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ifancyharry · 1 year

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what it is: YN is Harry’s personal assistant and she gets sick, but he’s playing Wembley

word count: 4k

The air is crisp and clean as YN steps out of her hotel into the streets of London, hurrying down the sidewalk as she scurries to the first pharmacy she can find.

It’s 7.54 in the morning and she’s been awake for almost twenty-four hours. Not on purpose, obviously. And not on her boss’s orders either, despite having there been nights the team deemed important and she was required to pull an all nighter, but those were usually times of celebrations, either spent at an afterparty or waiting until midnight for Spotify to release the album everyone had been working hard on.

The air hurts her lungs as she stops to catch her breathing, the pounding behind her temples not dimming the slightest as she trespasses the sliding doors of the pharmacy, only intensifying with the bright artificial lights shining down on her from the ceiling.

She pulls her sunglasses out of the pocket of her sweatshirt and slides them over her eyes, relishing in the temporary relief washing over her sensitive eyes.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out, grimacing at the name on the screen; it’s her boss, Harry, asking her what time she’s ready to leave for the venue.

Once her turn comes, she quickly explains her symptoms to the pharmacist and just as quickly she pays for the medicine the pharmacist has taken out for her.

She walks out of the pharmacy and types back a short response to Harry, telling him she’s on her way to his room.

She hopes the medicine she has stuffed in her pocket will make her feel better, and she thinks as she’s making her way back to the hotel that she’ll ask Harry to stop along the way to grab a coffee, hoping it will soothe the tension behind her temples. There’s no way she can be sick when her boss is playing at Wembley for the first time.

…

Harry isn’t one to comment on other people’s appearances, his mum taught him that and it has stuck with him since he was a little kid, a sort of an unspoken rule out of kindness, and therefore he’s never asked if someone was sick because they weren’t wearing makeup or if someone had eaten a little more over the holidays. He never considered other people’s looks something that concerned his range of business, but once he sees YN, he can’t help but wonder if she’s okay.

Her hair is tied in a messy braid, and there’s some strands falling out of it and in front of her eyes. She’s wearing a big love on tour sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, but that isn’t particularly concerning, because he’s used to her comfy articles of clothing.

What’s concerning is her face… and Harry already feels bad for thinking that, but she doesn’t look like herself. And Harry would know. Of course he would know, because he spends a lot of time looking at her face, especially when she’s not looking, most of the times when she’s reading a book next to him in a moment of rest or when she’s answering emails on Monday mornings. So… he knows her. He knows her skin looks paler than normal, and the circles under her eyes aren’t the same as that one time they partied all night after Harry won album of the year at the Grammys.

He wants to ask if she’s okay, because after a year of working together they have that kind of confidence, but he doesn’t want that to be the first thing he says to her, so he just smiles at her and welcomes her with a side hug and a good morning.

“Hi” she’s quick to greet back, and Harry notices even her voice sounds scruffier than usual.

“Are you ready to go?” She asks a second later.

“Yeah, yeah, the car’s down already?” He asks surprised. Sometimes it takes a while before the drivers find the hotel, and YN and Harry spend that time watching videos on youtube or talking about the day’s schedule.

YN shrugs but doesn’t say anything in response, which is weird to Harry because she’s usually really bright and energetic in the morning, and she’s really meticulous on top of everything: she never lets him wait without finding something to pass the time first.

“Let’s just stay until we don’t know for certain” he suggests.

She agrees with a nod of her head and she heads to his bed, sitting down on the end of it. It’s not uncommon for her, because she’s always in his space, and there have been times where they were forced to basically sleep in the same bed (one time YN fell asleep on his bed, and Harry was so in his song-writing-bubble he didn’t even realize until he was so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open, so he slipped in next to her and literally passed out).

He still needs to tie his shoes, so he sits next to her and ties the laces of his ratted vans.

“How’d yeh sleep, pet?” He asks, because she’s freakishly quiet and it’s making him anxious. She’s never quiet, and with this being a stressful day already for Harry, every little thing that’s different from normal alerts him.

“Fine” she whispers, knuckling at her eyes, his question bringing back the awful memory of the night she spent tossing and turning in the scratchy hotel sheets, praying for a moment of solace every time she tried to breathe through her nose and failing.

“Me too…” he nods.

YN feels bad because she should be more engaging, but she really doesn’t have it in her to make small talk.

Some time passes before the driver calls YN’s phone to tell her the van is here, shaking her awake. She remembers closing her eyes to rest them, and next thing she knows she’s sound asleep on her boss’s bed. She’d be a bit embarrassed if it wasn’t for how awful she feels already.

“Crap! I fell asleep!” She exclaims once she hangs up the call.

“Yeah” Harry says from next to her, still laying on his bed, “just fo’ like… fifteen minutes though” He’s playing on his phone, and YN pushes at his bicep, “we need to go, driver’s here”

She gets up from the bed and slips on her shoes, grabbing her work bag (it’s really a tote bag but she finds calling it work bag makes her waaaay more professional) from the floor next to the door.

“YN” she hears Harry clear his voice, and she turns around to look at him.

He’s still sitting on the bed, and he passes a hand through his hair before saying, “are yeh all right?”

She closes her eyes in a furrow and tries not to wince when a sharp pain shoots behind her eyes with the movement, “yes, yes” she stresses, although not convinced.

“Are you sure? C’mon yeh can tell me!”

“I’m fine, Harry” and despite her words, she sniffles, “maybe I have a cold or something…”

“You can take the day off if you need to, yeh know that”

“No, there’s no way” she shakes her head swiftly, “no”.

“YN…” he trails off.

“Harry, I told you I’m fine. I can work! Let’s just go, okay?”

He sighs but does as she says, following her out of his room.

Harry isn’t a worrier. If someone from his team, or band whatsoever, says they can work, he at least presumes they’re mature enough to know the expanse of their limits.

With YN, it’s different. He worries.

Not because he considers her immature, but she’s just… different. Ever since she started working for him as his assistant, he’s always looked out for her, despite being the one that didn’t want to hire her in the first place.

She’s young, she works a lot to prove herself to him, despite him telling her lots of times she doesn’t need to prove anything and she’s doing a great job as she is.

She does unthinkable working hours, sometimes pulling all nighters, other times hurrying to his house in the middle of the night because he’s a little bit of a hypochondriac and she needs to check immediately what’s that new mole he has on his back (turns out it was a speck of dark chocolate that stuck onto his skin).

She’s soft and she always puts her job (him, actually) first, so he doesn’t really trust her to know her limits. If she’s sick she should rest. She should lay in bed and maybe eat a little soup and watch comfort movies tucked under the sheets, but he knows she won’t. And he knows he’s the reason behind that, because he’s playing at Wembley tonight, and she doesn’t want to cause trouble. Harry thinks she in no way could ever be described as trouble.

And maybe, and he feels a little bit scared to admit this, he could postpone the show just by a couple hours, at least until he knows she’s resting at the hotel. but, she hurries into the van and pretends like she’s just got “a cold or something”, so Harry doesn’t question her further.

He could just order her to take the day off, but he knows that would hurt her feelings, and he can imagine the look on her face, like a puppy being scolded, so he bites his tongue: there’s no way he could ever hurt her feelings.

��

YN has to stop a couple of times when she starts feeling dizzy on her feet. She shouldn’t run this much when she’s probably feverish, but there’s so much to do! She doesn’t trust to delegate, and not because she’s pretentious, but because she’s a control freak that needs to know how things are being handled, so she would only get much more frustrated and it would eventually just end up in her doing all the work anyway, increasing her fever undoubtedly.

So, she chugs downs a lot of water and a lot of ibuprofen, taking deep breaths every time she starts feeling nauseous. She should probably inform Harry at least that she doesn’t feel good, so if anything were to happen he wouldn’t be too surprised, but she knows how he is; he would demand she stop immediately and go back to the hotel to rest, and she can’t allow that to happen.

Wembley is the dream of a lifetime, and Harry sound checks every song two times before passing on to the next one. YN sits quietly in one of the seats, preparing Harry’s next instagram post on her phone. She handles all of his socials, because that’s what she was originally hired for. “A young set of eyes”, Jeff had defined her, and from then, her life had changed completely.

Of course, she wasn’t aware she’d develop a crush on her boss at the time she was hired. She figured she’d be immune to his charm; she’s younger than him, much less experienced (in every aspect of her life), and hasn’t really seen anything yet, so she thought they’d just be too different to get along. Spending each second of the day together didn’t help, though, because it was then she got to know Harry for who he truly was, and with that, came the awareness of how many things he’d lived through and how many things he could teach her. How soft he was with her, how he would always drape a blanket over her when she accidentally fell asleep on his bed, and how he would tell her she looked pretty even after pulling an all nighter and probably looking like a raccoon. That’s just how he was.

And that’s why she values his dreams more than her health. She would never do anything that could harm him, so she shrugs off the dreadful feeling off her back and keeps working.

…

“Hey” Harry plops down on the couch next to her, draping his arm on the backrest of the couch. If he’d stretched his fingers he could touch her shoulder, but he doesn’t just yet. He knows she still doesn’t feel good, he can see it in the way she’s hugging herself in the Love on tour hoodie she has on (probably one of his because their laundry always gets mixed up).

“Hi” she says softly, her voice much lower than it’d been the last time he saw her.

It’s closer to show time now, but he’s still not in his outfit. YN wonders if that’s the reason why he came in the dressing room in the first place.

“What are yeh doin’ hidin’ in here all alone?”

“‘m not hiding!” She pouts, “jus’… resting”

“Mh, yeah?” He hums, turning his head to look at her, “restin’ your ears? Are you tired of my music yet?” He jokes.

“Never!” She beams, swatting at his chest playfully.

He lets his arm fall down on her shoulder, and he tugs at her, squeezing her against his chest.

She breaths him in, and despite her stuffy nose, she can smell the faint scent of his fabric softener. Musk and lavender. It’s the same as hers.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a bit of a pain lately…” he trails off, his mouth buried in her hair, “nothing to do with you… was jus’ nervous is all”

She squeezes his hoodie between her fingers to tug him closer, “I’m really proud of you. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks, pet” he grins, breaking away from the hug.

She sniffles and he looks between her eyes warily, “’s there anything you want to tell me before I go on stage?”

“Jus’ to kick ass” she giggles, aware that wasn’t what he was alluding at.

“Mmmh” he muses, getting up from the couch. He knew she’d be stubborn about this so he doesn’t pressure her.

“Hav’to start gettin’ ready” he clears his throat, heading towards the portable hanger YN set up in his dressing room.

He then proceeds to take off his hoodie and his tank top, leaving him shirtless before her.

She’s seen him in his underwear many times, but maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s the crush on him that’s growing stronger everyday, but she feels her insides get warm at the sight.

He tugs his sweats down his legs too, kicking them off his feet, and YN pretends to pick up her phone to respond to a message that definitely could have waited.

He picks up the heart printed overalls he’d be wearing and tugs them over his legs, jumping a little in his place so they could fit over his bum.

Once he’s fully dressed, he looks over at YN and finds her looking at him already, her eyes a little droopy. He feels his heart tug in his chest at the sight. He wishes she’d let him help her. If he could he’d send her back to the hotel straight away, but he has to admit he’s selfishly relishing in the idea of having her here, looking at him perform. It makes him want to do even better than he always does.

“All ready then” he smiles, dimples denting both his cheeks.

“Mmhh” she hums, getting up on her feet. She walks towards him and adjusts the neck of his shirt, petting it down.

“Good luck Harry” she smiles. He has to refrain himself from lowering his head down to kiss her, and he’s aware these thoughts are way too unprofessional of him, but he can’t help himself. Not when she’s looking at him like that.

“See ya after the show, pet”

…

“Harry!” Jeff pats down on his shoulders as soon as Harry runs backstage, “you just smashed it! Fuckin’ smashed it mate!”

Harry laughs with him out of politeness, but his mind is really on something else.

“Fuckin’ Wembley, Harry! Wembley’s Harry’s house!” Someone else shouts, and he thinks it’s Lloyd but he doesn’t really pay much attention to him. There’s someone missing from the crowd. YN. She’s nowhere to be found, and he’d really like to celebrate with her. She’s the one that should join in on the fun and get a little bit of praise too, because without her, harry doesn’t think he could’ve played Wembley.

Everything was going fine, and he saw her next to his mother standing in the private part of the pit, but then, when he came back after chatting with a couple of fans, she was gone. He wonders if she’s okay.

“Hey, Jeff” he clears his throat, hoping to be discreet with his tone of voice, “where’s YN?”

“Oh…” he nods, “she wasn’t feeling proper good, so I sent her to your dressing room. I told her to get back to the hotel, but she refused to leave”

Harry nods and after a ‘thanks’ he hurries towards his dressing room, hoping to find her there.

Once he opens the door, the sight of YN sleeping on the couch crouched on herself makes his heart somersault in his chest.

“Hey, pet” he coos softly once he crouches down next to her.

He repeats the endearing greeting, and this time she stirs awake. YN brings one hand to knuckle at her eyes tiredly, and Harry frowns at the sight of her bloodshot eyes. He brings one hand to caress her cheek, but when he realizes how warm she is, he brings it up to her forehead. She’s burning hot.

He immediately feels guilty. He should’ve sent her back to the hotel as soon as he realized she was sick, hell, he shouldn’t have let her leave his room that morning!

“Harry?” She asks timidly, her voice coming out scruffy. She gulps but flinches as the hurt in her throat doesn’t subside.

“Yeah, ’s me” he whispers, moving the hair away from her face, “let’s go back to the hotel, okay?”

“No Harry! The show! You can’t leave… the show! It’s wembley” she stresses, gripping his bicep tightly to refrain him from leaving her.

“Shh, shh” he shushes her, “calm down. ’s okay. The show was great. Everything was great” he coos, pressing his lips down her forehead and flinching from how hot it feels, “you did so great”.

She sniffles and: “great?”

“Yeah” he nods, reassuring her, “let’s go now, okay?”

He helps her get up on her feet, and she stumbles a bit in her place. She grips the fabric of his overalls tightly between her fingers, and he lets her, hoping to be at least a little bit of comfort.

…

“How are you feelin’? What hurts?” He asks her once they reach his hotel room (he wanted to go back to hers, but couldn’t find her key and didn’t want to startle her too much).

“Everything” she pouts.

“I’m so sorry, darling” he sighs, ushering her inside his room.

She’s stable on her feet now, the little nap at the venue kind of helped a bit in soothing her, but still, everything hurts, and the thought of being in a hotel room and not at her own house bothers her.

She also doesn’t want Harry to look at her like this, all sweaty and red in the cheeks. She must look so embarrassing!

“I’ll draw you a bath, how about that?” He proposes, not waiting for her response and heading directly towards the bathroom.

Now that he thinks about it, harry’s glad she’s in his room, because (being the Harry Styles) his room has a bathtub, whereas hers doesn’t. He also has lots of salt baths and bubbles to add to the water, courtesy of the hotel, and he adds everything he can to soothe her stuffed nose and make the bath as pleasing as possible.

She knocks on the door delicately, and he turns his head to look at her.

“Bath’s ready” he smiles gently, and he dips his index finger to test the temperature of the water, careful not to make it too hot to not aggravate her fever any more.

Harry excuses himself from the bathroom, and tells her to give him a shout if she needs anything.

It’s a couple of minutes later when he hears her calling for him, her voice still lower than normal.

He knocks on the door and after he gets her consent he opens it, peeking his head inside. She’s laying in the bathtub, the water submerging her almost to her neck, and he’s aware she’s naked under, but the bubbles cover her body entirely.

“Are yeh all right?” He asks worriedly.

“Mhmh,” she hums, “jus… keep me company?”

He’s happy she’s more responsive now, and he happily sits at her side, plopping down on the toilet seat next to the tub.

They sit in silence for a while, Harry’s aware he’s still in his fancy (and uncomfortable) show clothes, but he doesn’t care. He’s just happy to dote on her now as she’s been doing with him since she’s been hired.

“I can’t believe you played at wembley and I missed half of it” she says after a while, the water sloshing around her as she turns to look at him.

“There’s always next time” he grins at her playfully.

She throws a smile at him, “bet”.

His mouth opens in a sideway smile, his dimple indenting only one of his cheeks, and more seriously than he did before, he says “I wish you’d told me you weren’t feelin’ good”

“Didn’t want to spoil your day” she shrugs.

He wants to tell her she wouldn’t have spoiled it, that if she’d asked he would’ve postponed his show and crawled in bed with her, cuddling her until she felt better, even with the risk of getting himself sick too, he didn’t care. He would have done anything to make her feel good; but how can he tell her? How can he be honest about something like that without revealing another part of himself to her? He’s her boss. He’s older than her. And he doesn’t know if she feels the same way.

So, instead of making a complete fool out of himself, he ushers her out of the tub, passing her a towel without looking at her. He engulfs her in the bathrobe and ties it tight on her stomach, careful to have her bits covered completely by the fabric of the towel.

When he reaches his room, he takes out a t-shirt and a pair of boxers for her to sleep in, and he leave her to change in the bathroom.

While he waits for her to come out, he texts his mum if she could make that delicious soup she always prepared when he was sick, promising he wasn’t sick himself and that he’d explain in the morning. His mum answers a couple of minutes later with a thumbs up and a kissy face.

He locks his phone and plugs it in the charger next to the bed, leaving it on the bedside table.

When YN comes out of the bathroom, she looks better already. Her cheeks aren’t as red and her eyes appear to be more rested, but, she still looks tired, and he smiles at her as he tugs the comforter down for her to slip in.

She curls up under the covers and waits for Harry to tuck her in, “comfortable?” He asks.

She nods with her cheek against the pillow, “just wish I was home” she whispers and the affirmation pains him.

“I’ve been overworking yah, haven’t I?” He sighs deeply, feeling extremely guilty.

She’s quick to shake her head no, flinching when a sting of pain hits her temples with the movement.

“Yes I have… you’ve been s’good” he smiles down at her.

“You’re a Wembley player now” she whispers, her eyes closing on her as she speaks, and Harry chuckles endeared at her.

“Get some rest” he coos, but she’s already fallen in a deep sleep that will probably be tainted with a curly headed guy with green eyes and a pretty smile.

He fishes from inside her bag a tab of ibuprofen and, with a glass of water, he places them on the bedside table closer to her side, so, if she’d ever were to wake up in pain, she could take the medicine immediately.

He takes the shortest shower he’s ever taken, quickly putting on his pajamas and brushing his teeth. Once he’s ready for bed, he slips in next to her, leaning down to press his lips on her forehead to check her temperature. She’s still warm, but the bath seemed to be of help, and probably the much needed sleep, too.

He thinks he’ll give her the rest of the month off. He owes it to her, so she can get back up on her feet and spend some time at home if she’d like. He takes a minute to wonder why hasn’t he ever given her more than a day of rest, and he doesn’t have to wonder too much, because he knows the answer already, one that is overbearing and too deep to even analyze after the day he’s had: he doesn’t want to be away from her that much time. It’s as simple as that. He’s fucked.

Read part 1 to their story here

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marxism-leninism-meowism · 6 months

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Many people are saying that liberals are finally asking for a ceasefire because of the death of a few white people—and while that’s partially true, there’s also more to it than that. Because white people HAVE died for Palestine before with either little reaction from the media or blatant cover-ups. There are several other factors in play here that serve to underline their whiteness and make the situation more pressing to the ruling class.

These people were from the World Central Kitchen, an organization founded by a very well connected chef that has historically been very neutral and well respected. There is NO way to spin them as “Hamas-allied” or whatever so-called “Israel” would have liked to say.

The attack was clearly targeted, and there’s literally no way for so-called “Israel” to frame this as an accident because it was just so blatant that even American dems can’t turn a blind eye to it.

This wasn’t the sole trigger. This was just the boiling point from MONTHS of advocacy, marches, ballot protests, and the sharp decline in support for the democratic party and the Biden administration. We must acknowledge the effect that American protests have had on the positions of these politicians. (It’s certainly depressing that the sheer scale of death and destruction wasn’t enough, but these politicians only listen when their money is on the line and no matter how much money AIPAC sends them, they won’t get a lick of it if Americans don’t vote for them.)

It is better late than never, especially in situations like this, but these politicians will get no praise from me. This should have happened months ago, and the only reason it’s happening now is because the WCK attack was the final drop in the bucket. The Biden admin not so quietly shifted their language to calling for a ceasefire weeks ago, even if only a temporary one—it was inevitable that Israel would eventually fuck up on a significant enough scale to push them further.

And, well. We all knew the US would be the deciding factor in whether or not this genocide continues. That’s the thing about being the world’s numero uno military superpower. Everyone fucking listens to you, for better or for worse. (Usually worse.)

#free palestine #palestine #israel #israeli apartheid #palestine genocide #gaza #gaza strip #gaza genocide #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #us politics #uspol

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dear-tortured-adam · 2 months

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❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆. . . ❞

╰┈➤ THEY'RE MY EVERYTHING... | HEADCANON POST

question : "Can a demon possess loyalty?" AKA demon brothers vs people trying to pry their way into their relationships.

pairing.s : Lucifer x MC, Mammon x MC, Leviathan x MC, Satan x MC, Asmodeus x MC, Beelzebub x MC, Belphegor x MC [all separately]

note : my first try on headcanons! or, honestly, posting my headcanons. These are just little sillies I thought of while listening to the first part of "There Are Other Ways" and I want to explore more on it. Sure we get snippets of the brothers rejecting people in the game, but I wanted to look more into it. So, here we are!!

