-you're the one who took it as a challenge instead of a warning." 

You blink, eyelashes slow and syrupy; shaking your head, you shrug. He’s right, he did encourage you to slow down, and you did take it as a challenge. You can't help it. 

His lips are glossy - bitten and swollen, "I had to try them all," You say breathlessly, face hot, "-who knows if I'll be able to afford it after this week." At your words, he scoffs gently; you can smell the wine on his breath as it hits your cheeks.

"My wealth will be yours in just a few weeks. As will my name." He argues, eyes cast onto yours. After all this time, you're still hit with the surrealness of it all when it's said out loud. 

You wonder, briefly, how odd you must look from his perspective; perched back on your shins, one hand in your lap and the other holding the bottle you'd intended to give to him.

"If you want wine for every meal, you can have it." He promises; you imagine he'd intended for it to come out teasing, but it comes out deeper. "Whatever you want." He adds. 

It tugs your heart in a way that makes your hair stand on end; you know what you'd do if your legs weren't cemented to the ground, if your lips weren't gravitating towards his own. You'd probably run, against your better judgement.

Or, perhaps that would be the better judgement. 

Whatever you want. 

"I don't know what I want." You admit, your lips parting as you stare at his beautiful, angled jaw; it clenches under your scrutiny before he whispers softly, "That's okay." 

There is a magnetism that pulls you to him like a moth seeking a warm flame. 

Your hand finds itself on his skin before you can think about it. Soft, slightly ingrained with the beginnings of stubble; over his jaw your thumb strokes, feeling the sharp edges that lie below the soft, porcelain skin. To your surprise, he lets you touch him, as if both of you are pulled by some strong force towards the other and cannot stop.

"Is it?" You ask, a whisper under the flickering light of the hearth. “You made it seem like a flaw.” you muse, watching in intent fixation as those very lips move under your finger’s manipulation.

His lips part when your thumb runs over the bottom one, tugging it down curiously. 

“It’s not a flaw,” he mutters in a gentle motion against your thumb; a sensation that is as foreign as it is exciting. The breath that leaves him hits your own lips. When did you lean closer? When did he? 

His eyes are sparkling from this angle and they focus on your lips. You almost voice your doubt, but there is something that is pulling you to him- you are tired of talking, and his face is so incredibly inviting in the firelight.

When your lips press to his, you have to angle your face; the plush bottom lip against your top one feels odd, foreign.

It’s chaste, short as you pull your head away slightly. Heat chases you as you back away, blinking away your surprise; he doesn’t let you get too far though, as his cold fingers slide around your neck to stop you from pulling away. 

Your stomach flutters as he tugs you back against him with fervor; as if this moment was one of forbidden lovers embracing for the very last time. 

Your hands cup his jaw and his hair tickles the goosebumps that run over the exposed flesh of your chest.

There’s nothing in the room but a heavy syrupy scent- did you knock over the dessert wine? Your lips slide against Paul’s and you’re surrounded by his smell, the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair.His lips are soft as he lets out a sigh in your mouth, tongue prodding your lip gently. Your sharp inhale keens your chest forward, coaxing your lips apart as he presses forward into you. 

Everything slides off-kilter. Time starts to melt and warp with every slight movement you make, a low pounding in your head as you tilt your head to taste more of Paul. 

The clock in the corner ticks, but the metronome is skewed and it starts to beat with your heart. 

Pulling away for a moment, you let yourself gather a breath; His fingers are cold but you presently notice how warm the rest of him is- cheeks, jaw, shoulders, everything. 

He’s moved upright on his mattress now; sitting up, he towers over where you perch on your knees, staring up at him with glossy eyes. A starved transgressant begging for salvation from the solemn preacher before you. 

A hand soothes over your hair. Between his knees, your hands settle on his thighs; a heat rolls over in you and a yearning ignites. Paul stares down at you, eyes darkened and glossed over with the sheen of alcohol as he leans down, hand cupping your jaw. 

What are we doing? 

You think it gently, bewildered and surprised; but Paul stops just as his lips brush yours again. He gives you a look that sets unease- had you said that out loud? 

It’s over as quick as it happens- Paul’s mouth has found purchase over your own and has taken the liberty of pushing against the plushness of your bottom lip. 

Something flutters in your stomach; A need for more. His tongue slides against the seam of your lips with a drag of heat and you open for him, pressing further as your hands slide up and over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under your palms. 