In our story, let's put the brothers in a simple experiment.

It's a common belief that unfaithfulness is linked to a demon's trickery. So much so that many partners caught in the act would blame the devil's work. "A Temptress" they'd speak, ridiculing both parties. As much as the act of sin contributes to their power, would they so much as indulge in such?

HOWEVER. . .

It's also a common principle to fuel your own power. As people of status, you'd care for your the fuel of your strength, wouldn't you? In the end, it's all trickery. It's all just a tempting vice. It was only temporary. Although, even then, there seem to be exceptions to the rule. No matter the amount of mock temptation, they remain the one thing contradicting the premise of their power: loyalty.

LUCIFER ; "It's disgusting how you even thought of trying."

Excuse you? He's offended by that question.

Let's ignore his position of giving Diavolo his absolute loyalty — these are two completely separate cases.

Although yes it falls into grey areas that overlap with one another, though what's the change?

Demon Prince aside, Lucifer is utmost loyal to his beloved lamb. It was simply equal in priority.

In fact, he takes pride in his love for you no matter what others suggest. He's a private man, he doesn't need his relationships to take center stage.

Oh sure he's not as affectionate as he is behind closed doors, but does it equate to anything else? He belongs to you as much as you belong to him. His.

Anything less was pitiful, a stung at his pride. Settling for someone who doesn't meet the standard of his beloved is such a sad, sad thought...

You'd be delusional to think he'd do that.

So when he went on as an escort for an all-powerful witch, watching them all doe-eyed and fawning over him, Lucifer couldn't catch a break.

Convincing him to drop everything with his lamb and start anew is on the same plane as Solomon trying to make a pact with the avatar.

You'd be correct to say that the answer was impossible.

The audacity of this vixen is palpable. Perhaps even admirable.

Lucifer would immediately dismiss their actions. He doesn't have the time to engage with others — much less someone testing his patience.

He'd go and talk them out of it, making his feelings clear.

The quicker he's out of this ordeal, the better. What a bother... he wished he could ask for a more tolerable person.

Those pet names and whistles mean nothing to him, as he continues to walk away. If they follow him then he'd give them a well-deserved scolding. If he's feeling particularly stressed that day, then whoever witnesses the cardinal display ought to keep their mouth shut.

We wouldn't want any issue now, do we?

As soon as that's dealt with, Lucifer grabs his DDD. After all, don't ignore the message that orders you to come to his study later that night.

It's a stress relief; more or less.

MAMMON ; "What's ya deal? Yer getting on my nerves.."

Was that even a question? Are you challenging him, babe?

Ya better put more trust in yourself if you think the GREAT Mammon's going to be replacing you; hell he doesn't care if it's for a one-night stand.

His type consists of you. YOU.

And he's a greedy demon. Very much so. As soon as his sky-blue eyes lock their gaze on any precious item he wants, it's over. Much like the inherent nature, being greedy for a particular item allows someone to disregard everything else.

Yes yes it's bad for a mortal but does it even matter? You're his only for as much as he is yours. Your first.

When out at the Fall, Mammon would get the occasional flirts and staring. Honestly, it's an ego booster, plus, he's a model so can ya really blame them?

But when one particular candidate steps too far and tries to get passed his comfort zone... well...

This wasn't entertaining at ALL.

Though he really swears to his father. This bitch...

It was annoying. Very fucking damn annoying.

Hello? Are they deaf? He said he's not interested. They'd think they're better than his dear treasure? Pft-- a turd among diamonds. No more than a lowly piece of shit that will never do garbage justice.

If it's just the talking stage, then Mammon would just scoff and walk it off. He's impolite? Stop wasting the Great Mammon's plans, will ya?

The words that escape that bitch's lips were really ticking Mammon's desire to punch them in the face as a warning.

Instead, what he does is strain their ego. While pushing them away he goes on and about how you were just as GREAT as himself. He sees himself as having no partner other than you.

E..er- of course you don't find out! You'll never do... [You eventually did]

If things ever do get physical, then... Sorry darling. The Devildom was the last place you'll ever be shown mercy.

And don't mind if he goes clinging onto you as soon as he's back at HoL. His hugs are tighter than usual? No it isn't. Stop, you're hallucinating.

It's merely a reminder of how in a world of foolery he's struck gold. You're his jackpot and losing you to someone of lower value is...

Alright, quick, calm him down. Reward him, won't you? You don't have to, but he'll be happier.

LEVIATHAN ; "It's stupid, OK!? Can't even fucking aim .."

Him? Are you serious?

He can't even properly make eye contact with someone for the life of him and you expect him to even think of flirting back at others?

You give him too much credit that it makes him blush. Like- It's- well... actually is like (un)holy jeez you're adorable for that.

"But what if they want to be his duo partner?"

It's not very poggers of you to say that.

You're his only friend on Nekopets that he sends gifts to, if anything HE should be the one worrying about others flirting with you.

Levi swears that you're too good for this world.

But you know better. The otaku rarely sees how his classmates are probably crushing on him since he's only been focused on his syntax error self-esteem. Gamer boys are all the rage, especially a cute one that just so happens to be one of the lords of anime hell so...

Yes, he has experienced them. He was less than amused, wanting to just shy away locked up in his room --- preferably with you so that he can game all night, watch anime, and board games are up, yeah? Away from all the normies? That's the life.

The ones that do get annoying are those who flirt with him online. Like, oh, that's a new level of ew.

Like, excuse you? Are you really flirting with him on VC while he [and the other league members] are actually trying to defeat the enemy team?

It gets worse when the person acts like they no nothing about the game, or have a purpose sloppy gameplay in hopes that "dEaR lEv1aChAn WoUlD cArRy ThEm"

Ya know what's sexier? Actually playing the game you—

—well, that trash-talking aside, clearly he's off-limits. He'll even go as far as ranting about it in whatever group chat comes first. It goes especially worse when it causes him to lose focus/his MVP streak.

He has then never played online for a week after that encounter.

It is less likely to happen face-to-face out in the open, and he'll very much express discomfort.

But if the beloved snake boy texts you to come to his room all lowercase with a period? Be there and don't forget to bring snacks.

And a charger, because you'll stay there for a long time.

SATAN ; "Mercy? Oh, I'll make you beg for mercy..."

You got to be fucking kidding him.

The mere thought of someone even thinking of taking him away from his dear sends his blood boiling.

What's that? Do they think a mere act of seduction is enough? Pathetic.

He already knows what he's gonna do, would you ever prefer an option ranging from "immobilized" to "dead beyond repair".

It's all a sum of deathly solutions, but can you blame him? He sees no one but you who is capable of showing him the light in this darkness.

And so whenever he gets reminded of the thought, be sure to be there at his side.

Hold him, talk to him, in your room or anywhere where you're both away from the peering eyes of the world. Your presence alone is enough to satiate whatever wrath urges to burst out of his system.

You're the only one who makes him truly satisfied, and there's no one else. You should be grateful that he even lets you near his vicinity without being reduced to blood and ashes.

The threats aren't as serious when it comes to you.

So in this case where he was enjoying his leisure time alone, he was then approached by someone.

When they started talking it did irk him. 'Don't you have someone else to annoy?' would be his first thought.

Yet things do get worse when things escalate.

This person has some audacity to flirt with him while he is taken.

Asking him out in the library was one thing, but peering over him? Practically pinning him to the shelves?

How improper of them.

While it looks like he doesn't care at all for the other's actions, even so far as to seemingly reciprocate their feelings [which, honestly, really? dream harder], Satan had felt something fuming inside of him.

It was taking him a lot of willpower to not just outright lunge at the person's throat and make them regret every single word that escaped their mouth.

To maintain decency, Satan had also ratted them off for their actions. While sounding oddly polite, one could hear the anger in his tone. All flat and sounding like a mockery.

When it starts getting physical, that's where the Avatar of Wrath draws the line. The already paper-thin line was shattered to pieces as the surroundings get just a bit darker.

How foul their words were, and as how Satan would phrase it: disgusting.

Any nearby demon would go and lock the library as silently as they could. No one would dare become the fourthborn's next victim.

Some can say how the harsh threats turn into incoherent growls, as the screams draw quieter...

They'd hope they'd be lucky enough to just crawl out of this room permanently mute after the next few hours.

ASMODEUS ; "Sorry darling but this doll isn't for playtime."

[GASP] How rude~!

Real talk, he is MOSTLY the reason why we're having this discussion in the first place.

An oh, darling, if only the answer was just as simple.

You see, Asmo here has found a sweet grey area on all of this. Of course, his sin partially drives the force of desire towards himself.

As much as the Avatar of Lust adored the attention he gets from fans. they're nothing more than that. All the #asmobabies out there are nothing but his fans.

He likes to put on a show, he likes to play pretend; flirting back to get a cute reaction or blowing a kiss to hear the masses squeal.

Though, play close attention --- it's all an act. Half of these sweet compliments are empty calories.

Asmodeus is a showman, yearning for the world to have all eyes on him, and he loves it that way. He himself knows it's an act because at the end of it all was his heart tied to his one and only biggest fan.

Of course it's you!! Aren't you just the cutest? It's too cruel to disagree!!!

Though let's push him in the experiment anyway. Just because you embody all of lust doesn't suddenly mean you're a master of "no feelings necessary".

What a lucky day! One of his fans fiercely goes up at him as they're both isolated at the back of the RAD building.

Aww... how adorable...~

Indulging and using his sin against him? Someone's rather naughty.

Like the other occurrences, he'll tag along. That's right, boo, all doe-eyed for his captivating presence. Chant him praises --- he's heard half of those over a lifetime, honey~!

Oh? We're feeling a bit creative now, are we? Whoops! Distances, baby!

Hand on his waist? Peering over his shoulder? Whispering to him in a low tone? Asking him out for a drink?

Ah if this wasn't any least bit entertaining then Asmo would roll his eyes at them. This was practically the classic Asmo fan bingo [homewrecker edition].

To all that, Asmodeus looks at them with a mischievous smirk. Taunting them to move closer, maybe even grabbing their chin in the process... and what does he do...?

His gaze darkened amidst his sweet tone. All remnants of seduction in his voice were replaced with a playfully dangerous tone. It was a mystery on whatever did the Avatar of Lust said, but a few witnesses have commented on how it was one of the hottest scariest moments they have ever heard.

Anyhow~! That's just the final trick! Most of them back off as soon as Asmo starts singing sweet praises for his dearest!

Seriously, it just made him want to be even more affectionate with you.

BEELZEBUB ; "I appreciate your feelings, but it's a no."

At first, he probably hadn't heard the question, too busy munching down some food in your company.

He looks down at you with a confused glint in his eyes.

Okay? He acknowledges their feelings, but his heart already belongs to someone.

He has dealt with a lot of admirers in his many years. Look at him, tall, kind, one of the powerful lords of the realm, and also athletic? He practically hits the jackpot.

Most of the time they were equally as nice, understanding how the glutton won't ever return their feelings.

Though seriously, he gives the aura of a heartbreaker.

Beel has never realized how many hearts he's broken. The kindest rejections oftentimes are the ones that hurt most.

As far as the others go, he's more respectful when dismissing others' advances. A simple word, no questions asked, and you're good to go.

An example of it was when someone, probably a person he talked to once at RAD, approached him after one of his Fangol practices.

He vividly recalls them clutching onto a reddish-orange envelope, their face was very red.

Okay so the person offered to be his new partner -?? That was weird. They went on this weird tangent on how they'd cook him meals for eternity, offer water on all his games, and just overall blurted their heart out.

Beel was surprised. It's not every day that you get confessed to, and there was more in the letter? Should he be... glad? Would that be wrong?

Though as soon as they got too touchy for comfort that's where the orange-haired golden retriever jolted out a "No!"

He explained to them how he was not interested in this relationship, and that he was more than content with his current status. And with his precious pumpkin pie.

Though that person never stopped, leaning over desperately chattering out how they were better than that coltish human and it was..?

Let's just say that when he heard your voice calling his name from afar, he pushed the person away.

He was mad, but even then he apologized before running off to his sweetest. Hell's Kitchen? Beel was practically salivating at the mouth.

It was an odd story.

BELPHEGOR ; "I've already told you. Now scram."

Simple: Are ya the human? No? Fuck off.

That's a wrap, we can now end it here.

No one dies.

He barely even interacts with anyone so what gives? Do you pity him? He doesn't think so.

Alright, ugh, I'll give you a proper answer... You owe him at least a night's worth of cuddles for this.

You're one of the only exceptions. Be glad.

It doesn't get simpler than "Is this his cuddle bug or some asshole?" and it works 100% of the time.

Belphie doesn't get as much amount of these "harassments" as his brothers. He cares for very few people to even notice anyone gawking eyes at him.

But once he does notice, he sighs.

He knows it's his fault.

Therefore he initiates one of the few actions he's a master at while not requiring as much energy: ignoring people.

What? If ya aren't talking back then they'll just give up.

That was how most of those times went.

Like that pitiful moment when someone just kept going on while Belphie works on something else [sleep] without a care in the world.

Seriously, how long was this?

Belphie interfered when things were getting physical. And EVEN THEN he still looked up at him, infuriatingly annoyed, while flatly saying "Can you shut up? I'm trying to concentrate. Now, scram."

After that no one ever dared to confess to the avatar of Sloth while he was asleep.

Maybe if he is awake? Good luck with that.

If there's even a millisecond where he isn't in your close proximity.

ADDITIONAL A/N: I apologize [not] for how unserious half of these were :sob: But woo! First official post on this account! Can't wait to see what comes in the future. Oh, and, lemme know what you think! Do you agree? Do you have different scenarios? Are they a bit OOC or do they fit perfectly with the character? Let me know!! <33

divider/s by @/cafekitsune | artwork by NTT Solmare

229 notes · View notes

nanaminsmoon · 1 year

Note

Good morning!!!! I love your blog so much!!!!💗🫶🏾 Your writing is amazing???

Baby daddy Choso????

thank you so much!!! but thanks for requesting this fren bc i love this so much🤭

𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. (𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲!𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

cw: pnv, unprotected sex, oral (f + m receiving), choking (f+m receiving), spit kink, choso calls reader; 'baby' and 'baby girl', this man is a masochist lowkey, yeah this is a lil nasty

wc: 3858

your twins loved their dad; excited feet would scamper their way to your bedroom, three hours earlier than usual, every friday because they knew it’d be the day they’d see him. and you guys had a routine: you got them ready in the morning, took them to school, then choso’d pick them up, and they'd be his for the weekend.

and, during those 48 hours, there was no beach far enough, nor park busy enough, for choso because he would take his girls wherever they wanted to go. every week, pinkie promises to not tell you about staying up later than rules would allow were made between the trio. then, come sunday morning, the girls would be impatiently jumping into your arms, as soon as you opened your door—usually with some playful change in their appearances. yet this particular one would cause your forehead to crease in confusion,

”what's on my daughter's face?”, you’d ask, once the girls were of earshot. immediately, choso knew what you were talking about but he’d play dumb just to irk you.

”eyes, eyelashes, eyebro—”, he’d start listing, and you’d interrupt him.

”no, dickhead, the thing over her nose”, you clarified and he’d inwardly rejoice at his success at annoying you.

”oh. she saw my tattoo and said she wanted one, so i just got her a little temporary one”, he’d explain, eyes trained on the twins as he waved back at them while they ran around the house.

”and when she wants it for real?”, you’d poke at his chest, and his hand would rise to hold the spot your fingertip had touched as he faked a pained expression.

”i don't know how reckless you think i am, but i'm not gonna tattoo a six year old”, he’d scoff, but his amusement would fall to flatten quite quickly.

as hard as choso tried to fan the hurt fogging his mind, it just wouldn’t leave him. choso could be denounced for his work over, and over, again and he’d bounce back because he was so confident and sure of his abilities. but jabs at his skills as a father never failed to pinch at his heart. people would spend an hour with him, then start to question his parenting abilities based off the way he looked and his reserved manner. the prickling in his chest didn’t come from insecurity, but from sensitivity to reminders of the same baseless assumption. especially coming from someone he deemed to be the perfect parent,

”why do you keep doing that?”, he’d look at you earnestly, and confusion would force your eyebrows together.

”doing what?”,

”making me out to be this bad influence.”,

”maybe it’s because you run around with cancer sticks behind your ears”, you pulled the cigarette from behind his ear, and shoved it in his pocket.

”aside from that. you treat me like i'm gonna corrupt the girls.”, he paused, ”you treat me the way your parents treated me”, due to his appearance and impassive demeanour, most people around you had opposed your relationship with choso. your friends warned he’d be a terrible father, and your parents mistook how reserved he was for coldness, and arrogance. outwardly, he seemed inattentive, rude, and aloof but choso didn’t care because the most important people in his life understood him. he was his daughters’ best friend, protector, and joint number one on their list of favourite princesses to join their tea parties—the other being you.

no matter how many years passed, you’d always love choso. though you weren’t together anymore, the need to defend him against those who misunderstood him had never dissipated. so to hear that you had become one of the people you had spent almost a decade trying to quieten, lunged your heart into your throat.

”choso, i'm so sorry. i didn't know i was being—”, you’d start to apologise, but you’d be quickly interrupted. penitence sunk all your features in a way choso couldn’t ignore; he knew you had no malintent with your words, and he didn’t want you to beat yourself up over it.

”nah, it's cool.”, he waved you off, ”i get it, but you know me. you know i love them to death and i'd never encourage anything that i knew would hurt them. but anyways, i guess i'll go now, i'll see you on frida—”, he’d been stood in the doorway and, as he began to step backwards to leave, your hands would clasp one of his. he’d be visibly surprised, but his feet would still be ladened to their spot.

”let me make it up to you”, you'd propose, and intrigue would raise choso’s eyebrow.

you’d always known there were benefits to your best friend being your neighbour, and today would be the day you’d reap one of them. after instructing choso to sit and wait on the couch, you’d gather the girls’ stuff and take them next door. you’d come back to choso still sat where you had left him, legs spread and large hand dwarfing his phone. the urge to jump on his dick right then and there was stronger than you would’ve liked, but you’d keep composed. even under his fervent glare as he watched you take your shoes off. there’d be a moment of waiting once your eyes met, then you’d beckon for him to follow you. choso’s curiosity was eating away at him, but if there’s one thing he had learnt during your time together it was that he was not to question your plans. even as he realised you were leading him to your bedroom, he’d just scoff to himself and continue trailing you.

once at the door, you’d open it and hold it for him to go in. and, chuckling, he’d enter the room, chills already running down his spine at the way those four walls boxed him into your scent, and swathed him in it. his back being turned to you allowed choso to shamelessly close his eyes, and take it all in. he’d only be brought back to reality by the clicking of the door lock.

”the fuck are you doing?”, he laughed as he turned around.

”making it up to you, now sit.”, he'd raise his hands in surrender, before he’d sit on the edge of the bed, eyes narrowed as he watched you saunter your way towards him.

one thing led to another, and you went from kissing and licking at choso's bulge through his boxers to having his dick throat deep inside you. during your relationship, head had been one of choso’s favourite things. he’d even claimed that, had your pussy not been so good, he’d like head more than sex. there were never enough words to explain it but, to him, there was nothing that drove him crazier than the sight of your eyelashes batting up at him as you took all of him into your mouth, nose tickling his pelvic bone. and, busy with his tattoo studio, choso didn't have a lot of time to date so he couldn't remember the last time he felt a woman's throat enclose around his tip the way yours did. his toes were damn near gripping at the carpet through his socks, as his fingers dug into the duvet. though their one wish was to be entangled in your tresses, scratching at your scalp when you swallowed around him, choso hadn’t forgotten that the reason you had asked him to drop the girls off two hours later than usual, was because you were getting your hair done. so he'd refrain for an entire two seconds, fingers contracting around nothing, before he'd just ask,

”can i put—fuck—my hands in your h—shit, y/n—hair”. and another low ’shit’ would leave his lips when you'd pull him out of your mouth to show him the lewd mix of your saliva and his precum leaking out your lips.

”’f you fuck it up, then you gotta pay for me to get it redone”, you tilted your head to run his length against you lips, and choso’s hands were on your head immediately.

”yes, ma’am”, he moaned out.

though you had been broken up for five years, the mutual sexual attraction between you two had never dwindled, so you two fucking post-breakup was inevitable. that being said, choso hadn't nutted in you in almost two years and he didn’t want the first time in 24 months to be in your mouth. that’s what his heart wanted, but his body would have other plans. head wasn’t just about the feeling for choso, the man loved a performance. knowing this, you’d pull him out of your mouth to allow a string of spit and precum hang from your lips, letting it land on his length again just so you could use it as lube to stroke him a few more times.

”you can’t do shit like that, y/n, i’ll nu—”, his strained voice tried to explain, but it’d be cut short by more of your antics. one second your lips would be around his balls, then the next they'd be damn near touching his pelvic bone, as you took him into your throat again. he'd raise his hand to place it on your forehead,

”w-wait, y/n i'm gonna—fuckfuckfuckfuck—baby, wait i'm gonna cum”, he'd warn, but you'd just take that as a signal to keep hallowing your cheeks and taking him into your throat. the pleasure delayed his reflexes, so choso wouldn’t be fast enough in pulling his dick from your mouth; most of his nut would be inside it and, as you let his dick slip from your lips, he’d get some on your cheek, chin and nose too. the tip of your middle finger would collect some of it, and put it in your mouth, eyes locked with his as you did so.