But even amidst the dizzying rush of sensations, you feel when Paul breaks the kiss, his warm breath lingering against your lips. The room is at a standstill, but you feel as if you're spinning. 

“You should probably go to bed,” his words are barely audible over the pounding of your heart, the beating in your head. They flutter like the wings of an insect over your lips. 

For a brief moment, clarity pierces through the haze of desire, and a flush of embarrassment washes over you; The arraignment tomorrow, the dreams, the Bene Gesserit, House Harkonnen - all of it hits you in a dizzy spell and you break away from Paul's grasp suddenly, eyes wide. 

Trying to regain your composure you nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his low-lidded, slow gaze. You find your footing as you rise from the floor and to your chagrin, Paul follows; ever chivalrous. 

"I should." You say quietly, righting your hair and dress awkwardly. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late." You grasp for anywhere to hold on to, lest you fall into the chasm that has opened below you. He shakes his head, "It was me who kept you up." He mumbles; laced with sleep and something else. 

He fumbles to open the chamber door, but you're grateful he attempted it before your shaking fingers did. The walk back across the hall to your quarters is shorter than you remember, thankfully; only a few hiccups from you and a few heavy breaths from him before you're standing in front of the large door, a settling of doom clouding around you like a bad thunderhead. 

His hand, having never dared touch you so boldly before tonight, cups your arm gently. Staring at it, your eyes skip over the blurry figure before you; you swear, there's something of a halo lighting up his curls. "It'll be over quick, and we can go home." He says. There's no need to elaborate what he's speaking of; he always knows what you're thinking. 

Perhaps you're too tired to conceal your worries, or you've just finally found yourself capable of admitting it to him. "I'm scared." You mumble. 

His eyes are on your lips - he doesn't kiss you again, but you wonder faintly if he wants to. You'd like him to, you realize. It's a disquieting thought, borne from weeks of tense conversation, long glances, and arguments. How odd to miss the lips of a near stranger. 

He nods shortly, "I know." He says, and it does nothing to quell the raging sea of despair that has resided from its previous numbness. Wine and handsome men can only do so much, you suppose. "I'm going to be there tomorrow." He says, voice low and quiet, still bleeding together from the crimson wine you'd poured. "You may not see me, but I'll be there." 

You can only nod, knowing that tears will come soon; you will be caught dead before Paul sees you cry. You bid him good-night and then lie on your mattress, tears leaking emotionlessly through the cracks in your lashes. 

You are enveloped in fear, worry, hate; numb to whatever just happened in Paul’s chambers and even more numb to what is to come in the morning.

You're not sure how, but you sleep through the night without a single dream. 

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[en-gelic]

໑ ˖ ࣪lowkey ⭑ l.heeseung

💭contents. actor!heeseung x model!f.reader, exes to lovers, fluff, secret dating

@ warnings. slightly suggestive, petnames, parties, drinking, kissing

# ; taglist. @i57berry @cholexc (open - send an ask or comment to be added !)

ʬʬ extras. wc: 1.2k. i got a 48/50 in my history test!!! also my guy friend just confessed and idk what to do pls ><. proofread ! 𓍯 library ๋࣭ ⭑

The moon hung low with a few unimportant clouds as the party commenced in a lively manner. The evening lights in Paris illuminated the streets and lit up the night in the same manner the party lit up your mood. After enjoying the fashion show hosted by Miu Miu for their fall/winter collection 2024-25, the after-party was one of the best ways to end an evening. Sitting at one of the tables, you began to drink the champagne served to you as the guests began streaming your way, seeking to make pleasant conversation with some irritable remarks about your recent behavior and when you would be serious instead of “sleeping around” which was one of your most recent scandals. It was including you and a man you had met once for a magazine shoot but never spoke to. You drank after almost every conversation, making you tipsy almost instantly. The staff that came to assist you had been dismissed as you said that you could get back to your hotel yourself. With your assistant and driver gone, your gaze lazily hovered around the room halting at seeing a man sitting alone drinking bronze coloured liquid in glass. You watched his ethereal face, decorated with a soft but defined jawline, deep umber eyes set solely on the grim outdoors, and felt your heart skip a beat as he smiled at someone who began to strike a conversation with him, his perfect teeth brightening your previously irritated mood. You recognized his face and instantly remembered who he was. Debating with yourself, you contemplated walking up to him, weighing the consequences mentally. After all, you both still liked each other. Or you still liked him, but it was your fans and your companies that didn't. Finally, you made a decision and touched up your makeup before sanding up to sit beside him. He turned his attention to you, amusement glinting in his eyes. Your carmine lips stretched into a charming smile as you recalled the memories you tried to bury away.

Your ex-boyfriend from college and an actor, Lee Heeseung, mostly known for his role in Nevertheless, which enraged almost everyone who watched it. Including you, who watched it more than once imagining you were the main girl instead. You watched as he analyzed your figure shamelessly until his eyes pulled up your body and burned into yours. Music began pouring into your ears and you could barely hear what he was saying next. You felt back to normal by the intensity of his gaze. He continued speaking inaudibly as the music seemed to be ringing louder than usual. Turning to face him properly, you pulled his collar lightly, bringing his ear down to your mouth as you whispered, “I can’t hear you.” Your lips brushed the shell of his ear, your lipstick slightly staining his ear red. He pulled back and softly adjusted your head so that his mouth was near your ear, “Let’s go somewhere more exclusive, pretty girl.” His hot breath fanned your ear as his calm lowered voice rapidly increased your heartbeat. You nodded, understanding the place he was talking about. Pulling back, his smile deepened into a grin as he tugged at your wrist, pulling you out of the venue, one hand on your waist to stabilize you as your feet slightly collided with each other, the aftereffects of your drinking.

Emerging through the busy streets, the illuminating lights shining as though it was for the two of you. You relished the feeling of his hand in yours and messed around with his rings, gently lifting them and putting them back down again. You walked together, as the sounds of bustling nightlife interrupted your conversation again. Memorabilia pooled into your mind as you remembered him initiating the break-up between the two of you, seemingly unbothered about the idea of leaving you. You hadn’t been observing enough at the time to see the puffiness under his eyes and the dryness of his face. Later, you found that actors are some of the best liars, second to criminals.

Your hotel room was tremendously large, especially for one person. After all that walking, you still felt the exhilarating freedom the champagne gave you, but in more moderation as your sanity rose above the surface of your tipsiness. You had eagerly invited him into your room, pouring him a glass of wine as you watched him look at the twinkling lights outside your balcony. He looked even better now that he was slightly disheveled by the continuous walking, his tie pulled down, the first few buttons on his shirt open for air circulation.

“You look like a school delinquent.” You teased, setting the glass of wine in front of him, taking your seat beside him.

“Don’t you like that?” He asked, referring to one of your answers to an interview on what sort of style you liked the most in high school. He turned his head to face you, his teasing grin matching yours perfectly. You leaned closer to his lips, watching as his gaze was fixated on yours. “Only on you, pretty boy.” You leaned a bit closer, holding it there, so your lips were almost nearly touching, your breaths mingling together.

“I think we could do it.” He said, moving his head to your neck. You understood what he was talking about, feeling his breath fan against your neck.

“As long as we keep it lowkey.” He hummed in agreement, lowering his head to your neck, trailing kisses down to your collarbone. You didn’t know whether it was the alcohol still functioning in your system, but you captured his face in your hands, bringing him to face you completely. “But this time, we’ll do it my way.” He hummed again, this time caging you in your chair, colliding your lips together in an action that displayed longing, confirming that it wasn't just you who missed this.

Your eyes trailed the room for his figure. It had been months after you both decided to give it a try. The constant push and pull of a secret relationship added thrill to a life that could get mundane easily. You both felt like two elementary students with a secret. It was even better now that you were invited to the same party, reminding you of the day you reestablished your relationship. Your dark hair cascaded down your back, slightly brushing your shoulder as the wind caused it to go wayward. You found him sitting alone drinking bronze colored liquid in glass, staring at you. He directed a smile to you, and you reciprocated his action. You sat alone for a while, exchanging secret eye contact with Heeseung every time you got the chance. You caught his hands make a signal as he stood up, leaving the venue. Quickly excusing yourself, you followed him soon after, entering a hallway long hallway. You found his tall figure immediately, watching as his lips pulled into a smile as you appeared in his view. He tugged at your hand, pulling you through the hallway, reaching the end of it where he sandwiched you between the wall and him. You gazed up at him, watching as he grinned down at you.

"You know it's a sin to look at a man like that, my love." He remarked, burying his face in your neck, knowing the action would give you a double take. You pushed his head back to face you again, putting a hand on his lips, blocking him from leaning down again. You took the hand that formed a cage around you and clasped it around your own. You moved your hand slightly to place a peck on his soft lips.