”i forgot how fucking nasty you are”, he'd chuckle before flopping backwards to face the ceiling, as he just laid on his back.

choso’s love for head wasn’t limited to just receiving, because one of his life’s finest pleasures resided between your legs.

”i just need to get you ready f’r me, baby”, would be his response when you told him he didn’t need to reciprocate. but the truth was, choso luxuriated in the way you grabbed at his hair and closed your thighs around his head—the near suffocation was the closest to heaven he thought he’d ever get. he loved the way your body didn't know what to do with itself, squirming underneath the cold metal of his tongue, and lip, piercing. yet, nothing could dethrone the way the warmth of your thighs taking away all his air made his dick twitch. he'd enjoy the gratifying discomfort they brought, before he'd force your legs open again,

”you taste so fucking good, baby, i don't know how i went without this for so long”, he'd say when he came back up for a breath. his fingertips would dig into your thighs as he placed your legs on his shoulders. fingertips would soon be substituted for large palms, as choso pushed the flesh together to basically cut off his air supply. it felt sick to admit, but he loved the feeling of you essentially choking him out.

choso hadn't intended on eating you out until you came, but once he’d started, he couldn't stop. he’d lost track of time and then, all of a sudden, the feeling of your nails on his scalp was harsher. and if he wasn’t relishing in the feeling, eyes fluttering shut in enjoyment, he might’ve noticed that you were about cum a lot sooner. but he’d only catch on when your babbles became more coherent,

”chos-so, i'm-m cumming, shit”, you'd say, and when his brain finally processed those words, it'd be too late because he'd have your release all over him.

for a few moments, the only sounds audible in your room were your heavy breathing and the sound of choso licking your arousal off his fingers. the glisten of the inside of your thighs would catch his attention, and he’d move to remove them of their shimmer. the feeling of the metal on your skin would coax a jolt out of you, before you’d be backing away from his mouth to sit up and face him. the man looked depraved; hair a mess, and face shining, as he just smirked at you.

the shirt covering your top half would be off, as well as choso’s shirt and boxers. and, seeing your bare body for the first time in years was having visible effects on choso—he was stunned.

”wow”, he said, in a whisper, reaching to hold you but you’d pushed his shoulder.

”what?”, you giggled, and he just shook his head so as to not make you feel embarrassed.

”no, i just…i forgot how beautiful you are”,

”shut up, bruh”, you'd playfully roll your eyes, before pulling at choso’s arm to switch your positions. his interest would be piqued yet again, and you'd quell it with a sloppy kiss to his lips. you’d mount choso to sit at the bottom of his abdomen, and his hands landed on your hips. they'd help you ride the ridges of his toned stomach, taking note of how you moaned into his mouth as your juices smeared all over his lower torso.

you'd soon shift yourself, sliding down his length and choso wouldn’t be able to see much of it because his eyes rolled to shut once he felt you wrap around him. hands placed on his broad chest, you'd move up and down on him and his tatted fingers would dig into your hips. choso’s pleasure was visceral, and he almost wanted it to stop before he got too attached and refused to let it end as he had many times before. when you and choso fucked, you did so for hours because you were both relentless. yet, as good as this felt, choso was ashamed to admit that something was missing.

”this is all for me, right?”, he'd ask breathily, hands stilling you. it’d be hard to formulate thought, because you were just paused with his dick deep inside you. but you'd manage a shabby attempt at a nod.

”well, can you…”, choso’d pause, eyes wandering around the bed, and his uncertainty would make you anxious. when it came to sex, you two had always been honest, and open to try anything. so if it made him cautious, then it was one of two things; something he’d been wanting for a while, or something completely left field.

“could you choke me?”, he'd ask, and your once lidded eyes would be widely staring back at him.

”like…?”, you'd raise your hand, and both of his would engulf it, leading it to his neck.

”this.”, he looked you in your eyes, and your hand grew firmer, ”and just keep it there”, he'd instruct, and you'd nod, before starting to move again.

though new to you, you began seeing the appeal of choking choso very quickly. mainly because of the way his eyelids would flutter, as his eyes rolled to shut, just by virtue of feeling your hand on his neck. not to mention the way his hips would move on their own to rut into you, every time your thumb and middle finger tightened around his throat. he may have been larger than you in stature, but choso was completely under your control. both the tightness of your walls, and the feeling of your hand around his neck—sweat making it hard for you to move while maintaining a secure grip on him—was making him delirious. and he never wanted it to stop.

choso's mouth was making any noise it could muster to express how good he was feeling. he went from quietly cursing under his breath, to just shouting cuss words at you. you weren't far from your nut either; due to both the view and the way his dick’s chase for more pleasure, made choso fuck into you harder. the feeling made your thighs weaken but, ultimately, choso would be the first to let go,

”where d’you want it?”, he asked, and your hand would remain on his neck as you leaned down to speak to him.

”nut in me, choso”, you’d whine, lips latching onto his neck to kiss it. the combination of the sultriness of your voice and your lips attacking the most sensitive spot on his neck, would’ve been enough but choso completely lost it when he’d feel a sting as you marked his skin. he'd cum underneath you, hips stuttering upwards to prolong the pleasure he was feeling. all choso could do was cuss, and dig his trimmed fingernails into you before just laying there, a shell of his former self.

you'd be riding him for a few more minutes, before choso’s control of his limbs would return to him, then he’d have you laid underneath him. no further words would be exchanged before he was slamming into you, silver chains dangling in your face and his hand on your throat, as he fucked you with vigor. as amazing as the opposite had felt, choso much preferred this version of things. he preferred looking down at you as your eyes fluttered and rimmed with salty displays of euphoria, he’d even lean down to lick one as it ran down the side of your cheek. choso indulged in the way you'd grab his forearm as strong as you could, sanguine crescents colouring in the empty spaces in his tattoos. he'd lean down to suck on your nipples, nipping at them just so he could hear the raising in pitch your moans and whines would do when that sensation coursed through you. his eyes would flicker down to the white froth collecting at the base of his dick, as his nut was pushed out of you with his every thrust.

”you're doing this all for me, right?”, he'd ask, and you'd nod, ”this fucked out all for me. taking this dick so good just for me”, he'd say, lips once again around your nipples.

choso wasn't letting up; his pace was merciless, as he fucked you dumb. most times you had fucked, choso would slow down, or pull out, when that familiar constriction of your walls told him you were close. he'd do it until you were crying and begging underneath him, voice growing excrutiatingly hoarse. but, seeing as you already had tears in your eyes, he'd only do it once before he'd just maintain a harsh rhythm as you came around him.

”choso, fffuck”, you cried out, but he'd just keep going. his eyes were so focused on the silhouette of his dick moving in and out of you, as your stomach contracted, that he'd lost all sight of where he was. you could've told choso he was jupiter and the man would've believed you. he couldn't even remember why you guys had started fucking in the first place, all he knew was that he didn't want to stop. to choso, thinking about anything that wasn’t you was a waste of brain power. so he'd turn his brain off and let his body do whatever it wanted to. even if it meant overstimulation for the both of you.

your third nut would be pretty imminent, seeing as choso literally would not stop moving inside of you. but it'd be unlike the others,

”choso, g-gimme a s-second”, you'd say, and he'd shake his head because he knew what you were doing. choso knew your body, and he knew it well; he knew what you were trying to prevent well enough to know that it was the very thing he was striving for,

”you said you doing all this for me, baby.”, he'd remind you, ”’nd i wanna see you make a fucking mess on my dick.”, his words would do nothing but edge you closer to your nut.

”can you do that f’r me?”, he’d ask, and you’d nod your head.

”just f’r me?”, he’d ask, voice laboured, ”i don’t deserve you, baby”, he’d pout before moving down to connect your lips.

and, under his instruction, you’d just let that funny little feeling near your bladder do whatever it wanted to. one of your hands would be struggling to wrap around choso’s wrist, while the other would be gripping the sheets for dear life. the hand choso had placed on your neck would remain stagnant, movement only reserved for the other as it moved to your clit. worries about you moving because of how fast, and hard, he was fucking you were nonexistent because the sweat covering your body meant that you were adhered to the fabric underneath you. choso's tatted fingers would rub on your bud until you came on them, practically spraying him with your release.

a low chuckle would leave choso's mouth at the endearing view of you trying to calm your body down. heavy breaths would slither past your lips, but your eyes remained closed. choso’s hand would plant a light slap to your cheek to wake you back up, but it'd be to no avail. so he’d try once more, this time, grabbing your chin to shake your face until your eyes opened.

”say ‘ah’, baby girl”, he'd ask, and you'd open your mouth as wide as your slack jaw would allow. a line of spit would fall from his lips to your tongue before you'd swallow it, and he'd smirk to himself.

”didn’t even have to tell you what to do”, he’d snicker, and you’d smile contently up at him. the woman choso was seeing was so unlike the one he had met so many years ago, and he dreaded to think that the sweet glint in your eyes had bittered because of him. however, that dread would quickly fade and, in its place, would be a knowing smirk,

”shit, maybe i am a bad influence.”

#nanaminsmooninc #jjk x black y/n #jjk x black reader #choso x black!reader #choso smut #choso x you #jujutsu kaisen choso #i need him real bad #choso x reader

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weasleyreidstyles · 4 months

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Serendipity; snippets of navigating fifth year with Fred Weasley

series masterlist

based on a request from ages ago. its a little choppy, but bare with me, ive just suffered the worst bout of writer's block ever😓 (i'm actually so sad that i've neglected serendipity so much but im back and i have so many wips to share with you all!!!!)

pairing(s): fred weasley x fem!reader, brief theodore nott x fem!reader (platonic)

Hogwarts doesn't feel the same anymore. The usual air of magic had been snuffed out with each imposing rule that was nailed to the Entrance Hall walls. There is no more laughter in the corridors, no more soft chatter from the figures inside the magical portraits; instead the repetitive notes of Professor Umbridge's sugary sweet tone rattle over deafening speakers.

All boys and girls must remain eight inches apart from eachother.

There will be no house fraternising during meal times.

Talk of any unauthorised groups will be met with adequate punishment.

Curfew must be met by every member of the student body.

That last one still haunts you in your peaceful moments.

It's the reason you sit on one of the uncomfortable plush seats in Professor Umbridge's office, a cursed black quill clenched in your harsh grip as you write out those very words, the familiar cursive of your own handwriting etching painfully into the skin of your non-dominant hand. She was smirking at you under the guise of sipping lengthily from her pink teacup, watching as the tears steadily building in your eyes finally spilled down over your cheeks, which were flushed red from the pain.

How had you found yourself in this predicament exactly?

You were made a prefect at the start of the year, alongside Hermione and Ron, which you'd found out when you got your letter detailing which books you would need for your fifth year. You remember the pride written across your parents' faces and how elated you had been to be given such a prestigious role, one that many Ravenclaw students in your year wanted just as badly as you. It was a revered spot after all. Everyone was elated for you, but none more so than the oldest Weasley twin.

"Are you going to give us unlimited leeway with pranks now that you hold such a position of authority, gorgeous?" Fred's husky voice joked in a whisper as the two of you sat at the dining table during the small party that Molly and your mother had set up in celebration for the three of you.

"Are you asking me to take advantage of my new position, Weasley?" You ask, a small smirk making its way on your face as you fight the blush threatening to paint your cheeks at his sudden closeness.

All summer, he had been flirting with you. At first you put it down to his lack of contact to the outside world and you laughed at his well-timed jokes and played into his flirtations with rebutting jokes of your own.

But then one night, when you flirted back daringly, he kissed you. He actually kissed you. It wasn't your first kiss. No, that went to Harry in a random game of truth or dare back in second year (something you both agreed was wrong on so many levels; it was never discussed by any of you again). But this kiss with Fred felt incredible and it cemented a closer bond with the older twin, whose brilliantly blue eyes sparkled with something more whenever he stared at you after that moment.

He'd rewarded your achievement later that same evening, after the party, behind the closed door of your temporary bedroom, leaving you smiling and giddy for the rest of summer. It's what prompted Ginny and Hermione's loose bet as to how long it would take for the pair of you to get together officially.

Your elation lasted until the very moment you stepped into the Prefects' Carriage and found out who you'd be partnered up with for the year.

Theodore Nott. Notorious for his aloof attitude as well as his surprising intellect that rivalled Hermione's. He was part of Riddle's group, one of the most popular groups in school, possibly trumping even the Golden Trio. But because he was part of Riddle's crew you had learned to hate him just a little – his teasing remarks towards your friends, especially Ron, always sent you into a spiral of brewing animosity.

So when Alicia Spinnet, who had been given the prestigious role of Head Girl, announced that she was pairing you with him, you cast her a look of utter betrayal, which she vehemently ignored.

You did not speak to Nott for the entire time you were meant to familiarise yourselves with eachother, and he made no effort either; grey eyes misted over as if he wasn't even part of the present conversation altogether. Gods how you despised him.

~∞~

Upon returning to your original compartment, following slowly behind Ron and Hermione, Fred had immediately seen your crestfallen look.

"What's up, gorgeous?" he asked from his seat by the window, ignoring Ron's faux gagging at the nickname. He'd also moved further into the corner to allow you the space to sit down.

You thanked him with a quiet smile before sitting down with a sigh.

"Alicia paired me with Nott for prefect rounds. How unfortunate is that?" You mumble, resting your head dejectedly against his burly shoulder.

"You're joking?!" He says with wide eyes. "What the hell was she thinking?"

"I assume it was because Davies paired Parkinson with your counterpart, so you got paired with Nott as a consequence." Hermione said from the opposite seat. "The Ravenclaws and Slytherins in sixth and seventh year were paired together as well."

Yes that was an overarching trend that had seemed to stick over the years.

"Maybe it won't be too bad." Ginny says and you all turn to her in synchronised disbelief. "What? I've never seen Nott speak. Maybe that'll be a good thing. A mute partner is better than a snarky one."

"Just the thought of being in his presence makes me uncomfortable. Mute or not." You say quietly, so only Fred can hear.

"If he does or says anything to you, let me know yeah?" He replied with equal secrecy and you nod your head imperceptibly in response.

He lets you use his shoulder as a makeshift pillow when you find your eyes closing drowsily, brushing the loose hair that falls into your face and ignoring George's knowing glances.

~∞~

The very first round of Prefect duties was utterly boring and painfully long. You and Nott had patrolled the Astronomy corridor with lacklustre precision, both eager to get away from eachother's presence.

It was like this for a while, a few months to be exact, until you both became accustomed to the silence, to the point where it was actually bareable. No longer were rounds a labourous activity; you and Nott began to partake in small talk, to the most minute extent – in no way did this make you aquainted and in the daylight, you returned to steely looks and barely contained snarls of discontent, which was mirrored by your friends, and his. You barely noticed the extra attention that Voldemort's son seemed to be giving you as your friendship with Theo progressed at a steadily growing pace.

At your budding friendship with the Slytherin Prefect, Fred began showing up at the end of your rounds to whisk you away, never sparing Theo a glance. The two of you would wander the desolate corridors, hands interlocked as you spoke quietly and unhurriedly. You noticed that Fred, always grinning and never unnecessarily angry, would grow agitated in Theo's presence and you never understood why.

Until one night, when Fred was loitering at the end of your last corridor to patrol, Theo had said something that made you burst into pearls of laughter; his face had lit up with a delighted smirk at the sound.

Fred's face was stoic and so unnaturally like his usual cadence that it took you completely by surprise.

"Of course you're waiting here, Weasley." Theo had mumbled, mostly to himself, but Fred had bristled from where he was leaning against the wall.

"You have a problem with that, Nott?" He had snarled and you'd looked at him with widened eyes at the edge in his voice.

Eager to defuse the tension, you took Fred's hand and gave Theo a look that read 'stop being an arsehole', before leading the ginger boy away.

Theo had gone back to his best friend to report that Mattheo's suspicions were indeed correct: you had been learning Legillimancy and had unknowingly spoken to Theo without so much as moving your lips.

And Fred had no idea.

~∞~

This routine continued for you and Fred, leaving you at the butt end of George and Lee's teasing. You came to expect him to be waiting at the end of your rounds, where you would part ways with Theo before spending at least an hour in Fred's presence.

On some occasions when it was far too cold to continue wandering the hallways at night, he would tell you to go straight to the Gryffindor common room, where there would be a fire in the hearth and plenty of blankets to snuggle into.

On such occasions, Theo offered to walk you there, despite him not wanting to be anywhere near the lions' den. It was during these times where your friendship with him became cemented as pure and real. Your friends were surprised when you actively sought eachother out during lessons.

Fred hated your budding friendship, but he said nothing about it; it wasn't his place to undermine your friendships.

But it became hard to hold his tongue when Professor Umbridge unveiled her new Inquisitorial Squad, which Theo and his friends had joined in quick succession.

The Inquisitorial Squad was a massive hindrance for Dumbledore's Army. The lot of you had to be more vigilant with your timings for the meet ups in the Room of Requirement, lest you get caught out by these glorified prefects. The Inquisitorial Squad is how you ended up in her office in the first place.

You had been patrolling with Theo, who was complaining about how frustrating having magicless lessons was becoming in the lead up to ypur OWL exams (you'd felt guilty about the DA not including any Slytherins all year, and this further cemented that feeling), when Adrian Pucey and Professor Umbridge came waltzing around the corner.

"Good evening Master Nott." the Professor says warmly, before her gaze sweeps over to you and her beady eyes catch onto the flashy Prefect badge pinned proudly tp your chest.

"Miss Meadow, why are you out past curfew?" She asks with faux concern, mouth twisting with a sadistic smirk.

"Uh-" You look at Theo, who looks just as startled as you. "We're just about to finish our rounds, Professor."

Umbridge lets out a heinous giggle that grates on your nerve.

"Oh my dear, didn't you see the newest decree?" She asks, her face alight with victory when you shake your head. "I have no need for Prefects anymore. I disproved them as a group."

"Wha- Why?" you ask, disbelief painted across your face. Pucey smirks as he looks from you to Theo.

"The Inquisitorial Squad has overtaken that job, Meadow." He spits your name like its dirt on the bottom of his shoe. You share a look of alarm with Theo.

I knew nothing of this Meadow, I promise you.

He looks sincere and you believe him, word for word.

"This sheer display of disobedience cannot go unpunished." Her harsh giggle is the only sound that fills the corridor.

She hands you a detention on a silver platter and you go into it blind. You didn't know that Harry had been trying to protect you, Ron and Hermione from the same fate as him.

~∞~

She dismissed you with a delighted giggle after an hour of writing the same line over and over again.

Curfew must be met by every member of the student body.

Your hand is throbbing from the pain, but all you feel is numb. You wander the hallways like a ghost, not bothering to pay mind to where you're walking, until you find yourself at the portrait of the Fat Lady leading to the Gryffindor common room.

"Password?!" Elizabeth says impatiently, as if she'd been repeating herself over and over.

"Gillyweed." You mumble and she finally takes in your appearance, completely forgetting to open the portrait hole.

"Oh my dear, are you alright?" She says, voice full of concern, and if she were able to, you're sure she'd reach a hand out and place it delicately onto your shoulder.

"'M fine, Elizabeth. Just need to sit down." You didn't realise how tired you were, but from the slurring of your words and the speed with which the portrait swings open, with no hesitation towards the blue and bronze tie donning your neck, you must be on the verge of collapsing.

Fred sees you first.

"Meadow? What are you doing here, gorgeous?" he asks, voice filled with concern.

"Don't know. But 'M really sleepy." You say and you grip at his arms with barely any strength, which he notes with wide, panicking eyes.

"Shit- okay, come on let's go upstairs."

He guides you slowly towards his dorm, ignoring his brothers and Hermione and Harry's looks of worry. He sees the blood dripping from your hand in the dim light of the room, which prompts him to usher you much faster.

He sits you on the marble of the ensuit bathroom, the cold of the tiles barely registers to you.

He's mumbling a series of healing charms against your hand, jaw clenching when the blood flow slows enough for him to see the culprit of your bloodlust.

"Did she do this to you?" He asks, his voice as low as a growl that has your thigh clenching at the tone.

"Technically," You start with a weak laugh, "I did this to myself. She told me what to write."

"It's not funny, gorgeous." He says with a frown that you manage to wipe away with a peck of your lips.

"It's fine, Freddie."

"No. It's not."

You can practically see the plans forming in his brain and the next day, a series of crazed birds are let loose in the Great Hall, all headed straight for the newly appointed Head Mistress, Fred's smirking face meeting her's with no hesitation.

His hand sports similar wounds to you by the end of the day and you patch him up in the same fashion that he did for you.

~∞~

You don't show up to your scheduled Prefect meetings for the rest of the year, and you avoid Theo in the corridors, much to your friends' delight.

His voice in your mind is the only point of contact that you have with your Italian friend, something you keep hidden from your friends, especially Fred.

You look sad, tesoro. He says from across the Great Hall, days after your first detention with Umbridge. You sit facing the Slytherin table beside Luna Lovegood, who looks between you, Fred and Theo imperceptibly.

I'm not sad. I'm bored.

Yes because I'm sure the Gryffindor table is just a delight to be seated at.

You scoff outwardly at his sarcasm.

"What're you scoffing about, gorgeous?" Fred's voice says from behind you. You sneak a look towards Theo, who seems to have engaged himself in a conversation with Riddle and Berkshire, not showing that he was just immersed in conversation with you mere seconds ago.

"Just thinking about all the ways I want to make Umbridge suffer." You say with an offhanded shrug. Luna giggles into the palm of her hand.

"I have plenty of ideas." He says with a smirk as he drags you from your seat and into the corridors beyond the Great Hall.