"Let's continue this at my house."

© en-gelic 2024.

[sunfyresrider]

The Company Party

Aegon II Targaryen x Assistant!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve worked for your boss since you graduated college, and to say he was the best superior you’ve had would be an understatement. After a heated argument at a company event, you both discover some things about each other. Tags: Aegon is a childish rich boy, mutual pining but you’re both oblivious, jealous boy, arguing to eventual smut, p in v, cunnilingus, cringe after talk (pls hes too funny.) Author’s Note: this is just self-indulgent, 5am ramblings of an insane woman (me).

You’ve worked as Aegon Targaryen’s assistant for one year, one excruciatingly long year. You’ve spent more than 75% of your time following his every order like a dog. Unfortunately, you didn’t hate it all that much. It wasn’t like you had a social life you were missing by working. You had sorta become friends in a way or like a partner in crime minus the crime.

He was the perfect boss in a lot of ways. Aegon truly cared about his customers, or well you. There wasn’t a day he forced you to work late, you did that by choice. He always paid you more than he should, gave you more time off than he should and treated you better than other superior you had worked for previously. He also massaged your shoulders once when you said they hurt…

You should be used to it by now, little gestures of appreciation. He always pats you on the back if you impress him enough. He’ll compliment your hard work, your outfit, and sometimes he’ll completely paused in his steps to gaze at you and tell you that you had beautiful eyes. He tells you he’s grateful for you, you’re funny, you’re one of the nicest people he’s met… but it’s all platonic. A very disheartening fact of the matter.

Yet, while knowing this, every single time Aegon does anything you’re immediately turned into a blushing mess. An instant mood improver, a very minor turn on. Maybe it was because you haven’t gotten laid in a century and could be considered a born again virgin. Or maybe you were secretly falling in love with him and refused to admit it to yourself.

At some point you would have to face your feelings, not right now though. You were at a huge event for the company, the goal being to seek out new investors. You didn’t have to come considering he always does the majority of the talking but he also rarely goes anywhere without you. Aegon always needs an eyewitness, just in case.

The rooftop bar is extravagant, more so than what you’re used to. Maybe you should have opted for something other than a black dress with heels… rich people seem to appreciate modesty. Odd, considering they are the ones to buy the most hookers and cheat more frequently. You took your seat at the bar, deciding to drink away your boredom.

“Hey stranger,” the voice from your right caught you by surprise, you whipped your head around to glance at them. “Oh my god, Jacaerys?!” your mouth gaped open in shock. His smile stretched ear to ear, “It’s me, alright! What the hell are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that! My boss has me tag along to all of these events.” You beamed, thinking of Aegon. It was good seeing a familiar face, you two used to date, briefly, in your second year of high school. Though, he had long since grown out of his awkward stage and was fully matured with a sharp jawline to prove it. “I work for the company running this event. It’s kinda my job to be here.”

He blushed, basking in all the attention he was receiving. “We should catch up! I haven’t seen you in years man!” Jacaerys scooted his seat closer, his cheeks lightly flushed. “I’d love that.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were talking to him for what felt like hours, turns out it was only twenty minutes, when you felt someone step behind you, their body lightly pressing against yours. “You remember mrs-” Jacaerys words slowed to a stop as he looked above you.

You turned around, your frown quickly turning into a wide smile. “Mr. Targaryen, how can I help you?” He smiled lightly, nodding in your direction. His gaze turned to Jacaerys and his soft smile fell flat. “Who are you?”

The question came out with an icy tone, which made your eyebrows furrowed together. “Jacaerys Velaryon, marketing director for Driftmark Corporations and you are?” he inquired, his words slow as he kept his eyes locked with Aegon.

“Richer than you. Are you purposely distracting my assistant from doing her job?” Your eyes widened; he had never been this outwardly rude before. “Maybe. She would probably prefer working for someone who doesn’t have a stick up their ass.”

You gaped at the insult, “What the f-” Aegon chuckled, baring his teeth as if he were a wolf. “Little dogs always bark the loudest,” he spat. Your morals told you to defend your old friend, your hormones were telling you to keep watching your boss telling someone off.

Jacaerys was silent for a moment, his fists clenching and unclenching before he spoke, “I see you work for one of these guys… If you ever want to move to a company that treats their workers fairly, please don’t be afraid to reach out.” He slipped you a business card with his information on it.

Aegon scoffed, “We’re leaving… Now!” He snatched your arm and practically dragged you out the door and into the car. You were eerily silent, still trying to process whatever the fuck just happened. Once inside, he looked over at you, his eyes wide and bloodshot. You could see the anger bubbling under the surface.

He gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles turning white. You swallowed the lump in your throat, not knowing what to say to make this situation any less tense. You’ve never seen him angry, not even when his half-sister tried to take his spot as ceo.

The rest of the drive was silent, an awkward tension in the air since you had no idea what to say. You were also a little ticked off how quickly he chased Jace away, granted it was kinda hot. He pulled into your parking garage, parking his luxury car in the far back. You know, just in case anyone tried to break in.

Aegon hopped out of the car silently, opening your door for you. “You don’t need to walk me up to my apartment,” you spoke plainly. “Yes I do,” the tone of his voice was more serious than you’d ever heard it before. Once again, the silent treatment was back on as you walked to your floor.

He walked you all the way inside, even letting himself into your home without your permission. “I pay you too much to live in a rundown apartment.” You closed the door behind you, finally he had said something to make you snap, “What is your problem tonight?!”

“It’s not a problem, just an observation.” You scoffed, “you know exactly what I meant.” His jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring, he looked like he wanted to say something but not too much. “You’re my assistant and you’re meant to be by my side at all times, but you were too busy flirting it up with my competitors.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “I wasn’t flirting with anyone! I was catching up with an old friend!” Aegon’s brows furrowed, he strode towards you, so he was barely a foot away from you. “Oh please! You were practically swooning. Also, you never call me Mr. Targaryen!”

“Are you serious right back!” You spat back, pushing his chest. Unfortunately, Aegon still had enough energy to argue back. “I just don’t want to lose my assistant to a lesser man!” You scoffed; "you've been a fucking douche all night because you’re jealous?!” His jaw fell slack, eyes widening in surprise. “I didn’t say-”

“Dude, are you genuinely blind?! I’ve been pining after you since you hired me, following you around like a fucking dog, doing everything you say and them some! I’ve even thought about having your babies!” The last statement took him off guard, he looked at you like you had two heads. His gaze flitted back and forth as if he were looking for any signs of joking.

Now you were embarrassed, “I didn’t mean that last part-” Aegon stepped closer grabbing you delicately by your arms, eyes still searching for any sign of disapproval. “You think about having my babies?” The question was quiet and desperate, his pupils dilated.

You felt your heart drop in your chest, you swallowed the lump in your throat. You nodded slowly, “maybe.” You stared back up at him, trying to telepathically make him kiss you. You’ve tried this manifestation method before, it did not work.

“I can do that.” His lips were on yours before you could register his words. The kiss was fiery and passionate, even better than what you expected. Your eyes fluttered shut as you relished in the moment. Aegon wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his.

You bit back a whimper, reaching up to intertwine your fingers in his silver hair. Aegon pulled away, his breaths coming out ragged as he gazed at your swollen lips. He wasted no time kissing you again, his tongue dancing across your bottom lip.

His hand moved to grip your ass, squeezing lightly as he picked you up off the ground. You let out a squeal of laughter, gripping onto his shoulders to prevent you from falling. Aegon dropped himself on the couch, keeping your leg straddled around him.

You took the liberty to start unbuttoning his dress shirt, ripping off his bowtie and revealing his toned torso and chest. Aegon was quicker, pulling your dress above your head and throwing it across the room.

His eyes widened when he realized you were braless, his fingers kneading your perky breasts. His lips molded with yours once more, you nipped at his lip, tugging it between your teeth and causing him to groan in approval. Aegon moved your panties to the side, groping your inner thigh and spreading your legs wider across his lap.

His cock was already straining against his pants, but Aegon didn't seem to want to rush. He gently kissed down your jawline and to your neck, licking and nibbling at your ear. Your breathing became shaky, your core growing wetter as he took a nipple in his mouth and began to suckle on it.

"Aegon," you whined. You reached down, wrapping your fingers around his hardness, causing Aegon to moan into your ear. He lifted you up, unzipping his pants and pushing them down along with his boxers.

His member sprang out, bouncing as he pushed you back onto the couch. His cock was definitely the biggest you’ve seen thus far. You gasped when he rubbed himself against your slick, he kissed you again, this time deeper as he slowly thrust his hips forward and entering you.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned loudly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “Fuuck you’re so tight,” Aegon thrusted forward, his top hitting the sweet spot inside you almost forgot existed. Your moans grew louder as he pounded into you, his grunts echoing through the living room.