Professor Umbridge may have cast a cloud of sorrow over the magic of Hogwarts, but nothing could take away the fun you'd been having in the stolen moments with your best friend's brother.

Not even the fact that he was leaving prematurely. Certainly not after you convince yourself to share your growing feelings for him, to have that snuffed out by his secret declaration.

Your chance with him is taken from you as he and George sail away from Hogwarts with guffawing laughter at the sight of Umbridge's sour face. They're off to live their lifelong dream, taking your dreams with them.

The next time you see Fred is after you watch Sirius' body fall through the veil, mind and body too numb to process any and all of your feelings. You only reach out for Teddy in your mind, a comforting voice of reason for all you'd seen. Even the strangely beautiful sight of the thestrals, that were invisible only hours before, did not phase you.

You fell into Theo's comforting embrace the moment you were able to leave the Hospital Wing, Fred Weasley long forgotten at Ron's bedside.

taglist:

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#serendipity series #fred weasley x reader #theo nott x reader #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley angst #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #theodore nott x reader

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merakiui · 1 year

Text

boyfriend.

yandere!female!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, implied (cyber)stalking, cheating, dub-con, alcohol/intoxication, characters written as 18+ note - riddle seeks to prune the filthy weeds from your life, starting with your ill-mannered boyfriend. // inspired by dove cameron's boyfriend.

i. i can’t believe we’re finally alone. i can’t believe i almost went home. what are the chances? everyone’s dancing, and he’s not with you.

Riddle has never traveled to this part of the city before—the seedy, unsavory sliver overshadowed by towering skyscrapers, illicit, perilous secrets tucked away in every alley. It’s not as if she’s here under duress. Although if you were to frame it from her perspective, it would feel less like an active, consensual choice and more of a you’ve-forced-my-hand choice. It’s blatant rule-breaking all the same, a stain on her delicate character. Blight on her shiny social status as a golden child, forever marked as the obedient one.

She’s lived her rebellious streak, was punished swiftly and accordingly, and strived to be better in the aftermath. It was one thing to slip out during independent study, and that fun had been trampled upon by a cruel, heeled foot. That was a child’s error. A lesson learned. A valid reason to sever all distractions and improve academically, consequently maturing with sharp, sparkling intelligence and abysmal social skills.

But Riddle is no longer that starry-eyed, impressionable child, and she does not make the same mistake twice.

Or so she’s always believed, but she’s willing to risk an unforgiving tongue-lashing and life imprisonment at the hands of her mother if it means she can fix things. No matter how she spins it, the truth remains the same: She’s fallen back on an old habit, sneaking out and keeping secrets. She’s an open book to Trey, though, who she’d taken care to message on the train ride into the city, her text mostly cryptic: Should anything happen, this is where I’ll be. It’s wrong to skirt around the truth, especially when it’s your closest friend. She knows this, but then she also knows Trey gives terribly good advice. The type of terribly good advice you often don’t want to hear.

Advice like: “You need to let her go.”

And Riddle can’t—won’t.

So she steps into the digital footprints left by that brash, brutish party animal you lovingly call your boyfriend, and she follows the string of social media posts like a diligent detective, flicking through each with manicured fingernails. She commits them to memory so that they remain imprinted in her mind before they’ll eventually expire at the twenty-four hour mark.

In the days leading up to tonight, Cater had taken her out for their usual self-care makeover day, which was really just a day dedicated to dressing up and gossiping at the salon. It was a monthly arrangement, and it kept the both of them entertained and sane. The latter of those two was called into question when Riddle, wholly out of character, selected black nail polish for her mani-pedi, which left Cater looking on with brewing curiosity. She gazed at him, pouty lips upturned slyly, and said, “I thought I’d give red a temporary break.”

“Oh, but red is so your color!” he insisted, raising his phone to capture both of them in frame.

Riddle smiled at the camera. “I know.”

It has always been her color, a staple in her closet. It’s a favorite she can never truly shake, hence why it stains her lips instead. Bright like arterial blood, a blossoming carnation, it stands out starkly on her pale countenance—the only splotch of color on her person. Cater took her shopping when he’d learned she was attempting to fit a new style into her wardrobe of prim, modest clothes. They ran up and down the racks, grinning at each other from across the store and holding up sweaters and skirts, weighing whether either would suit Riddle’s night out. In the end, she settled for the outfit she wears now: a red tube top, a cropped puffer jacket, a pencil skirt that doesn’t pass the fingertip test (not that she cares to follow that rule), tights, and knee-high heeled boots. To finish the look, she’s pulled her hair from its usual plaits, allowing it to cascade down her back like a crimson waterfall. Fingerless lace gloves adorn her hands, stitched with intricate patterns of roses and thorns.

Cater called it the Femme Fatale Friday fit. It’s a Saturday night, but it feels like Friday when she peers at her reflection in a pocket mirror, checking her makeup once more.

She will not make the same mistake twice. She’s a paragon of perfection—Riddle Rosehearts, for seven’s sake!

Stuffing the mirror into a matching handbag, she eyes the skyscraper looming before her, sleek with its metal framework and industrial glass. The bright cityscape reflects off of each window, dazzling with luminous specks of light. She considers the contents in her purse, reviews each with a critical eye, and inhales a steadying breath.

This is necessary.

She’s an adult now, nearly finished with her graduate studies. She lives on her own in a quaint, pet-friendly apartment with her hedgehog, and she works part-time at the café down the street, putting forth her best effort as she weathers the woes of university. Despite all of this independence, she doesn’t feel like an adult.

Not when she can hear her mother in the back of her head: You look ridiculous. Come home right now before you make a fool of yourself and sully my good name.

Riddle scowls at the concrete, curling her fingers into fists.

She’s an adult now. She is not her mother’s doll.

Leaving all hostility and self-doubt at the door, she steps through the lobby and beelines for the lift. It carries her to her destination—one of the highest floors. A penthouse suite.

And not just any penthouse suite. Floyd Leech’s penthouse suite.

Under normal circumstances, she would never willingly set foot in his territory. She survived four years of school with him, which was already a sickening amount, and in that time she watched him glide through his undergraduate with just barely passing grades. That wasn’t enough to stoke the red-hot embers of envy, though. It only made him seem even more like a cockroach, unable to be crushed by the weight of scholarly responsibilities, for he never took anything seriously.

For that reason, Riddle has never envied Floyd. But by the end of their third year, he had something Riddle didn’t.

He had you.

How he managed to settle into a relationship when all he did was slack off, party, and break the rules was beyond Riddle. He was a slippery delinquent, hardly deserving of your sweet affections, and yet you looked at him like he was the only one on the planet. Just where was the appeal? His manner of dress is sloppy. The way he carries himself is unpalatable and crude. The way he acts suggests his insipience is incurable. Even when he applies himself, he is still Floyd and that doesn’t clean his slate or shine his reputation. So in Riddle’s discerning eyes, he does not possess a scintilla of romantic appeal.

You don’t seem to agree with these sentiments, for you’ve been with Floyd for four long years.

Love is blinding, but Riddle has never been in love before and so she doesn’t have adequate data to prove this point. It was forbidden in her home. She’s only allowed to love the men her mother handpicks, plucking each specimen like they’re ripened strawberries from a bush. In the beginning she found all manner of minor details to excuse them from her life, insisting upon a nonexistent list of impossibly high standards. He was too tall. He was too forward with his interest. He wore contrasting colors. He didn’t like tea. These reasons were far too critical and childish, and each man had been sent away in a huff. Her mother would scold her, halving her with a nasty glare: “Are you planning to die alone?”

Yes, Riddle realized by the twentieth admonishment, yet another man cast aside. If dying alone means romantic freedom in life, I’ll do just that.

The elevator spits her out into the hall, which isn’t as silent as she thought it’d be. Bass shakes through the walls, reverberating all the way through her ribs as if it intends to stir up her organs. She catches her reflection in the windows, noting the dark, monstrous scowl, and smooths her face into something courageous. She means business as she clicks down the hall, preparing herself for the whirlwind that undoubtedly waits behind the door. Riddle starts to wonder how Floyd’s neighbors have yet to file a noise complaint and then stops, her thoughts cutting off abruptly. It’s a challenge to make complaints when your father holds parts of the city’s underground in his palms.

He’s got it easy, that spoiled pest.

Riddle’s gait slows to a halt and she reaches out to knock thrice. The door is thrown open before she can even bring her fist down. Soon she’s staring at a rosy-cheeked stranger, whose eyes trace her figure like he’s trying to paint her on his mental canvas. She’s prepared for the worst, having tucked the spray in her bag, its container disguised to look like lipstick. The strawberry keychain hanging from her purse is a self-defense alarm, ready to be pulled at a moment’s notice. His ogling does not frighten her, nor do his intentions, if he can even harbor any in that intoxicated brain of his. She’s braved scarier horrors. Like living out years of her life with her mother.

“Heyyy, you one of Floyd’s girls? Here for the party?”

Riddle suppresses the disgusted shiver threatening to crawl up her spine, swallowing bile. “Just the party.”

She is no one’s girl. Definitely not Floyd’s.

When she’s let inside and the stench of sweat and alcohol assault her nostrils, coupled with the too-loud party music, she considers retreating, her mother’s judgment echoing: You look ridiculous. Her fingers twitch towards her purse. One text and Trey would pick her up. One call and Cater would be on his way. But then she’d be forced to tell them the truth—would have to admit that she’s chasing the one person she can never have.

She hardens her resolve, pushes through the throng of bodies in an effort to find refreshments, and there you are, her perfect, pretty wallflower in a perfect, pretty silver dress. The dim neon lighting casts you in a luscious pink haze, and she watches you scroll through your phone, your eyelids falling and opening. You’re so beautiful—the sweetest thing she’s ever seen, more saccharine than a truckload of strawberry tarts. Her hand slides away from her purse, and she tamps down a gleeful smile, stepping over to you with newfound confidence.

“(Name)?”

You turn your whole body towards her, your gaze unfocused. She can smell the liquor on you, can see the hickeys not quite covered by a velvet choker. Her gaze narrows. He’s all over you, isn’t he? From top to bottom, you are covered in traces of him. Her nose scrunches. Just what do you see in him?

It should be her teeth on your skin, tearing it open, bruising it, tasting slick copper on her tongue. It should have always been her, but it’s not. Why did you have to settle for less when you’re entitled to so much more?

You peer at her like she’s something in a museum, perplexing and abstract. And then it clicks. You gasp, your mouth falling open in awe, and your words come out horribly slurred. She fails to hide her wince when you throw your arms around her, hanging off of her like a tote on a shoulder.

“Riddle! You…seriously showed up… Can’t believe it’s really you. It feels like it’s been forever.” You pull away, swaying with the motion, and place your hands on her arms. “Your outfit is suuuper cute.”

She’s blushing. She knows she is because her face is burning with heat and suddenly it’s much too stifling in here. “Oh. Ah, um, t-thank you very much… You look very nice, too.”

Really? Is that the best thing I could say? ‘You look very nice’? Honestly, Riddle…

But you smile, and the sight steals her heart all over again. You can have it. By all means take her heart. Take it and love it to pieces. That way it will be fair when she takes yours. An even exchange in accordance with the rules of love.

Or maybe it’s more so the rules of romantic warfare, carried out to the extreme on a chessboard. Or a croquet court. Something sporty and metaphorical, anyway.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asks, refusing to say his name lest she speak him into existence and tarnish her near-perfect evening.

Her question strikes a chord within you, and you heave an exaggerated sigh. You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the wall for support. “Left me to go hang with the guys. S’not fair!” you whine, sliding further down until you’re sitting in a defeated heap.

Riddle bends down to your height, her tone as soft and sympathetic as her expression. “Does he always do this?”

Hurt flashes across your face, but you don’t say anything. So he does. Why is she not surprised?

Who in the world leaves their partner at a party, vulnerable and alone? Riddle thinks, anger flaring up in her chest. Someone could take advantage of you. You’re in no state to be standing here by yourself. That fool… He doesn’t know how to treat a lady at all. How have you put up with him for four years? Your patience amazes me.

“It’s not like…” You shut your eyes and rest your head against the wall. “Not like an always-happening thing…”

Riddle isn’t going to sugarcoat it. She wants her words to cut deep, all the way to the heart you’ve allowed Floyd to bind. “Whether or not he does it often, the fact still stands that he left you intoxicated in the corner of this room. That’s careless and unsafe.” She tilts her head, admiring the way you’ve done your makeup, the way your plush lips jut out in a miserable pout. And it just rushes out, words she’s thought but never had the courage to say. At least, not to the sober you. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You deserve so much better.”

Like me, she almost adds, but that’s too direct. And she’s not even sure the admission will land when you’re so out of it.

“Appreciate it…” You scrub your face, groaning. “Ugh. I feel sick…”

“Would you like to get some fresh air?”

You shake your head, stubborn to a fault. “Can’t. Gotta wait for Floyd.”

Riddle frowns. “I highly doubt he’s coming back anytime soon.”

“Still.”

“At the very least, let’s get you some water.” She offers her hand, hoping and praying to the heavens above that you’ll take it.

You do. It’s a flawless fit. Her heart flutters, weightless and feathery, when her fingers close around yours. She wonders what moisturizer you use, what sort of lotions kiss your skin. Are they scented, or is that just your perfume? Or have you done away with perfume for tonight and is that a natural fragrance? Or maybe it’s the sweet scent of a fruity wine, printed on your tongue like a delicious tattoo.

She wants to kiss you.

“Just how much have you had to drink?”

“Like a cup or two? I…dunno. Does it matter?”

You stumble when she helps you up, grabbing at her shoulder for support. Riddle almost falls back, but the wall braces her. You place your palm right by her head, and suddenly you’re leaning in, inadvertently pinning her to the wall. Her pupils nearly eclipse her blue-grey irises, and her breath sticks in her throat. Oh, you’re so close. You’re a drunken mess, pushing yourself up against her, your beauty enveloping her like a chrysalis. If this is a dream, she never wants to wake, for the world that awaits her beyond this is cold and colorless.

Your head lowers to the dip between shoulder and neck, and she gazes heavenward. The ceiling is much nicer at this moment, if only so she can clear her own heady haze of impure thoughts.

There are people about, she has to remind herself, shaking off the urge to close her fingers around your chin and tilt your head up to meet her mouth. And she has a boyfriend. Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.

But the chance is much too beguiling. You’re right here, quite literally within her reach, and Floyd’s nowhere in sight. It’s too perfect. She can’t quite wrap you in an affectionate embrace—though that is an irresistible urge she must fight off—so she settles to rub circles into your back instead, dutifully reflecting the role of a concerned friend. It’s not the part she wishes to play. Rather, she’d gladly take on the title of boyfriend if it meant you’d feel loved. Every day, at every hour, for the rest of your life. She’d do all the things Floyd ought to do: care for you, appreciate you, protect you, stay by your side through thick and thin.

Love is a dangerous, thorny thing, but it’s the encroaching jealousy that kills.

Floyd doesn’t deserve you. If anything, he deserves a mouth full of soap to scrub every profanity he’s ever uttered. Just what does he tell you in bed? That you’re a good girl? That you’re soooo tight? That you can take it? Does he know which ways you like it? Does he know where to touch so you’ll unravel faster? Does he know how to get you properly, thoroughly worked up, so much so that it feels like your skin is aflame with potent want and desire?

Does he even know your anatomy, or are you simply a body for his avaricious appetite?

Like roses twining possessively around a trellis, Riddle holds you close in her arms, her hand sweeping across your lower back. Her glacial eyes scan the crowd, warding off anyone who may be curious with her most malevolent death stare.

“Mm… I need to lie down. My head is…spinning…”

With that, the murderous, overprotective haze sticking to Riddle like a poisonous fog dissipates. A sickly sweet smile widens on ruby-red lips. “Let’s find someplace quiet.”

Together, the two of you stagger-walk out of the room, leaving the party and its inhabitants behind. Crossing through the attached kitchenette, Riddle pilfers a bottled water from the fridge.

Her mind is sharp as a cut diamond. Her skin prickles with anticipation.

Down the hall you go, with Riddle supporting you with what minimal physical strength she has. A door looms before the both of you, cast in a comfortable glow from a neighboring skyscraper, and you struggle to pull your heels off while she pushes the door open. It reveals a messy room, clothing and candy wrappers strewn about sloppily.

Riddle feels like she’s on top of the world, and she is. Up in the clouds on the forty-third floor of this luxurious penthouse apartment.

ii. i could be a better boyfriend than him. i could do the shit that he never did. up all night, i won’t quit.

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle pined. Hopelessly. Forlornly. Desperately.

Hungrily.

It was unbecoming to want something to such an obsessive degree. She buried herself in her studies to do away with lustful delusions, each more distracting than the last. But then you would crop up in her life when she least expected it and soon the two of you were studying together. Soon you were visiting her dorm to watch movies during the times in which she allowed herself the break (and she only did so because it was you). Soon you were spending nights in her room, sleeping sprawled on the floor even though she offered her bed time and time again. You’d get ready in the mornings, debating what the breakfast menu would entail. She’d watch your reflection in the floor mirror as you pulled your shirt up and over your head, eyeing the way you slid seamlessly into a lacy black bra. And then she’d change out of her nightgown, and you’d comment on her undergarments.

“We should go shopping sometime. You gotta get cuter stuff!”

“Why should I? No one’s going to see it,” she insisted with a flustered huff.

“I’ll see it the next time I sleep over,” you told her, smiling innocently as you stepped into a blue handkerchief skirt. “Besides, there are so many cute sets you could wear. You’d look so pretty in something red and frilly. You’re totally missing out.”

Riddle considered it back then. Your eager eyes had almost won her over, but she was firm in her decision. “I’m fine with what I have now.”

And the conversation ended there. She really wishes you would have pushed it back then because just a little nudge in that direction and she would have given in, entirely at your mercy.

Selfishly, she just yearned to be stuck in a changing stall with you.

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle fostered a special sort of friendship with you. You’d stop by her dorm during finals to insist she take a break, your offer too tempting. She’s always been weak to sweets. You were close enough to exchange intimate details with one another. She listened to all of your dating woes, and conversely you’d sit still and bear witness to her ramblings about fascinating law facts. Sometimes she’d rant about her mother. You always listened. “She sounds like she sucks,” you said once. “How are you even related to her? You’re so nice.”

It was a pleasant three years. If she deluded herself enough, she could have pretended you were her girlfriend and then she’d have something to tell her mother to put an end to the countless attempts at scoring her a husband. I will never marry any of your options, she would think, playing the confrontation out in her head. I have a partner now and we’re very happy together. Sometimes Riddle imagined her mother tossing darts at a board with photographs of men attached to it, disregarding compatibility altogether in favor of upholding traditional rules. But then Riddle realized she’d have to die before she could ever admit her own romantic freedoms to her mother, and so that conversation only ever came about in daydreams.

I’d rather die alone than live life shackled in a loveless marriage. She wonders if her father thought the same.

Those three years had been a wonderful reality, filled with sugared, candy-coated love. A one-sided love, sure. But Riddle could settle for platonic affections, for that was just as sweet.

And then he arrived at the doorstep to Riddle’s fantasy cottage, kicking the walls down and sweeping you off your feet.

Floyd Leech has always been a nuisance. You were there to shoo him away every time he came knocking, all broad grins and vexatious jeers. He listened to you most days, a mutt without proper leashing, oddly loyal to you. As if you were his keeper of sorts. Riddle was amazed, befuddled, and worried all at once. Unlike her, you could keep your cool, could still smile so kindly even when Floyd was being an utter pain in the ass with his foolish nicknames. When he tried to pluck Riddle’s hairpin from out of her braids—a handmade gift you had given her for her birthday—she slapped him hard across the face and hissed, “Don’t ever put your filthy paws on me again.”

And maybe it was because you were there that she was able to recover shortly after the outburst. (Although she still meant that slap with every fiber of her being.) Maybe you were her collar. Maybe you were her keeper. Maybe she was meant to meet you so that you could color her world, lead her along into the friendship she’d been robbed of as a child.

Looking back, Riddle realizes that was the catalyst. Because when Floyd cradled his bright-red cheek, giggling like a maniac, you asked him, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Can’t you bother someone else?”

And then you were made the prime target.

What’s worse is that you reveled in it, adored every ounce of attention Floyd gave you like it was something holy, later admitting to Riddle during a movie marathon that you “wondered if Floyd was seeing anyone.” She wanted to retch. You, a seraph incarnate, with a devil like Floyd? Impossible. But your tone was so whimsical; you were dreaming of it. You liked him.

She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

By the end of her third year, just as finals gave way to summer, you threw your arms around Floyd’s neck while he pressed you up against the trunk of a flowering tree. Pink petals fluttered to the ground, and with the falling blossoms came Riddle’s hope, crashing and burning in a heartbroken heap.

She won’t make the same mistake twice, which is precisely why, when you flop onto Floyd’s unmade bed, she turns the lock to keep all outside influences away. The party is but a mere muffle now, thrumming through the floorboards with reckless abandon.

Her nose wrinkles at the pile of dirty laundry. Slob, she thinks, brimming with hate. What does she see in you? You’re a mess, you’re definitely a criminal, you can’t keep a stable job, you throw obnoxious parties every other week, you leave your own girlfriend unattended… What part of that is appealing? She gazes at you next. You’re too good for him, (Name). You can do so much better. Raise your standards. Find someone respectable and attentive. Someone who’ll stay with you forever. Someone who won’t let you get stupidly drunk and then run off to Queen-knows-where.