You clawed at his back, pulling him closer as he thumb moved to do circles around your clit. “You’re such a good little assistant for me, hm? Taking my cock so fucking well.” Aegon gripped your ass with one hand, holding you still. He took the opportunity to slow his pace and roll his hips in circles, dragging his cock along your walls. “Mmm sgood,” you slurred.

You rolled your hips against his, earning you a pleased groan. His finger moved faster around your bud, “think you deserve a reward huh?” Your eyes began to roll into the back of your head as his movements quickened. “Yes, yes, yes,” you whimpered.

“Yes, who?” The coil in your stomach began to tighten as he moved his fingers away, “Yes Sir! Please!” Aegon growled into your ear, kissing you again as he sped up once more. The low noise sent shivers down your spine, causing your cunt to clench around him.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned before plunging deep inside you, making you cry out into the kiss. You threw your head back and moaned, your thighs beginning to shake as ecstasy washed over you. You completely tightened around him, your pussy fluttered around him as you rode your orgasm out.

Aegon’s movement stalled for a moment, letting you catch your breath before he flipped you onto your back. Aegon lifted your legs above his head, “you’re so perfect, I think you deserve more than that.” He licked a strip up your slick, pressing a kiss to your sensitive bud.

He used his fingers to spread you apart, greedily licking along your walls and lapping at your sweet juices. You let out a deep moan, your fingers tangling in his silver hair pulling him closer. Your mouth hung open, eyes half lidded as he devoured you.

His tongue skillfully circled around you, his lips sucking at your swollen bud. “Taste so sweet,” he mumbled, sending vibrations that sent tingles down your spine. You began to grind against him, desperate for release. Aegon took it as an invitation to move his hands to grip your hips and begin to fuck you with his tongue.

Your juices were dripping down your thighs, covering his face in a glossy sheen. You felt a new wave of heat wash over you as he pressed his tongue inside you, curling and twisting it. You rolled your hips, fucking yourself against his mouth as your second orgasm began to build.

He groaned against you when your legs began to clench around him, the vibrations sending you over the edge. Aegon continued to lap up your juices, causing you to jerk your thighs around him. His head finally lifted up, a strand of your slick connected from his bottom lip to his chin.

You pulled him towards you, crashing your lips together, he wasn’t wrong you did taste sweet. Aegon grinder against you, wetting his cock before he quickly plunged into you once more, filling you to the brim as he went. You let out a loud cry, gripping onto his back. “You still want more?” He spoke breathlessly.

His thumb returned to your sensitive bud, circling it slowly as he thrusted into you. You squirmed beneath him, his grunts echoed off the walls. “P-please please, sir.” You whimpered, the sound of skin slapping echoing in your living room.

His hips snapped forward, dragging his cock against your sweet spot. “Tell me how badly you want it.” Aegon's eyes flashed up at you, his hips slowed to a teasing pace. "I-I want it so bad," you gasped as he thrusted harder. “I- want to have your b- babies.” Aegon’s thrusts were quickening their pace, "please give it to me sir."

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. His rough thrusts become sloppy. You could feel your third orgasm beginning to rip through you as he circled around your bud. “P-please cum for me, sir.” Your words sent Aegon over the edge, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and his soft moans filling the room. You could feel his cock pulsating inside you, his warm cum filling you to the brim.

Your thighs quivered as your orgasm came crashing down on you, your breathing became labored. He leaned down, kissing you lovingly as his hand caressed your cheek. You could feel his cock slowly softening inside you as he slowly pulled himself out.

Aegon pulled away from your lips and trailed kisses down your jawline and neck. His voice mumbled, “I wish you’d told me sooner.” You couldn't help but giggle silently, petting his hair. “Hm, couldn’t let you fuck me for free could I?” He scoffed, propping himself up to gaze at you with his baby blues.

"This pussy is priceless," he murmured against your lips. “Oh god,” you groaned, how his cringe captivated you, you would never understand. Aegon rolled off you, cuddling close and wrapping his arm around your waist.

You stared at the ceiling, feeling a sense of calmness you haven't felt in forever. "So... does this mean you want to be more than my assistant?" His fingers ran through your hair, “and have my babies for real?” Aegon's voice sounded almost child-like, You giggled quietly, "is that our new contract?" He stared at you for a moment, his eyes lit up with something you hadn’t seen before. "It’s a deal," Aegon smiled brightly.