“Someone like me,” she mutters.

You have to be coerced into drinking, and you’re so sleepy that the water dribbles down your chin. Riddle tuts at you, swiping the liquid away with her sleeve.

“You’re a mess,” she says, affectionate despite the barb.

You’re my mess.

She slides your heels off, casting them elsewhere. You look like a starfish when you lay sprawled, or maybe you’re more like a snow angel. Only rather than snow, you imprint yourself amongst wrinkled sheets. Riddle knows it’s wrong, but you’re right here. She’s waited so many years for a moment like this one.

It’s not fair.

She unzips her boots, kicks them off, and stands at the edge of the bed, locked in a fierce debate. You should have thrown your arms around her that day. You should have kissed her, should have spent the last four years with her, should have stayed in her life like the permanent fixture you were destined to be. She’s never wanted anything more than this. Not even a surplus of strawberry tarts. Not even the dreams she’s working tirelessly towards achieving. She’s only ever wanted you.

But Floyd took you away, and her world has never been the same since.

The mattress dips under her weight; she’s made up her mind.

“Do you remember the promise we made?” she whispers, running her hands up your legs. You lift your head to look at her, eyes glassy with inebriated exhaustion. “The one in which we’d live together after graduation? You said you’d want to live somewhere pet-friendly so we could get hedgehogs and name them Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

You hum, your lashes fluttering.

“We could still do that. Just you and me. Without your boyfriend.”

“What?”

Her fingers catch on the waistband of your panties. “Hm?”

“Mm, no, nothing… You should get going. It’s late…” “Someone has to look after you.”

“Floyd can.”

She presses her thumbs into your hips and the tiniest gasp leaves your parted lips. “But Floyd’s not.”

“He will.”

“He won’t,” she snaps. Something flickers in your eyes, a flash of unrest. Riddle chews her lower lip. “He’s… (Name), what do you see in him? Honestly, truly, what is it? Please educate me. Please… What does he have that I don’t? What makes you stay?”

“Cuz he’s my boyfriend,” you mutter slowly, perplexed, “and I love him.”

“Do you?”

“Riddle, why are you so…” The words fizzle out on your tongue when her touch strays too close to home. “Wait… We can’t… Not in here.”

“Why not? It’s just one more mess. He won’t even notice.”

“That’s not it… Riddle, wait. I… I don’t like you in that—”

She collapses, anchoring herself to you, her manicured nails digging deep into your arms. And then her mouth is on yours, clumsy and uncoordinated. She doesn’t want to hear it—can’t bear to hear it. She knows the truth. It’s haunted her from the day she met you, a shadow looming like a guillotine’s blade. You were fated to be forever out of reach. Just like those strawberry tarts in the bakery window. The kiss is filthy, all desire and zero skill. Her tongue flashes into your mouth. It’s nothing like the way they describe it in fiction or portray it in films. It’s obscene. Sinful. Libidinous. Her lipstick smears; she tastes the wine in your throat, licks your teeth and nibbles your lip, delicate and gruesome all at once. She tries her best, unyielding.

The technique doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway. It’s just blind, unrequited passion. She’ll learn it eventually and when she does she’ll kiss you drunk. It’s just another thing she’ll master. And she will because that’s just who she is. Give her a textbook and she’ll have it memorized. Give her a kiss and she’ll return to practice it to perfection.

She pulls away, panting, her lipstick in disarray. It’s all over you, smudging on the corners of your mouth. Running a hand through her hair, her figure outlined in the tantalizing glow from the city lights, she licks her lips.

“Riddle…”

Spoken soft like prayer, it’s a whisper she’ll treasure. Over and over, without end, repeat it like a mantra.

“Riddle, please…”

“He doesn’t know anything about your preferences, does he?” Your dress is slid up next. She traces a heart into your bare stomach, capturing your navel in invisible lines. You shudder under her touch, grabbing at her wrist with a limp hand. She brings it up to her lips and presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “I know you much better than he does. I always have.”

To prove it, she presses two fingers to your clothed pussy. You whine, reedy and high-pitched. “But…”

“I read it takes fourteen minutes for women to reach their end during partnered sex.” She levels you with a half-lidded stare, smirking. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in raw confidence. “I’ll only need less than that, so you won’t have to feign anything for my sake. I know you well enough, my rose.”

A wide range of emotions waltzes across your countenance. Your arm falls over your face next. It’s defeat or hesitant acceptance, but to Riddle it’s love.

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, conceding. “And then…you need to leave.”

She makes you cum in just five, covers you in lipstick prints, each kiss a sly cover-up. Floyd may be all over you, bites and bruises blooming new and old, but he’s not inside you, wringing you out like a sodden towel. You sob like you’re in heat when she sinks her fingers into your slick warmth, scissoring so slowly, until you’re begging her to make you cum again. Your fluids soak through the sheets. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air. She’s alive, wildly untamed, a knight who’s just rescued the princess and slayed a bloodthirsty dragon.

Her head is between your thighs next, her hands braced on either leg to keep them apart. You watch her with glazed eyes, soon throwing your head back when she slides your hood up to reveal your pretty, pert clit. Experimentally, she licks a teasing stripe up your slit. You shiver and dig your fingers into her scalp, imprisoning her there. It’s where she’s always wanted to be.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, the words fanning across your pussy, “if he’s so good, why haven’t you proven it? Is this the most you’ve ever cum in a night? Does he please you or do you please him? If he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, why are you still so unsatisfied?”

“Because… B-Because!”

Your protests are fragmented and spotted with gasps. That’s arguably more telling than a detailed response.

Riddle smiles like a Cheshire, her eyes narrowed victoriously. Spidery digits creep along your thighs. Her thumbs dip into your pussy, spreading it wide for her viewing pleasure. “Don’t think of him. Tonight, it’s just you and me. I’ll give you what you’re owed. That and so much more.”

Like a fragile statue, you topple. Right into her, bucking against her mouth like the world is ending, and she’s there to steady you.

She always is.

iii. i’m gonna steal you from him. i could be such a gentleman. plus, you know my clothes would fit.

“Sooo… Gimme the goss. How was your night out?”

Riddle looks up from an assortment of nail polish colors, each one more red than the last, and says, “It was more enjoyable than I thought.”

“Yeah?” Cater prompts, brows raised. “Don’t be so vague! I wanna know all the juicy details. It’s rare for you to stay out so late. And to go to a party, of all things, in the city? Hello?! New Riddle, who’s this?”

“I was only meeting an old friend.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The technician asks her to pick a color. “This one,” she says, pointing. “The one named Sanguine Sunrise.”

“You’re totes keeping me in the dark!” Cater whines, dramatic. “At least give Cay-Cay some hints! Something! Anything! Spare change, please?”

Riddle smiles smugly. Pride drips from every syllable when she speaks next. “My friend will be spending this Valentine’s Day alone.”

“Bummer.”

“Not quite. She’ll have me and half-priced chocolates. A rather charming combination, no?”

Cater laughs. “GL. I’m rooting for you.”

You don’t need to, she thinks, tracing the love bite stamped into her skin, hidden under the soft fabric of her blouse. Because I’m already winning.

Her phone buzzes with a text: about last night… if i did anything weird, i’m so sorry. i was way too drunk.

Riddle turns it over, dips her feet in the heated water, and settles into the massage chair, pleased as a peach. “It was one bad decision. Four years of bad decisions, but it’s forgiven. We all make silly mistakes when we’re lovestruck. Hopefully her silly mistake disappears for good and we never have to speak of him again.”

“You’re so scary, Riddle. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Another message arrives: i think we might’ve kissed last night. i’m really super sorry.

There’s a brief delay.

ok this is gonna sound weird coming from me but maybe we can do it again??? floyd’s kisses are sorta… :/

Her phone vibrates for the final time that afternoon.

actually i’m just gonna stop talking omg i’m crazy. i have a bf and everything. sorry riddle please ignore all of this kk tysm ttyl <3

wait one more text before i forget,, if you wanna meet up for tea i wouldn’t mind. we should definitely catch up when i’m not hungover. kk bye fr this time <3

A start is a start. You can’t grow a rose tree without first planting a seed.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle #yandere riddle x reader #n/sfw #tw: dubcon

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queenshelby · 1 year

Text

Auctioned (P. 3)

Pairing: Dark!Thomas Shelby x Virgin!Reader/OC

Warning: Darkish Themes, Prostitution, Smut, Eventual Loss of Virginity, Dubious Consent, Corruption, Destructive Behavior, Massive Age Gap

Notes: Damn, I had this in my drafts for a while but could not publish it as I was a little afraid about how it would be perceived. Also this is the first time I used an OC, so be gentle with me.

You settled into your new life at Arrow House, a grand estate where elegance and opulence intertwined with darkness and danger. As a shy and inexperienced woman, you had much to learn about the ways of pleasing Thomas Shelby, the dominant gangster who ruled over this unforgiving world.

The days passed slowly as you acclimated to your surroundings. You found solace in the stables, where the horses seemed unbothered by the treacheries that lurked beyond the estate's walls. Their gentle presence offered a temporary respite from the weight of your newfound responsibilities.

Inside the library, you delved into books, seeking knowledge and distraction. It became your sanctuary, a place of refuge where the stories transported you to distant lands, far from the clutches of Thomas Shelby's demanding presence.

The library was adorned with antique furniture, its rich scent of leather bindings and aged parchment elevating the ambience.

You felt safe there, hidden amidst the countless tomes that were silent witnesses to the sins committed within these walls. But even here, you couldn't escape the shadow of Thomas Shelby. His presence loomed over everything, a constant reminder of your precarious position.

Alison often visited you in the library, offering her wisdom about navigating your role as Thomas' "possession". Her guidance was invaluable, yet it never seemed enough to fully ease your fears.

The more time you spent with Thomas, the clearer it became that he was a man of many contradictions – tender one moment, cruel the next.

***

One evening, after a lavish dinner party, you were summoned to his office. Nervously, you followed Alison down the corridor, trying to hide your trembling hands behind your back. She glanced back at you with a reassuring smile, reminding you to breathe and find your centre.

Thomas waited patiently inside his office, seated upon his large, comfortable leather chair. He leaned back, studying you with an unreadable gaze. The room was dimly lit, adding to the air of mystery surrounding him.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through your core. "Tonight, I require your services as Alison has not been feeling too well." His eyes flickered to Alison, who stood quietly beside you, nodding, and you took a deep breath, feeling your nerves calm slightly as you tried to focus on the task ahead.

Thomas continued, "You have proven yourself capable before, so I know you can handle this." Your confidence wavered slightly as you considered the pressure he placed upon you. But you knew it was necessary to prove yourself to him once again.

As such, and without words, you approached him, kneeling on the floor in front of his imposing presence. He allowed you to take control, giving you an opportunity to showcase your talents while still hurrying you along since he had business to attend to.

"You have fifteen minutes, Love. I suggest you get to it, eh?" Tommy pointed out while he opened his belt and then his zipper.

Your heart raced faster than usual; your hands trembled as you reached out to touch him. Time seemed to slow down, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breaths and the rustling of his clothes as his erection was revealed to you once again.

His powerful thighs his commanding presence, all enveloped you, making you feel like you were floating outside of your body, a mere observer of the events unfolding.

With shaking hands, you reached forward, letting your fingers brush against his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him. You could sense his impatience growing as you wrapped your hand around his hard, throbbing length.

He wanted satisfaction quickly and efficiently. You focused intently on your task, desperate to prove yourself worthy to him.

"Come on, Love, use your mouth," his eyes remained cold and distant, making you question if your efforts were truly appreciated.

"Yes, Mr Shelby," you confirmed before taking his length into your mouth with a mixture of nervous excitement and determination. Your tongue swirled around the head, tracing patterns designed to bring him pleasure. You listened carefully to the sound of his breathing, monitoring the rhythm to match your movements.

"That's it, Love. Keep going," he eventually groaned as hips shifted restlessly, and you maintained your focus, determined to prove yourself worthy of his attention.

With each passing minute, your resolve grew stronger, driven by the desire to win his approval.

Your mouth moved fluidly up and down his length, creating an erotic dance that matched the tempo of his breathing. His moans and gasps intensified, feeding your confidence as you perfected your technique.

Time seemed to warp around you, as if every second was a lifetime spent entirely under his gaze. Your lips wrapped tightly around him, sucking firmly, creating waves of pleasure coursing through his body. With each movement, you felt your power grow, and your connection to him deepened.

"Good girl, keep your tongue firm against my cock", he groaned, his grip on the armrest tightening, his eyes burning with intensity.

Your hands worked together, caressing his thighs, teasing his balls gently. You could feel his arousal building, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Yes, just like that…" he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

Every word, every touch, served to fuel your determination.

As the minutes ticked away, the intensity of your focus heightened.

You could hear the echo of your laboured breaths, the creak of the leather chair, and the subtle click of the clock. Each sensation brought you closer to achieving the level of mastery you sought.

The warmth emanating from Thomas radiated onto your face, filling your nose with the distinct scent of masculinity. His fingers clenched and unclenched, mirroring the turbulent storm of his thoughts and emotions.

Alison watched from a distance, silently observing both of you, her expression a mix of admiration and concern.

"Almost there, Love. Fuck," he cursed, his hand reaching back to play with your hair. "Don't stop now," he commanded, a possessive tone in his voice. His gaze held yours, daring you to defy him, but you knew better than to test his patience.

You kept working diligently, maintaining eye contact with him, allowing him to see the depth of your commitment. Your lips continued to slide up and down his length, creating a rhythmic pattern designed to please him.

"I expect you to swallow every drop, Love," he went on to say before; with a loud roar, he came, shooting hot liquid into your mouth.

Your reflexes kicked in instinctively, taking his seed into your mouth, savouring the taste as he let out a long, satisfying sigh. His breathing gradually slowed down, and he released you from his grasp.

You gently touched his thigh, looking up at him with a mixture of humility and pride, unsure of how he would react. He looked down at you, a slight grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Not bad, Love. Not bad at all." His praise sent a surge of relief through you, washing away any lingering doubts about your abilities.

"Thank you, sir," you confirmed before licking the remnants of seed from your lips.

You felt a strange mix of apprehension and accomplishment, proud of your ability to provide him with pleasure yet concerned about what the future might hold.

***

Over the next two days, you spent more time at the stables, and even Thomas joined you on one occasion, taking an interest in your passion for horses.

As he watched you tend to the animals, you found yourself sharing anecdotes about your life before Thomas Shelby. His attention focused solely on you as you shared stories about your family and childhood dreams. Despite the awkwardness of sharing such personal experiences, it strengthened your bond with him.

He listened intently, asking questions about your past, genuinely interested in understanding who you were beyond the physical aspects of your relationship. It was during those moments that you realised Thomas possessed a complexity rarely seen in others.

As you tended to the horses, he observed you with a keen eye, almost as if he was searching for something deeper. He inquired about your love for horses and how it had begun. Your heart fluttered at the genuine curiosity in his eyes, and you shared your tale with fervour. You spoke of your first horse, a gentle mare named Whisper, who taught you the art of connection and trust. It was evident in his expressions that your words resonated with him, striking a chord that few other subjects ever did.

As you shared your stories, Thomas became increasingly invested in learning more about you. He asked probing questions, seeking to understand the motivations behind your actions and choices.

You couldn't help but be amazed by his genuine curiosity and openness. In the midst of it all, you found yourself drawn to him in ways you never imagined possible. The warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at you was intoxicating, leaving you yearning for more.

Yet, you remained cautious not to let your feelings for him run wild. You cherished these rare moments of solitude where he appeared vulnerable and engaged.

As the days passed, you continued to learn more about him, too. He revealed parts of himself that surprised you, and you discovered a gentler side hidden beneath his hard exterior. However, you couldn't help but notice the darkness that occasionally clouded his eyes, hinting at a past filled with pain and betrayal.

It left you wondering how someone so wounded could find joy in a world that seemingly brought him nothing but suffering. As you delved deeper into his history, you uncovered the reason behind his controlling nature. It was a need to protect himself, and he seemingly enjoyed the thrill of being the one in charge.

Taking charge was exactly what he did that same night again when you were called into his chambers, and it was Alison who gave you a pep talk before your impending encounter.

"Tomorrow night, Mr Shelby wants to claim what he acquired during the auction," Alison told you softly.

"You will be spending time with him alone. This is what he wants," she added, her voice steady and confident.

You nodded in understanding, knowing full well that giving in to his desires would keep you safe and secure within his domain.

She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, telling you not to worry about it too much.

"You will do well; I have no doubt about it. Despite this, Mr. Shelby seems to have a soft spot for your innocent nature. I think it intrigues and arouses him all at the same time," Alison explained, watching you carefully.

"But don't fret; it's just another aspect of his personality. He enjoys pushing boundaries and testing limits." She smiled reassuringly, offering advice to calm your nerves.

"Which brings us to tonight, where he wants to see us both to ensure that, come tomorrow, you are ready to lose your virginity to him," Alison exclaimed, and thus, as the night fell, Alison led you through the labyrinthine hallways of Arrow House, guiding you towards Thomas Shelby's private quarters. The anticipation and nerves danced in your chest, each step amplifying the thump of your heartbeat.

Finally, you stood before the imposing door, your palms slightly damp as Alison knocked, her knuckles rapping against the solid wood. The sound reverberated through the silence, announcing your arrival. You had not been in his bedroom before and were surprised that tonight, this was where he wanted you both to come.

The door creaked open, revealing Thomas Shelby, his eyes sharp and piercing as they scanned both you and Alison. His lips curled into a predatory smile, and you felt a shiver trickle down your spine.

"Come in, close the door," Thomas said, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

Alison stepped aside, allowing you to enter first. You walked slowly across the threshold, careful not to make eye contact with Thomas, your heart racing in your chest. You followed the path Alison had shown you earlier that evening, walking towards the centre of the room. As you approached, Thomas' presence became more pronounced, enveloping you in his powerful aura.

"Y/N, stand here," he ordered, pointing to a spot near the edge of the large, ornate bed. As you moved closer, the fine detailing of the furniture around you caught your attention.

The opulence of the room seemed to overwhelm you, a stark contrast to the simple life you had once known. Standing beside Alison, you took it all in – the rich fabric of the curtains, the intricate patterns carved into the bedposts, and the sense of power that hung thick in the air. Thomas' eyes bore into you, his intensity causing your pulse to race faster.

Alison broke the silence, addressing Thomas with a calm demeanour. "Mr. Shelby, Y/N has proven herself capable of pleasing you, so what do you expect of her tonight?" she asked.

His lips tightened, the lines around his eyes deepening.

"Well, first, I want to see how receptacle she is to my touch, and then, we shall see, eh?” Tommy said, and your heart raced as you absorbed his words, trying to hide your nervousness.

Alison seemed unfazed by his crude language, her face remaining composed.

"Of course, Mr. Shelby," she replied coolly, maintaining her composure despite the demanding situation.

Tommy's eyes locked onto yours, assessing your reaction. He leaned back against the bedpost, his gaze turning predatory. "Let's begin then."

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise within you.

"Undress, Sweetheart," Tommy then ordered, his tone commanding and authoritative. With trembling hands, you began to shed your clothes, revealing your body to him for the first time as you stood there, vulnerable and exposed.

Tommy walked towards you, his eyes trailing across your now-exposed body. You held your breath, trying to mask your discomfort. "Beautiful," he whispered, running his fingers lightly along your skin.

You felt your cheeks flush as you met his gaze, a mixture of surprise and attraction burning in your eyes.

Without warning, he grasped your wrist, pulling you toward him. Your breath hitched as you found yourself pressed against his hard chest, the heat of his body seeping into yours. You closed your eyes, trying to remain composed amidst the intense sensations coursing through your body.

"Don't be afraid, Love," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

"This isn't something to be ashamed of." Your eyes met his, finding solace in the sincerity of his words. You allowed yourself to relax slightly, the tension easing from your shoulders. As your confidence grew, so did the desire coursing through your veins.

He led you over to the bed, sitting you down on its edge. He positioned himself behind you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. "You must trust me, eh," he whispered into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"I won't hurt you." His tender touch made you believe him, even though a part of you wondered if he was lying. Still, you found yourself wanting to surrender completely to him despite the lingering uncertainty.

Slowly, he ran his hands up and down your arms, gently tracing the curves of your body. His touch was gentle yet firm, stirring both excitement and trepidation within you. The warmth of his touch caused your heart to beat faster, filling you with a longing for more.

His touch was masterful, expertly skimming over your skin with just enough pressure to leave you wanting. As his hands continued their journey down your body, you found yourself growing increasingly aroused. You were caught between the desire to satiate your yearnings and the fear of revealing too much of yourself.

Your mind drifted to the various lessons Alison had taught you, trying to find strength in those memories. You remembered the way she spoke of Thomas, describing him as possessive yet kind.

"Now, listen carefully," he began, his voice resonating with control.

"I want you to lie down, legs spread open so that I can get a good look at what I acquired," Thomas told you before gesturing for Alison to join you on the large bed.

Alison, ever composed, obeyed his order without hesitation. You watched her, taking note of her composure.

"Come here, pet, rest your head on my lap and present yourself to who owns you now," she said, her language surprisingly crude and dominant, just like Thomas enjoyed it.

You felt your heart quicken, unsure if you could fully comprehend her words. But as Thomas' strong fingers wrapped around your nape, you realised that you needed to submit to his will, as Alison had advised you previously.

So, you obliged, placing your head upon his strong lap and looking up into his penetrating eyes. They were cold, like steel, but there was also a hint of tenderness beneath it.

"Spread your legs wide for me, Love," he commanded, his voice harsh yet commanding.

Obeying instinctively, you extended your legs, feeling the vulnerability of your exposed position. As you lay there, exposed and submissive, you couldn't help but feel the intense mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice echoing throughout the room. Unwilling to disobey, you raised your gaze to meet his steely eyes.

"Do you understand that you belong to me? That your body belongs to me?" He asked, his tone demanding an answer.

Nodding your head, you acknowledged his claim, feeling the weight of his ownership settling upon your shoulders. You swallowed hard, the lump forming in your throat growing larger with each passing second. As you lay there, feeling the heat radiating from his body, you tried to come to terms with the fact that you belonged to him.

"Good girl," he cooed. "Now let me have a look and see whether you are really still a virgin, eh?" Tommy smirked playfully, his eyes filled with curiosity and determination. Despite your anxiety, you felt a rush of excitement surge through your veins. This was a new experience, one that would change your life forever.

As you lay there, exposed and vulnerable, the room was filled with an electric tension. The atmosphere was charged with desire and apprehension. Your eyes darted to Alison, who remained poised and calm, seemingly unaffected by the intensity of the situation. She smiled at you encouragingly, conveying confidence and reassurance.

Your heart skipped a beat as Thomas approached, his powerful presence casting a shadow over you.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your core.

Nodding your head, you managed a small smile, hoping it conveyed your readiness. Your stomach flipped in anticipation, and your heart raced in your chest.

"That's my good girl," he responded his approval warming your soul. He leaned in, his rough fingers tenderly tracing your cheekbone.

"Trust me, Love, I will be gentle. I won't claim you just yet, not until tomorrow night," he whispered softly, his warm breath tickling your ear. Your heart leapt, caught between excitement and apprehension. You wanted to give yourself wholly to him, even though doubt still lingered in the back of your mind. However, Alison's assurance that Thomas wasn't entirely cruel lent you some comfort.

With a delicate touch, he began exploring your body. His hands brushed over your sensitive skin, eliciting waves of pleasure you'd never imagined possible before, finally descending to your core to assess the condition of what he purchased.

You felt a mixture of nervousness and anticipation as his fingers traced over your slit before he opened you up slightly. He then used two fingers to spread your pussy lips open slightly, determining the truth of your virginity.

You felt a twinge of pain and discomfort, which only heightened your awareness of your vulnerability. Yet, simultaneously, you found yourself becoming increasingly aroused by the intense sensations.

As he examined you, you felt a strange blend of fear and arousal, a complex mix of emotions that you had never experienced before. The knowledge that you belonged to Thomas, that he could do anything he pleased with you, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

"You are already wet, my love. Are you enjoying this?" Tommy asked his voice husky with desire. You nodded, unable to find your voice due to the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body. His fingers were skilled, teasing you expertly, drawing out your pleasure and tormenting you simultaneously. It was a sensation, unlike anything you had ever experienced before, leaving you craving more of his touch.

Thomas's gaze locked onto yours, his expression one of satisfaction and control. "You're so responsive, sweetheart," he purred, leaning in to press his lips against your forehead.

"Let's see how you taste, eh?" Tommy said, wanting to run his tongue through your slit.

You couldn't hide the mixture of fear and excitement that gripped you at his proposal. But as his face drew closer to your core, you felt a surge of trust welling up inside you. Perhaps it was because Alison had been so kind and reassuring, or maybe it was simply your growing desire for Thomas. Whatever the reason, you allowed him to take you in his mouth, opening your legs wider to accommodate him.

As he began to taste you, you closed your eyes, letting the exquisite sensations wash over you.

Thomas's mouth moved skillfully, causing waves of pleasure to course through your body. You moaned softly, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Meanwhile, Alison watched you both intently, silently observing the interplay between you and Thomas. There was a sense of pride in her eyes but also some profound jealousy.

She wanted Thomas to acknowledge her as his primary source of lust, not some inferior second choice. However, she knew that your innocence held certain allurements for Thomas. Thus, she didn't show her feelings on her face, hiding them well.

You, however, were too preoccupied with the sensations cascading through your body to notice her jealousy.

The sensations continued to build, culminating in a powerful climax that left you shuddering. Thomas released you from his grasp, pulling away to admire your flushed face and quivering form.

You looked up at him, the afterglow of passion evident in your eyes. His gaze burned with possession and desire, the power dynamic between you tangible in the air.

"This is just tonight's beginning, Love," he murmured softly, a wicked grin playing on his lips, and your heart raced as you processed his words, anticipation building within you.

"Now, what do you think, Alison? How many fingers could I get into her virgin hole without tearing her?" Tommy asked, his voice laced with dark desire for you.

Alison raised her brows in a challenge and considered for a moment. "Two fingers, no more than that," she replied confidently.

"Two, eh?" Tommy mocked. "How about we start with one, Love?" Tommy suggested before asking you to spread your legs wide again.

As you complied, your nerves became jangled with anticipation.

You looked at Alison, seeking guidance from her as you lay there, exposed and vulnerable. Her cool demeanour seemed unshaken, giving you courage. She smiled reassuringly, telling you that you could handle this.

As Thomas moved closer, his hands slowly caressed your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. He took his time, pressing his first fingers against your entrance, attempting to penetrate you gently.

You cringed at the sudden intrusion, your body tensing in response.

Thomas, surprised by your tightness, forced his digit into you nonetheless.

You cried out in pain, your body resisting his intrusion. He stopped, hesitated for a moment, then pulled his finger out carefully. Alison's expression remained unchanged, unperturbed by your distress.

"You may need some practice, Love," Thomas commented, his voice dripping with condescension. You bit your lip, trying to control your tears, fighting back the urge to succumb to despair. You refused to accept defeat, determined to prove your worth in Thomas's eyes.

"I can take more than one finger, sir," you said defiantly, looking directly into his eyes. Thomas regarded you with a mix of curiosity and appreciation.

"Let's see how much you can truly take, Love," he murmured, his tone hinting at the challenge ahead. Slowly, he pressed his second finger against your entrance, this time applying more pressure. You winced, your body instinctively protesting the intrusion.

Thomas observed your reaction closely, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

As you clenched your teeth, refusing to cry out in pain, he pushed his finger deeper into you. Despite the burning sensation, you maintained your resolve, staring straight into his eyes with determination. Alison continued to watch from the sidelines, her demeanour unmoved by your discomfort.

"Not bad, Love," Thomas acknowledged, his voice imbued with respect. His fingers flexed within you, pushing further in as you tried to bear the increasing discomfort.

Your face contorted with pain, your body struggling to adjust to the foreign invasion. With each incremental advance, you gritted your teeth, silently vowing to overcome the pain.

Alison's gaze remained steady, unwavering, her expression betraying no sympathy for your suffering. As your agony intensified, you felt a renewed sense of determination, fueled by your need to prove yourself worthy in Thomas's eyes.

Sweat trickled down your forehead, a testament to your resolve.

"I can take it," you reassured Tommy again, even with tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

Thomas was now visibly impressed with your resilience. He admired your courage and tenacity in the face of immense pain.

"I know you can, Love, but I don't want to stretch you too much just yet. My cock will take care of that tomorrow night," he groaned, withdrawing his fingers from you, causing a wave of relief to wash over you.

You wiped away the tears, taking deep breaths to calm your ragged nerves. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to regain composure.

Alison watched Thomas's every move with an unreadable expression, her thoughts hidden behind her emotionless mask. She seemed neither envious nor impressed, merely observant.

You looked at Thomas, seeing something new in his eyes - a hint of admiration, perhaps even respect." Tomorrow night, Love, I will not be so kind," Tommy then said to you, his voice carrying a warning mixed with promise. Your heart skipped a beat, the excitement growing within you before he told you to leave his bedroom so that he could finish off with Alison.

"Mr Shelby, may I watch? Perhaps I could learn something from it for our encounter tomorrow night," you suggested, and Thomas smirked.

"By all means, Love, you can watch while fuck Alison. Although bear in mind that what I am about to do to her is not something you will be capable of enduring just yet, eh" Thomas said before motioning for Alison to come over so that he could fuck her.

She approached him with a cool confidence, undoubtedly aware of the power dynamics between them.

Your eyes followed every movement, absorbing the raw, primal energy of their interaction.

Without losing any time, Alison got on to all fours.

"Very good, Alison. She knows that this is how I like to fuck her," Tommy said before he took position behind her, grasping her hips firmly and pulling her close to him.

He was hard and ready after having toyed with you for an hour, and, without losing any time, he lined himself up with Alison's entrance without giving consideration as to whether she was wet enough or not.

His forceful entry caused Alison to let out a sharp gasp, her body jolting slightly as she tried to adapt to his unexpectedly brutal thrust.

Thomas, driven by lust and power, took control of the situation, forcing Alison to submit to his desires. Her resistance, if there ever was any, was crushed under the weight of his dominance.

You watched with bated breath, fascinated by the spectacle unfolding before you. Alison's face remained impassive, though her eyes betrayed a mixture of pain and resignation.

In her moments of quiet defiance, she would occasionally look over at you, her gaze holding a subtle challenge. It was clear that she was both envious and threatened by your presence, torn between admiration for Thomas's preference for you and fear of being replaced entirely.

As Thomas continued his brutal assault on Alison, you found yourself growing increasingly aroused by the sight. The erotic tension between them heightened, fuelling your own desires.

You could not help but feel a twinge of envy as you watched Thomas and Alison engage in their fierce, unapologetic union. Their bodies moved in harmony, each thrust eliciting a moan or grunt from the other. Thomas's strength and dominance contrasted beautifully with Alison's feigned indifference, creating a seductive dance of power and submission.

Your heart raced as you observed their fervent exchange, your breath quickening with each powerful thrust.

The atmosphere in the room was charged with palpable sexual tension, leaving you feeling utterly captivated. Alison's performance was a masterclass in maintaining composure despite the brutality of Thomas's thrusts. It was almost as if she enjoyed being on the receiving end of his domination, albeit with a veiled resentment towards you for being his chosen concubine.

As the intensity of their coupling reached its peak, Thomas pulled out of Allison and called for you.

"Kneel and open your mouth. I want you to take my cum" he said, his voice laced with authority. You felt a surge of power as you obeyed him, opening your mouth eagerly, your lips parted in anticipation. Thomas's arousal was evident as he stood above you, his eyes filled with desire.

"Make sure you swallow, eh?" he groaned before shooting his load into your open mouth. Your cheeks bulged as you swallowed, savouring the taste of his seed as it coursed down your throat. The act served as a reminder of your place in his world – submissive and willing to please him at any cost.

Thomas watched you intently, a hint of satisfaction playing across his features. His gaze held a mixture of admiration and possession, making you feel cherished but also owned. Alison, having witnessed the entire encounter, glared at you with a jealous, defiant air.

You held her gaze, unfazed by her hostility. Though you were physically weak, your spirit was strong, unbowed by her disapproval. The battle lines had been drawn, and you knew that your relationship with Thomas would only grow more complicated as time passed.

As you cleaned up, you could not help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Though the evening's events left you drained and sore, you knew Thomas's trust in you had grown significantly.

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liliesof-the-valley · 26 days

Text

How do you say…

They react to the fact you can speak another language. So sorry if this isn’t really accurate or that good, I just had the idea and seemingly needed to write it down! Other brothers will come later, in order. As well as side characters!

─── ୨ৎ────

Lucifer

Lucifer already knew that you could speak another language , considering he had gone through your files when he was selecting you as an exchange student.

Though he didn’t exactly pay this information any attention, that is until he heard you speaking this language. The first time he heard the words coming from your lips he was quite stunned. What did you say?

Nonetheless, he is quite amazed at the fact you can speak another language and if you can speak multiple, his pride in you just skyrockets.

In my opinion, he would most likely be able to speak a multitude of other languages, hell, there’s probably a spell to understand and speak different languages in the devildom.

Yet you, someone who has learnt and understood a different language and did so without any form of magic— more likely just hours of memorising grammar rules, pronunciation and translation, isn’t it obvious that he’s going to show you off?

At parties hosted by Diavolo, occasionally you can hear your name uttered by lucifer, a grin on his face—undoubtedly he is boasting about you.

He also does love to hear you speak it, how the pronunciation rolls off your tongue, how you annunciate the vowels, anything really about it.

What stunned you however , is how one day whilst you were watching a series in said language lucifer appeared and sat on the couch next to you. Then he began to speak and that’s when your emotions turned into a mix of stunned and impressed.

If your ears didn’t deceive you, you heard lucifer speaking in your language, fluently it seemed. ‘What are you watching?’ Was uttered , a soft chuckle following afterwards at the sight of your raised eyebrows and confused expression.

Afterward, he explains how it was just a temporary spell he used to speak the language for a period of time. Once he asked you to teach him some of your language and he got the hang of it almost instantly.

Mammon

The way mammon found out is when you were stuck on dinner duty and he was helping , you had needed to ask him to pass something when the word couldn’t translate into English in your head.

‘Whatcha need me to get then?’ He asks, heading to the kitchen cabinets

‘The, uh, the thingy’

‘What’d ya mean the ‘thingy’?’

‘You know…the thing that’s used to season stuff’

‘You’re gonna need to be more specific... There’s about twenty-somethin’ things that could be that ‘thingy’’

‘Get me the chili flakes’ you say, though ‘chili flakes’ is said in your language. He looks back at you, even more confused. Finally, you give up and head to the cabinets pulling out the chili flakes.

‘Yo, that’s not what they’re called , is it?’

And then the realisation that you were speaking in a different language set in but he was still a little confused ‘why’d ya say it in a different language if you don’t speak another…YA SPEAK ANOTHER LANGUAGE?’

I mean, I feel like pride is one of the things that all the brothers would feel when learning this piece of info. Mammon is very much enjoying the fact that you, his human was fluent in a different language , by Lord Diavolo he was absolutely thrilled. Could he somehow market this , let’s see… translator maybe? Well, then he realised he’d have to share your ability with the world and hid din takes over. No one’s gonna hear you speak this other language other than him, ya hear?

Though, his efforts to hide this from his brothers are all ruined when he accidentally spills it whilst in conversation over the dinner you’d just made. Actually, it wasn’t like you were keeping this a secret, mammon was but well, that didn’t go as he planned.

Needless to say he is very excited to hear you speak it,finding your pronunciation and you in general ‘decent enough’ (he means incredibly attractive) and frequently asks questions like

‘How do you say lucifer needs to gimme more money for allowance?’ Or ‘how’d ya say *insert swear word/profanity*’

I also feel like he’d be the type of person to ask ‘how do you say my name in your langauge’ as if it wouldn’t be the same 😭😭

He had had a case in which when he was mad / irritated at one of his brothers he swore at them only in said language and after he was done cussing them out, burst your door open and with his hands on his hips and a devious grin on his face.

‘What did you do?’ Is the first thing uttered from your lips when you saw him

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obmswd #obey me brothers #obey me writing #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me scenarios

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kingkatsuki · 3 months

Text

→ Navi → About Me → Rules → Ko-fi → Ask → Main Masterlist

→ Thirst Posts

Eddie Munson → Cherry Bomb. ↳ College is becoming far too stressful and you just need to find a way to relax- luckily for you the local dealer has the perfect solution. 6.5k. → Temptation. ↳ Your friend is determined to drag you to a basketball squad house party, hoping that you’ll finally score a date with a member of the team, but unfortunately for her you only have eyes for Eddie Munson. 8.3k. → Early To Rise. ↳ Eddie’s alarm wakes you up a little too early and you’re determined to get a few more minutes of sleep, unfortunately for you- your boyfriend has other ideas. 3.4k. → Desperate. ↳ It’s a hot summers day and Eddie’s taking you to Lovers Lake. Being the kind caring boyfriend he is wants to make sure you stay hydrated- the only problem now is that you really, really need to pee. 2.6k. → Dial Tones. (multi-chap) ↳ Starting a job as a phone sex operator was supposed to be temporary, you were just trying to earn enough money to move out of your parents home and pay off your loans. The biggest rules were don’t tell your clients any personal information, and definitely don’t fall in love. But you hadn’t counted on one of your clients being Eddie Munson. ?k.

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things masterlist #Eddie Munson masterlist

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zal-cryptid · 3 months

Text

Toyfolk Glossary Masterpost

Collected in this masterpost is a glossary of terms concerning the worldbuilding of my series Misfits in Toyland.

Toyland - A phantom island of games and toys inhabited by the toyfolk. Also known as the Land of Toys, Island of Misfit Toys, the Doll Kingdom, and Merryland. Although autonomously ruled and governed by a monarch, it belongs to its creator, Krampus. It exists in a parallel plane of existence that dances in tandem with the mortal realm known as the Otherworld.

Toyfolk - People who’ve been transformed into living toys and sent to Toyland as punishment for their misdeeds by Krampus. This punishment is reserved only for adults. They don't possess any vital functions and thus have no need to eat, drink, or breathe.

Rule of Play - the magic that allows toyfolk to interact with toys as if they were real simply by playing pretend with them. For example, toyfolk can move their bodies simply by pretending that they can, despite not having muscles, a nervous system, or any of the necessary organs. Same goes to their ability to speak and sense the world around them. Externally, they can make any toy real for them by interacting with it as if it were real - such as pretending to eat toy food in order to mimic the sensation of eating. There are, of course, limitations to the Rule of Play. For example, it cannot be used to create life (playing with a normal doll or a toy animal won’t cause it to come to life) or cause death (playing dead won’t cause suicide). Toyfolk roleplaying with each other can even temporarily alter their perception.

Phantom Nervous System - named after Phantom Limb Pain, the Phantom Nervous System is what allows the toyfolk to move without muscles, see without eyes, hear without ears, taste without tongues, think without brains, and even feel (temperature, texture, pain, erogenous stimulation, etc.,), all without possessing any organs or nerves. Toyfolk are essentially undead - the mind and soul bound to a lifeless object and animated by magic.

Toy Fugue - Named after Dissociative Fugue (although the two should not be conflated), Toy Fugue is an altered mental state where Toyfolk lose their memories and sense of identity. Their minds are subsumed by their Toy Brain and form a new identity based around the type of toy they are. Toy Fugue is a mental escape triggered by traumatic events and emotionally distressing experiences. It’s often the end result of those who fail to find a way to cope with an existential crisis. Unlike dissociative fugue, Toy Fugue isn’t temporary, nor does it cause one to wander. While some have been able to snap out of it, others may be doomed to remain that way for the rest of their lives.

Toy Brain - also known as Play Brain, refers to the “programming” that all toyfolk have that gives them a collection of instinctive urges to play the part of whatever type of toy they are. Many struggle to find a balance between these urges and their own personalities, and it's a great source of discomfort for many of the toyfolk. Much like a Chinese Finger Trap, attempts to resist these urges will only cause them to intensify and worsen. If toyfolk fail to control their urges, their urges will ultimately end up controlling them and descend into Toy Fugue. These urges can range from specific (such as tea parties) to more broad (such as animal behaviours).

Magic - Magic works differently in the Mundane World than it does in the Otherworld. One can be forgiven in thinking magic doesnt exist in our world, but the truth is exists in its most fundamental and purest form - imagination. In its passive form, it manifests as thoughts, ideas, creativity, emotions, and problem-solving. In its most active form, it can manifest as psionics (also known as psychic powers and ESP). Long-term exposure to another plane will cause an entity to slowly acclimatize to the laws of that reality.

Wind-Up Keys - Wind-up keys have the ability to temporarily influence a wind-up toyfolk's personality and behaviour. Each key contains toy brain traits of the wind-up toy it came from. For example, a toy soldier wound up with a music box key would suddenly start to act more feminine and want to dance like a ballerina.

Voice Boxes - While most toyfolk are able to speak through the Rule of Play, those with voice boxes are bound to the rules of the voice box. Those with pull-strings, for example, cannot speak unless their pull-string is pulled. The voice box isn't just an analog for the larynx, but also functions as the speech center of the brain (particularily the Broca's Area). It contains their voice, vocabulary, speech patterns, accent, language, everything. Damage to this aparatus may cause something akin to aphasia, dysphasia, or dysarthria.

Playing Dress-Up - For dress-up dolls, costumes and outfits can influence their behaviour and personality. For example, a business suit could make them feel and act confident, a girly dress could make them feel and act girly, a maid uniform could make them feel and act like a maid, a collar could make them feel like a pet, so on and so forth. The affects are temporary, only lasting as long as they're wearing the outfit, but their original outfit they ever wore as a toyfolk gets imprinted into their toy brain, making it their default trait.

Currency - The official currency of Toyland is the Standard 52-card deck of French-suited playing cards. Playing cards were chosen over play money on account of the fact they couldn't decide on which nation's or board game's play money to use. They ended up turning to Quebecois history for inspiration. Playing-card money was a type of paper money used periodically in New France from 1685 to the British Conquest in 1763.

#misfits in toyland #lore #worldbuilding #masterpost #glossary #toyfolk #text post #lore bible

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 1 year

Note

hey I'd really love it if you could write smth about like jealous!peter quill or just him being overly possessive like maybe like you're just friends at the moment and you guys are at this club and like idfk the avengers team could be there 😭😭 and one of them starts flirting with you abd you flirt back and shit ans just how u think peter would react- anything basically with him being just jealous and shit omg thankyou in advance 😭😭

hii!! omg I love it and had fun writing it!! thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 *I didn't mark it as mature, tumblr did :/ *

jealous

Peter Quill x f reader

wc || 0.7k

warnings || none, just quill being a lil jelly

masterlist + rules

taglist

After the Battle of Earth two years ago, you and the other Guardians remained quite good friends with the Avengers you had met. Every so often, you and the team would be invited to parties at their temporary compound. As it was such a long journey from Knowhere, you all tended to decline the invitations, much preferring to remain in the comfort of home rather than travel halfway across the galaxy. But, as it was coming up the anniversary, you felt as though you were obliged to make an appearance considering what you had all been through.

Rocket lands the Bowie on the landing bay just outside, and you all stand from your seats, stretching your tired legs as you straighten over your clothes, preparing to exit the ship and join the rest of the party. You turn to Quill, sweetly smiling as you extend a hand, silently asking him to take it in his. He laces his hand into yours, firmly shaking as a boyish grin spreads across his lips.

"No—" you sigh, pulling your hand from his. "You weren't supposed—ugh,"

"What was I supposed to do?" Peter questions, his tone full of sincerity as he watches you walk away with the girls.

"You were supposed to escort her off the ship, Pete," Rocket says flatly, walking past.

"I am Groot."

"I am not a moron." Quill protests. "Drax, you hearing this?"

"You are a moron Quill," he replies simply, following behind Rocket and Groot.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What is this? Gang up on Quill day? Look, I didn't know she wanted me to help her. I thought she wanted to shake my hand, that's all."

"Then go find her, idiot." Rocket adds, nodding Quill along.

Peter makes his way inside the compound to search for you, immediately bumping into people he doesn't recognise. "God, this music is awful," he mumbles, adjusting his jacket as he makes his way to the bar upstairs. Quill hears a familiar Asgardian bellow of a laugh as he walks up the steps, following the sound, he sees the back of Thor with his arm draped over the shoulder of a woman- a girl, Quill's 'girl'.

He rushes over, abruptly interrupting the conversation.

"Oh hey, Quill," you say slyly, leaning into Thor as you bat your lashes at the clearly jealous-looking guy standing before you.

"Good to see you," Thor greets, extending a hand. "Missed ya, buddy,"

Peter swats his hand away. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. What uh—what you doing?" he asks inconspicuously, gazing around the busy room with his hands on his hips.

"He was just telling me a funny story," you pause to laugh, tapping Thor on the chest. "You should tell him. He'd love it."

As Thor described the humourous events of the story, you watched Peter's face begin to contort, barely keeping his composure, his nostrils practically flaring as he stared at your lingering hand. Keeping your eyes glued to Quill's, you taunt him further, lightly circling your hand over Thor's muscular arm as you engage in the conversation.

"Tree?" Thor pauses the story as he catches a glimpse of Groot above the swarm of people. "One minute," he says, slipping from you. "I'll be right back."

"What the hell was that?" Quill whispers, his tone full of irritation.

"What was what?" you ask, crossing your legs as you pat the now-empty space beside you, silently urging him to sit.

"You're such a dick," he chuckles, sitting close beside you, his hip pressed to yours as he drapes his arm over your shoulder.

"Yeah, well... so are you," you snicker, resting your hand on his thigh, slowly leaning into him. "God, this music is awful,"

"Right?"

You and Peter sit together in comfortable silence as you gaze around the room of unfamiliar people, watching the conversations play out as you snuggle into one another's side. Both of you avoiding the daunting question. The question of your undeclared situation.

"We really should mingle," you say begrudgingly, tapping him on the leg.

"Ugh," he groans, slipping from your warmth and standing up. He extends a hand, patiently waiting for you to take it. Lacing your hand in his, you shake it with a smug grin across your lips.

"What? I thought you wanted me to shake it," you laugh heartily, wrapping your arm around his side as he leads you through the crowd of people.

"You really are a dick."

@annielr @ugh09876554444 @spacetalbot @bubblezuku

#peter quill #peter quill x you #peter quill x reader #peter quill x female reader #peter quill x fem!reader #peter quill imagine #peter quill drabble #peter quill blurb #peter quill x y/n #star lord #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #gotg fanfiction #peter quill fanfic #peter quill fluff #peter quill fanfiction #starlord x you #starlord x reader

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averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years

Text

Got Ink? 💉 | Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd Imagine

Takes place before, during, and after the events of TGM

TGM masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x tattooed model!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, mentions of pain as a result of tattoos. Slight suggestive content if you blink | Female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: Art comes in many different forms. And when you technically think about it, your body is a canvas that can be become a mural if you find yourself drawn to the beauty that tattoos bring. For WSO Bob Floyd, he appreciated art in every form and loved how patterns and colors could create something beautiful. When his sister invites him to a party for her job shortly after returning from a special mission with the Navy, Bob meets a woman who was the perfect canvas he’d ever seen.

Note: I cannot tell you how much I loved doing this request. As soon as I got it I was like, ‘I’m gonna love this,’ especially as someone who has tattoos and wants to have a lot (I have at least twenty planned) this was feeding my love for tattoos. To the anon who sent this request I hope you like it, I really enjoyed writing this for you and I hope you’re okay with me choosing Bob since you said you wouldn’t mind if it was him or Jake—since I just did a Jake imagine I wanted to give Bob some love 🥹 Also I made it where reader was born in 1989 so if we were to go by Bob being born in 1993 like Lewis then she’d be about four years older since the events of TGM take place in 2019.

——————————

They often say that when you get your first tattoo it will either be the one and only time you subject yourself to the temporary pain of permanent ink…or it becomes one of many.

“It’s an addiction”, people defend, though they should probably look up the term addiction before using it in such context.

For many it’s the appreciation of art. Whether expressing it by becoming a tattoo artist or wanting to capture the beauty by etching it onto their skin like they are its own personal canvas.

Tattoos come in many different forms. There’s the traditional/old school style that is very recognizable with its bold black lines outlining bright colors. People in their old age, having grown up in the 60s and 70s, are the ones usually seen with these types of tattoos. Neo-traditional is not that far off from traditional, just the lines are not as bold. Delicateness is seen with fine line tattoos. In recent years it’s become popular amongst the younger generation—not just because they are pretty to look at but if one has a job that’s strict on policy then they can hide them better.

The oldest style would be the tribal tattoos. Beautiful elaborate patterns in various sizes, they represent the culture one comes from. Like fine line, watercolor tattoos have become a popular style—taking away the traditional black ink used as an outline so the colors have the spotlight. No color in a piece is blackwork and then there’s realism where it’s pretty much a picture that was printed onto the skin. Go on Pinterest and you’ll find multiple images of patchwork style where a collection of pieces put together can be any style already mentioned.

Japanese style, patch, geometric, black & gray, anime, portrait, the list goes on and on. So many ways to put a design on one’s body where it will remain until they go to the next life. Some people stick to pieces that represent sentimental value, like family or childhood nostalgia, others will simply see something they like and go, “I think it looks cool.”

When looking at Y/n’s tattoos, both aspects were seen in the array of artwork coating her body. After getting all the pieces that represented a person, place, or thing that impacted her life, Y/n started to get whatever the hell she wanted—not having an explanation for anything other than, “it looked badass so I got it. No value behind it, I just wanted it.”

Like many newly turned teenagers itching to get their first tattoo, Y/n was bold and got an intricate design on one of the most painful spots. Her reasoning was if she did it, then any other place in the future wouldn’t be as bad. All through college whenever asked what she wanted for her birthday or holidays the answer was always money to get a tattoo. An artist herself, she majored in drawing while attending Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York, also taking on an apprenticeship for a local tattoo artist. There she would get to work on her skills and tattoo people, progressing to doing tattoos on her legs and non-dominant arm. Anytime she traveled to a different state or country during the semester she studied abroad, Y/n got a new tattoo, wanting to have an array of styles from different artists on her body.

By the time she was 26, she had accumulated over 50 tattoos and still had room for more. From her neck down, artwork ranging from fine line to bold and traditional decorated her skin. Both her arms were half sleeves, ending just above her elbows with patchwork along her forearms and hands. The only place free of ink on Y/n was her face, though she did have her inner lip tattooed. If you asked her, it’d be the only place she regretted getting ink because it faded so quickly. But then again, she could get it redone if she really wanted to.

There were looks from people anytime she went out. Y/n loved dressing up in little black dresses and two piece sets to unapologetically show off her tattoos. Older, conservative couples or people who thought tattoos looked trashy on women would look down upon her. Getting hit on was normal, though she never gave the time of day and sending one look that read, ‘get lost’ had men scurry. Sometimes she'd be approached by teenagers asking about certain pieces, saying they wanted to get tattoos once they were of age and were looking for advice. Biker bars were a place she felt comfortable in, Y/n even taking a part-time job as a bartender so make some extra cash. People from all ages—well at least 21–were covered in tattoos like her.

In 2014, shortly after her 25th birthday, Y/n noticed an inbox notification in her instagram. She was used to getting messages on occasion. Being featured on the bar’s and tattoo parlors business instagram pages and accumulating her own following of potential clients had Y/n reach up to 80 thousand followers. The tattoo artist she worked for was very popular, having done work for celebrities and being featured in Inked Magazine.

Speaking of Inked Magazine…..

When Y/n clicked on the icon to open the message, the first thing she spotted was the blue checkmark. Then beside it was in bold lettering inkedmag. Coffee nearly spilled onto the floor when her grip faltered, gasping lightly at the name. She didn’t even realize the page was following her, confirming this by searching herself under their following and found her username staring back at her.

Heart pumping, Y/n opened the message. “Hi, Y/n, my name is Manda Williams and I’m a representative at Inked Magazine. We’re a fan of your profile and would love to work with you on our upcoming campaign. Would you be interested? Please email me at [email protected], I look forward to talking with you soon.”

Never did she think she’d become a model, let alone a tattoo model. She was taller than the average woman, standing at about 5’10 and strikingly beautiful. On countless occasions family members would say, “if you didn't have all that on you maybe you’d been discovered. You’ve got the height, the style, and high fashion look. Plus you’ll never get a well paying job with all those tattoos.” All they were met with was a roll of the eyes from the woman, annoyed with the constant nagging.

“I’m an artist,” she would defend. “I got accepted into one of the most prestigious art schools in the country and I work for a very renowned tattoo artist who has had Snoop Dogg, Angelina Jolie, and Lady Gaga as clients. Not to mention I work at a biker bar where the people there love me. Want me to go further?” the look on their face would read they didn’t but Y/n would put the nail in the coffin with, “Let me point out the fact I get paid more with both those jobs combined than you working a nine to five in your little office job. Also you should educate yourself. Tattoo models do exist.”

If only those family members could see her now. Posing on a motorcycle in nothing but a bra and booty shorts as the camera flashed in front of her.

“You’re a natural, Y/n,” the photographer complimented, making her flustered.

She adjusted her position, running a hand through her hair, “If you think so I trust your judgment.” Being in a studio felt very different than when she would set up her phone on a tripod in her apartment. It took many tries for her to capture the perfect angle, often deleting fifteen out of sixteen photos. Here with this guy calling out movements, “a little to the left,” “bring your hand up—just under your chin, perfect,” “Now act like you’re suntanning on the beach—tilt your head back as though the sun is in your face,” Y/n felt what it was like to be a model.

Not many tattooed individuals got the chance to sign with top agencies like Ford and IMG. Very few were recruited so it came as a big surprise when an agent from IMG Models contacted her following the release of Inked Magazine’s issue. When she took the job she thought it would be a small section in the magazine itself. Instead, she was on the cover.

“You don’t have an agent?” Bonnie’s tone was confused, staring back at Y/n from behind her desk as they sat in her office at the IMG headquarters. Bonnie had seen her cover on Inked, immediately going to Y/n’s instagram where she contacted her though the email listed on the tattoo parlors page. From there she asked the artist to bring a portfolio, which she was shocked to find out wasn’t much. “That was your first model job?”

Y/n shrugged, making a face like it was obvious, “Unless you count the dozens of comments I get on instagram beggin for my next post, yeah it was. I’m a bartender and tattoo artist, modeling wasn’t something I thought was in the cards.” She refrained from adding, “also didn’t think IMG scouted people like me.”

It was safe to say Y/n was unlike the typical runway model. Every now and then a high fashion show would hire a man with tattoos to walk for them. Very rare would you see a woman on the runway. For Y/n, that seemed to be the case in the beginning of her career. She did walk in the Marco Marco show that year which was the highlight of her life. Inked Magazine got so much response on her first feature that they made her their staple girl. Y/n worked with them the most on campaigns and even got to do a cover shoot with celebrities like Travis Barker and Kehlani. Those features got her a lot of recognition to the point she hit one million followers on instagram.

It wasn’t until Y/n went viral on the internet for her Sports Illustrated cover and becoming the first inked model to be featured in a Victoria Secret campaign that the top designers were booking her. Before long she was auditioning for brands during fashion week, securing Tom Ford, Calvin Klein, and Oscar de la Renta. Due to her tattoos being the star of the show, there were hardly any clothes on her save for tiny tops and skirts or dresses with intricate cutouts. She didn’t mind of course. After all, her tattoos were a part of her and the reason she was getting the opportunities of a lifetime.

Milan, Paris, London, New York. Fashion week was gonna have to get used to a new face in town.

Vogue, GQ, Vanity Fair, Inked. Pick up an issue and you’d find Y/n on at least one page, if not the cover.

Every now and then she’d get asked to appear in music videos for bands. The Weekend once asked her to be the cover art for one of his singles, bringing her more attention as "The Inked Beauty from Blinding Lights cover art.”

She appeared on the Inked Magazine YouTube channel several times. The most popular video being when she did a Q&A released shortly after walking in the last ever Victoria Secret Fashion Show in 2018, becoming the first inked model to walk the VS runway. Though it had low ratings, Y/n’s bit was plastered on every social media site, many tweeting: “the best thing VS could’ve done for their final show was put Y/n L/n in it. She carried the damn thing.”

“Hello, I’m Y/n L/n,” she smiled shyly at the camera, her agent Bonnie and publicist giving a thumbs up. “I’m a tattoo and high fashion model from New York City. You may recognize me from the cover of Inked Magazine, or discovered me through some of my other projects over the last couple years—hell maybe I even tattooed you at one point,” chuckling as she feels her nerves slowly evaporate. “Today I’m here with Inked Magazine, the owners of my heart and career, and I'm gonna answer some questions sent in by you guys about my tattoos and career.”

The producer gives a nod, “Ready, Y/n.”

“Let me hear them, sonny boy.”

“What was your first tattoo and at what age did you get it?”

Thankfully she was wearing a tube top beneath her jacket, removing the clothing to reveal the many inked designs on her chest, and stomach. Pointing to the one just below her ribs, Y/n says, “So this was my first one—as you can tell by how faded it is compared to the others. I got it when I was eighteenth birthday, literally wasted no time and my family is actually who inspired it.”

“As of right now, how many tattoos do you have?” The question has Y/n think for a moment, tilting her head back slightly.

“I counted just the other week and I think it was close to…. seventy,” nodding she adds, “yeah I think that’s right. I know I had fifty when Inked contacted me four years ago for my first feature. So I’ve added twenty to the collection since.” She made a mental note to count again when she got home that night.

“Do you have any tattoo regrets?”

A nervous chuckle escaped, “Fuck, uh….yes,” she looks down shamefully, but gives a shrug like, ‘I can explain.’ Lifting her head back up, Y/n takes her two index fingers and gently pulls down her bottom lip to reveal the messy smudged ink that once read, ‘baby girl’. The camera zoomed in and once they got a good shot of it Y/n let her lip fall back into place, “I don’t know if you were able to read that but when it was freshly done eight years ago it said,” she pulled a face showing she was too embarrassed to say it. “It said ‘baby girl.’ I got it when I was twenty on a dare and frankly I thought it would be hot, but it faded so quick—which,” she raised a finger, “that’s the one place I would say don’t get a tattoo. Even though it’s technically temporary…you’ll end up with a blob of ink like mine and it’s not cute.”

“Where were the most painful spots you got tattooed?” Immediately she lifted her arms to show she had ink on her armpits.

“These basterds right here,” the producer and crew laughed, nodding along with her. “You feel me? Yeah, I thought the ones on my stomach and ribs were bad. Those were a tickle compared to my armpits—-oh and my elbows. I think I actually broke a sweat when I got those done. It’s why I have yet to conquer my knees,” patting the covered area, Y/n shakes her head, “I don’t know If i can do it. But funny enough, these tiny little hearts on my palms,” Y/n flashed her palms up, the camera focusing on the two red lined hearts in the middle of each hand. “These hurt so bad. Thankfully I’m not putting anything else here because I strictly wanted the hearts, so I’m sparing myself.”

“What do they mean?” The producer asked, taking a pause from reading out the next question. The little smile Y/n gave was shy.

“I was told a lot growing up that I keep my heart in the palm of my hand,” while she explained Y/n kept glancing at the hearts, “kinda like the saying, ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve,’ but with me it’s literally in the palm of my hand. So I got these little hearts on my palms—that way when I hold someone’s hand, they can feel the love and care I have for them,” sending a wink to the camera she finishes with, “because my heart is in my palm.”

“Have you ever dated anyone with more tattoos than you?”

“Noooo,” she snorts. “Not because I’m not open to it—I’m very attracted to people with tattoos. And I have dated people with a lot…it just seems that anytime I do get into a serious relationship, I’m the one who has more than the other. And if you’re thinking about who I think you are—,” Y/n points directly to the camera, like a mother scolding her child, “the answer is no, he did not have more than me. Louis has thirty-three, I believe, since the last time he and I talked—which was,” she pauses to think, “I think around New Year’s.”

“Do you find yourself enjoying campaign shoots or runway shows more?”

“That’s hard,” Y/n pouts, causing her agent to chuckle since she knew the answer first hand. “Both are fun in their own way. I love being able to come into a studio or go out on sight and do a photo shoot—except in the fucking winter because I’m usually half naked freezing my ass off.” She pauses to laugh with the crew before continuing. “And then there's this feeling of ‘wow, that just happened,’ when I step off the runway. Getting to work with designers I’ve idolized since childhood and being the face of Mugler is a dream come true. If I had to choose…..it would be campaigns and photo shoots. There I can express myself more freely.”

“Do you see yourself still modeling in ten to twenty years time?”

There was a question she had to think about, taking a moment before answering. “I sure hope so. I love my job and definitely see myself continuing in the future. As long as my agent Bonnie and Inked don't get tired of me,” she laughs, winking at the woman who blows her a kiss. “But honestly I have experience as a tattoo artist so I could see myself opening my own parlor. I’d love to start my own blog or get other tattoo models into the industry. There’s a lot to think about what the future holds, but for right now I’m gonna have fun in the present.”

While home in New York when not booked, Y/n continued to work part-time at the tattoo parlor. She left the bar shortly after signing with IMG, but still visited whenever she could. There was even a picture of one of her Inked shoots framed above the bar.

With her new found fame the parlor had little to no openings each month. Regulars and new clients had to call in to reserve an appointment the second the schedule was dropped, which was sometimes weeks in advance. Several of the friends Y/n made in the modeling industry would get tattoos from her, though they always tended to go for the fine line style. More celebrities booked with her boss, adding Cardi B, Rihanna, and Louis Tomlinson to the list. The latter whom, as mentioned, Y/n actually got romantically linked to in mid 2017. It only lasted a few months, but the photo of the two on the Inked instagram was the most liked on their page.

Louis wasn’t the only high profiled person Y/n was involved with. Unfortunately the downside to fame meant her personal life was to be blasted on every inch of the internet. From starting her modeling career in 2014 to spring of 2019, she’d been spotted with actors Michael B. Jordan, Tom Felton, and fellow model Vladimir Ivanov. Like Louis, they only lasted a couple weeks to months—save for Vladimir which lasted almost over a year—and ended on good terms where they remained friends.

Frankly when it came to settling down Y/n hoped to find someone who was sweet and down to earth. Who was a hard worker—passionate about what they did for a living and wanting to share that with her. Someone who could make her laugh and feel like she was the only girl in the world. It was hard finding someone like when the spotlight follows you around. Y/n had been in the public eye going on six years and due to her connections with big named people she never seemed to catch a break when it came to romance.

All those qualities she desired in a life partner came to her in the form of the adorable weapons system officer she met at a party in November of 2019. The poor guy felt so out of place. From behind the bar Y/n could see him at the corner glancing around like he was searching for someone. Only getting a glimpse at the side of his face, she didn’t recognize him. The party had many from the fashion industry to celebrate Anna Wintour’s 70th birthday. What was ironic was Y/n took up the task of working the bar, kicking into her skills from when she was a bartender at a popular biker club in Manhattan. With her view she was able to see the entire floor as people entered.

The man she’d been eyeing must’ve come in when she was busy making the Hadid sisters their drinks. He wore a white dress shirt with some slacks and a matching blazer. His glasses reminded her of the popular style from the 80s. Come to think of it, they were probably the aviator style. He was tall, roughly six foot so she’d be eye level with him considering she was wearing two inch kitten heels.

Seeing his flustered demeanor and the fact he looked like he didn’t know what the hell he was doing there—not to mention he was handsome from what she could see, Y/n waltzed over, “May I get you anything?”

When he spun around she was met with the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes staring back at her. They blinked rapidly, like they were trying to decipher if she was in fact real. Then they snapped straight to her neck, following the ink of the exposed skin on display from her red latex mini dress—which his face mirrored the color of since he was making it quite known he was checking her out. He had a baby face to him, which was kinda adorable, and Y/n assumed he was maybe a year or two younger than her.

Offering a smile Y/n said, “So what will it be?”

“Huh?” He said confused before remembering what she initially asked before he got distracted. “Oh uh, just water please.” Still smiling, Y/n took a clean empty glass and filled it with ice before adding the water. Finishing it with a straw she placed it on a napkin in front of him.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he took the glass, glancing around briefly before letting his shoulders drop.

“You seem a bit out of place,” Y/n wiped down the countertop, catching his attention again. The man nervously laughed, adjusting his glasses.

“Is it that obvious?”

“A bit,” she teased, nodding her head to the crowd in front of them. “All these people walk around like they own the place. You’re the first person I’ve seen tonight who doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing. Are you here with someone?” Part of her was hoping he’d say a friend invited him, feeling a sudden rush of butterflies at the way he looked at her—like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“My sister dragged me along,” he confirms, the model mentally sighing in relief. But she couldn’t get her hopes too high. For all she knew he may have a partner back home. “I was visiting her this past week and she begged me to come. I told her it was a bad idea since I’m not….part of this crowd.”

“Ah,” she hums, biting back a grin at the way he described the industry. “Not a model or influencer, I take it?”

“Nooooo,” his laugh filled her stomach with butterflies. “Not at all. I don’t know how to work social media. Are you?”

Y/n refilled a guest's drink and handed over a beer to another, “I dabble here and there,” it was refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t familiar with her work. Usually at events like the one they were at she had people coming up to her already knowing who she was. “You’re probably like, ‘thought she was just a bartender,’” she giggled at the flustered look taking over him. “I was one before being discovered. I’m doing this for fun honestly—-and because Anna likes what I make her.”

His eyes went to her neck and collarbones, lingering on the ink. She assumed he’d never seen a model with so many tattoos before. “You can look,” she smirked, when he glanced away from being caught staring. “You’re only seeing a small portion of the canvas,” his eyes went wide at her words, making her giggle, “these babies are the reason I’m in this business.”

“You're a tattoo model?”

Y/n raises a brow at the surprise in his tone, “Didn’t know they existed, handsome?”

“No-no,” he quickly apologizes, “sorry I meant no offense. I knew there were models with a lot of tattoos. My sister told me that the industry was starting to expand by signing more people with them.” His words have Y/n intrigued. Obviously his sister was someone in the business, she wondered if she knew her.

“Is your sister one?”

“No, she’s an agent,” Y/n stops what she’s doing, towel long forgotten.

“For a modeling agency?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one?” Just as the question left her lips, Bonnie’s voice interrupted the two, “Bob, there you are! Oh good—,” she grins wide when she sees who he’s talking to, “You guys met!”

Snapping their heads toward each other, the two have the same expressions of, “wait what?”

Bonnie claps her hands, coming beside Bob at the bar and motioning between the two, “Y/n, this is my brother, Robert—the one I was telling you about last week,” mouth slightly agape, remembering the conversations the two had about Bonnie’s brother—in which the agent suggested setting up a date between the two—Y/n watches Bob react the same when Bonnie then says, “Bob, this is Y/n L/n. One of my clients at IMG—I know I’ve mentioned her before to you.”

Not knowing what to do at first, Y/n extends her hand to formally introduce herself, “So you must be the famous, Bob,” butterflies swarm her stomach again by the warmth of Bob’s hand when he goes to shake it. “I’m Y/n. So nice to finally meet you—Bonnie’s told me a lot about you.”

“W-wow,” Bob stutters, mentally hating himself when he does. “It’s really nice to meet you too, ma’am. I wasn’t expecting to meet you tonight, but now I see why Bonnie was so adamant I come.” A pointed look is thrown at Bonnie, who shrugs with a smile like she did no wrong.

“Well seeing as you two found each other without me, I’ll leave you both to it. Bob, let me know if you plan on riding with me back to the house or if you catch a ride. And Y/n I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.” Winking, Bonnie takes the Cosmopolitan Y/n made for her and scurries off, leaving the two alone.

“I should’ve known,” Y/n laughs lightly, topping off Bob’s water. “Your sister has brought you up the past couple times she and I have gotten together,” lips curl into a smirk, “she wasn’t lying when she said you were a cutie.”

Bob turns red, smiling shyly, “when she told me about the inked beauty she worked with, she left out the fact you’re a walking piece of art.” His boldness impressed her, Y/n leaning closer to him against the bar top, resting her elbow on to so she could lean her head on her hand.

“How long are you gonna be in New York?”

“Till Wednesday,” part of her was disappointed that it was only four days away considering it was currently Saturday. But it was enough time for something to blossom.

“Tell me about yourself, Bob. The night’s early and I could listen to you talk for hours. Let’s see if Bonnie was psychic when she said we’d be quite the puzzle when put together.”

Ever heard of the type of couples where the girl radiates black cat energy and the guy is a literal golden retriever?

That was Y/n and Bob to a tee.

Out in public they stood out—even in a city like New York. Then when Y/n went to San Diego to meet his friends for the first time after four months together—which also resulted in her being stuck in California due to lockdown from the covid pandemic—it was like everyone couldn’t believe someone like Bob was with someone like Y/n.

He was a quiet, reserved naval officer and she was a sharp-tongued, world renowned tattoo model. They were the definition of the couple in high school you’d never expect would hit it off.

When Bob introduced Y/n to the squad, they instantly knew who she was, but had different ways of discovering her. Nat saw her walk in the VS Fashion show, Mickey and Reuben recognized her from The Weekend’s cover art, Javy remembered her from an episode of Ink Master she appeared on, Jake saw her on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and Bradley actually got a tattoo from Y/n when he was in NYC.

The entire period Y/n was in San Diego she grew close to the squad, even Maverick who had a lot of questions about her work and tattoos. “You think I’d look good with them at my age?” Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the question, ensuring the Captain with a pat on the back.

“Some of the sexiest men I’ve met have been your age with ink more in than me,” she giggles when he goes red. “I worked at a biker bar in New York City. Believe me, Pete. Anyone can look good with some ink.”

Needless to say when it came time for Mav to get a tattoo, Y/n was the one doing it.

A lot of the squad ended up getting work done by her. Jake, Mickey and Rooster had a few already so they were familiar with the process. Nat only had one from a drunk night in college, which Y/n redid on her behalf since it had faded. Payback was a man who liked bold, meaningful tattoos so sometimes Y/n had her work cut out for her but she always came through.

“Yo is this gonna hurt bad,” Javy was practically sweating as Y/n removed the stencil from his shoulder. The design was a geometric sun about the size of an airpod case.

“It’ll sting, but this area generally isn’t too painful. If this was your bicep then it’d be a different story.”

Javy didn’t look convinced, turning to look at the guys while the stencil dried, “How was it for you guys?”

“Didn’t hurt at all for me,” Rooster shrugged, “my bicep was worse—like she said.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” Payback waved a hand. “You see how tiny it is? It’ll be over before you know it.”

Going over the details once more to confirm the colors and shading, Y/n moved her chair closer after turning on the tv to an episode of Chopped. “You ready, Jav?”

“Ready,” he didn’t really sound like it but it was too late to back out. The buzz of the needle filled his ears and soon the stinging sensation they all said had him clutching his first.

“Try to relax, man” Bob sat on the chair next to Y/n, “being tense won’t help.”

After over a year of dating Bob had his fair share of tattoos. His were mostly small and easily hidden by his uniform. When they first got together, Bob loved learning about her tattoos. When she got them, why she did. If there were any meaning behind certain ones and if she planned to get more.

She was like a walking art gallery. So many colors and styles. Large and small. Y/n told him stories about almost every one—even if they were embarrassing like the inner lip tattoo.

“Biggest mistake,” she wiped a tear after she was done, the two laughing so hard. “Not only did it hurt but it faded not even a year after I got it. Now it looks so bad—I should get it redone but what’s the point when it will just end up looking the same.”

Bob hated when people would give her looks of disproval when they’d go out, usually from those who were unfamiliar with Y/n’s work. One time he nearly got into a bar fight with a older gentleman who thought it was okay to call Y/n a Jezebel. Rooster and Mickey had to hold him back, but Y/n simply looked at the guy and said, “Baby, I’m a fucking millionaire because of these bad boys. While you’re about to kick it the dust I’m gonna be on the cover of Vogue magazine next month. So eat shit and die already.” The man was left speechless, making her and the squad smirk in victory. The equally tatted bartender who knew of Y/n whistling and even given her a free round.

“That was so fucking hot,” Bob pulled her into a searing kiss when they left the bar moments later, Y/n smirking against his lips, “You think that was hot? I’m a mess under these pants from seeing you so worked up, baby. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Whenever he and Y/n would cuddle she’d trace the raised ink with a finger, Bob doing the same to hers and committing them to memory. He loved to kiss the ones on her neck and collarbones, but his favorite were the tiny hearts on the palms of her hands.

“What do these mean,” he asked one day during the early days of their relationship. They were laying out on the hammock, taking her hands to admire the collection of small tattoos along her fingers and wrists. He hadn't even realized she had any on the palms until he flipped them over. There his thumbs traced over the red outline of each heart.

“If you ask any person I’ve ever loved or cared for they’d tell you I carry my heart in the palm of my hand,” she flips her hands so they are holding Bob’s, the tattoos against his skin. “So when I hold people’s hands, they know a piece of my heart lies with them.” Letting her head fall back against his shoulder, Y/n shifts so her lips are against his jaw. “And I’m kinda hoping you’re the only one who gets to hold them from here on out.”

Anytime after that Bob would press a kiss to the hearts whenever he held her hands. Then when asked about what tattoo of Y/n’s was his favorite his answer was always, “the hearts.”

His family adored her. At first they were put off by her striking image but learned quickly Y/n was perfect for Bob. The children of his siblings loved taking washable markers to color in the tattoos Y/n had that were black and white. “Can I draw you a tattoo someday?” Little Emma asked shortly after the couple celebrated one year. She was a little artist who loved asking questions about the pretty pictures on Y/n.

“Of course, my love,” she promised. “Draw me whatever you desire and I shall get it done.”

The first fashion show Y/n booked after the pandemic Bob had front row seats. With his phone out he was the ultimate cheerleader, though he refrained from whistling or making noise so as to not embarrass the model, but would be in absolute awe when she strutted past him. It was the Tom Ford show, Y/n had walked out in a long black trench coat, coming to the end of the runway first before removing the item to reveal a silk dress underneath. It was spaghetti strapped with an open back, thigh slit to compliment her legs and the cameras loved it. She walked a few steps back up and turned to strike one last pose before making her exit.

Bob was mesmerized. It was the first time he’d seen her walk the runway and my God if he wasn’t already a simp he sure was then. A photographer captured his reaction to her discarding the coat and it went viral on Twitter.

@ inmyreputationera: if my man doesn’t look at me like @inkedbyY/n bf at NYFW then I don’t want it.

@ Inked✔️: We’re all Bob Floyd when @inkedbyY/n steps onto the runway.

When it came time to pick out her wedding dress Y/n was unsure of the route to go. It’d been five years the two were coming up on, one year of being engaged with the wedding to take place in North Island. A beach wedding in the late fall, Y/n wanted to look elegant and classy.

“Whatever you choose you’ll gonna look amazing, darling,” Bob kissed her head after she sighed when shuffling through bridal magazine pictures of dresses she’d cut out. “You know I love your tattoos—they are a part of you and I don’t want you feeling like you have to cover up for the sake of pictures. Baby, you’re one of the top models in the world. Like you told me when we first met, those babies are what got you discovered. Show them off.” Rubbing her shoulder exposed from her tank top, his lips pressed to the ink covering the skin. “But if you like this,” he pointed to the dress she kept going back to in her pile, it was elegant and pretty with neckline that fell just below her collarbones. “Then you should get it because you love it.”

The ceremony dress ended up being the one with a high neckline. It had open back with Y/n deciding on a her veil cascading down to the floor to become a small train rather than having the dress itself have it. Lace covered her arms, the ink peeking out from beneath to make the material stand out more due to the contrast.

She was stunning. An actual goddess that had Bob’s jaw drop the second his eyes landed on her. For the reception Y/n changed into a white two piece set that showed off her legs.

And you best believe she hired local tattoo artists to do a ‘spur of the moment’ tattoo booth at the party.

It didn’t take long for Inked Magazine to want to do a bridal shoot with Y/n. And if you look at it one way, it was a full circle moment. The issue marked ten years since they discovered Y/n and blessed her with the career of a lifetime that led her to meeting the love of her life.

All because she had a knack for getting ink.

……………..

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa

#Spotify #bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #lewis pullman imagine #lewis pullman #tattoo!reader #tgm fluff #tgm imagine

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rise-my-angel · 4 months

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

Fresh Heals of Old Pain

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 21.7k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, references to past sexual abuse, insecurities and trauma exploration, encouragment of cheating/infidelity, commuication failures, unhealthy alcohol consumption, smut, car sex, exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), p in v

Notes: A continuation of my modern!au 'Woes of a Modern Day Love' References to that will be present, but reading that to understand this are not necessary. Previous Installment Here, Series Masterlist Here

If one was to ask him how felt with every ounce of honesty in his chest, Jon Snow would’ve said that sitting there felt akin to a death sentence. As if things were not yet bad enough, the coming company had made complaints that it was going to be far too cold for the approaching party and thus the temperature all throughout the buildings of Castle Black were warm. Far too warm for a group full of men dressed in black uniforms, some made with fine leathers. Then there had been the humiliating act of having to store away all of their weapons as if they were children, as the newcomer did not appreciate strangers yielding weaponry in their presence.

Then came the rules, don’t ask this, don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t step out of line, don’t mention this or that, most of all as Lord Commander Mormont had put it, “The Nights Watch has traditionally been an ancient order sworn, steering clear of the politics of the Seven Kingdoms, and so for these next coming weeks, we will uphold that no matter how much you hate doing it. I don’t care what any of you do or say at home, just don’t do it here.” That had a number of eyes looking between one another.

Before at least Edd had spoken up from where he sat next to Jon with his usual low, and unserious droll. “You planning on leading by example on that one, Lord Commander?” Most of the brothers all chuckled, the Old Bear himself included.

Affirming that he was, but not without a clarification to set the record straight. “I’m not saying that we are going to lick their boots, but be on your best behaviour. We are not allowing them here to make friends, only avoid making an enemy. One week, don’t do anything stupid and it’ll all be over with.”

Still Jon thought, this was an unfair and cruel way to die. Or at least it had felt like he was dying for hours now. His phone going off when it was still dark out this morning, saying that he needed to come in for this meeting, and Jon had all but snapped at the caller with a rough tone husking out in a very impatient anger of what they wanted without even looking at the number. It could only have been a call to come in, vibrating against his night side table over and over and Jon had been unreasonably angry about having to answer it, let alone get up then and there to come in.

Jon had just managed to kiss a path down to drink between your legs, the hope you would wake up just before he would make you cum, when he was told to come in. For this of all meetings.

Finally though, as the meeting dissipated, Jon found himself now in the kitchens by the mostly empty dining hall waiting for the inevitable approach of one of his brothers coming to ask what had him so worked up. He knew his face sat in a permanent scowl the whole morning, and as he grabbed the coffee only lukewarm left did each action have him slamming something either back into place or onto the counter.

He had not supposed to be here today, it was all planned out to not be here. If staying here in the temporary quiet in the kitchens, Jon might be able to have closed his eyes and gone back to the night before. Jon had finally convinced you to come out with him to meet some of his friends from North of the Wall. You had avoided it for weeks, saying that you weren’t sure you were the right person to fit in with them, only for Jon to argue that most of them all hated his guts for years. “If they like me now after all that, they’ll love you right away.”

The nerves had gotten to you, on the drive to the bar Tormund had told Jon they would all meet at, you had been rather quiet. Fingertips tapping against the side of the car your hand rested on with an incessant pattern, each time Jon would glance to you when he knew you didn’t know he was looking you’d have that tense clench in your jaw as if you were biting down hard on your tongue. Which Jon knew you probably were. More then once you had not so subtly glanced down to your clothes or eyes flickering to the side mirrors as if to judge how you had looked again.

Jon didn’t blame you though, it hadn’t exactly been very long. Jon had known you for so many years, since you were children, but this between you was incredibly new in comparison. You had struggled to adjust to being in a relationship with Jon more then he’d seen you struggle to get used to any of the vile men you dated before. So often when alone with him you seemed as if you were unsure how to act at times, and you apologized more then he’s ever heard someone in his life.

Maybe if he was only taking you to see the others you already knew, you’d be more at ease. You knew Grenn and Pyp, you knew Edd and Sam, and of course if Sam had been there so would Gilly and you’d have at least one person more like you to relax with. But as much as the free folk Jon knew wanted to meet you already, Jon knew you did not have a great history with spending time with the friends of men in the Nights Watch. It felt a lifetime ago the day Jon had picked you up from Karl Tanners house and finally brought you home, when not even a year had passed. It had been only three months since the incident with Ramsay Bolton, and only now coming close to a month and a half since you had been with Jon.

But you had nothing to be nervous about, and he loved watching why.

For a while he had watched you across the room with Karsi and a few others. Them showing you a quite unorthodox version of billiards that had you laughing along with them at how aggressive the competition had gotten. During dinner Tormund had been quick to throw teases and jesting insults your way to test how well you could withstand it and you had hurled them right back with an even dryer tone of voice with ease.

Jon and him had been sitting at the table still, drinks in hand as they discussed you. Having mentioned to them the ex boyfriends you used to have, Tormund now that you were away begun to pry most of the details from him. “Oh I knew Tanner. Little fucker he is. Wouldn’t surprise me if he shared her around to those other creeps who were always with him. What was it, Locke and...” Gesturing vaguely in the air reaching in his memory. “You know, the one with the face like a ball sack.”

“Rast.”

Snapping his fingers, Tormund got back around. “Thats the one.” Asking in a low roughness, Jon asked what he meant by share and Tormunds answer had only made Jons hands clench tight enough one could see the strain in his knuckles. “Would pass around our women when they used to come into our territory, and those were all women who could fight back men like that. Can’t imagine she has any size to fight back if Tanner would tell her to get on her knees for his friends-” Jon interrupted with a gruff warning of his name but Tormund passed by it, “You asked what I meant. I told you.”

Only quiet for a second before Jon gritted out, “If he did that to her, why wouldn’t she tell me about it?”

But it was not Tormund who answered. You still over with a few of the others, Karsi had come over obviously hearing the ends of the discussion. “Why would she?” Sitting down, she nodded to the barmen giving her an asking look of wanting another ale, before looking back to Jon. “Her last man knocked her around in the same house as you and she took off for days to avoid talking about it. Do you really think she is going to now admit even worse shit happened to her when she lived hours away from you?”

Jons eyes glanced back over to you, still blissfully unaware of the conversation he was having. The alcohol in your system had given you a buzz, allowing you the freedom and a lack of insecurity to laugh and smile more. Rasping out somewhat muffled into taking sip, “I’m not talking about this anymore.” Both Karsi and Tormund had asked why, and Jon had just slammed the drink down as he pushed himself up without another word. Knowing at least, these people of anyone took no offence to his sudden turn.

He had come up behind you, his hands pulling you back into him by your hips as he leaned down to your ear. Saying he wanted to head home while he was still sober enough to drive you. In reality, by the time Jon had gotten out of the parking lot, he had found a dark side dirt road to pull to the side off before all but dragging you into his lap.

Jon hadn’t asked you about what Tormund or Karsi put in his head, all he could focus on in that moment the second he turned to glance at you was how men like Ramsay and Tanner had no right treating you anywhere close to that way. Jon had only been with you for a little over a month, and even though he had known you most of his life, he knew it was way too soon to tell you he loves you. But that hadn’t meant Jon didn’t pull over almost right away, drag you onto his lap and steal every bit of air in your lungs with his kiss.

The moment you had turned to ask him if somewhat was wrong, did Jon lean over and drag your lips to his. Not sparing a moment, you held onto him as he deepened his kiss without thought. Biting at your lips and sliding his tongue inside your mouth the moment you had gasped at the feeling. Pulling back to just your lips, teeth, tongue all over again, different patterns and lengths of time until you nearly gasped desperate for air as he just barley pulled from your lips. Moving everything from the way in a second, the moment there was room for you, did Jon nearly lunge over and haul you over onto his lap.

Cupping the back of your neck to kiss you again, your hands reached around the back of his neck, only able to hold onto the ride, knowing you couldn’t even move if not his will. Only one hand needed to pull his cock out, already hard and thick, Jon also then pulled from your lips. Looking down to pull up the skirt of your dress enough and almost angrily tore at your underwear until it was in tatters at the bottom of his front seat.

Jons car was not a place he was good at taking his time, and he knew it. Sinking you down on his cock, Jon groaned deeply as you cried out. He was not kind, moving you as if against your will, you held on. Being bounced on his thick length, you were ruining him. Only tiny little sounds coming from you over and over unable to keep your eyes open as Jon felt angry he couldn't watch himself sink inside of you.

Slowing enough, Jon took over. Yanking your shirt up and off your chest, leaving your breasts out for him as he grabbed your hips again. That time, you both knew with your own embarrassment, Jon was watching your breasts as he bounced you on his cock. You were soaking and warm and so tight around him, each clench making it worse, having to fuck up into your harder.

Murmuring in a low rasp as his hands dragged you up and down his length that he wanted to try something new, he wanted to wake you up with his mouth. You had asked breathlessly if he meant the next morning and Jon had rasped out, “Any morning.” You had dropped your head into his shoulder with such a shy nod it had him throbbing inside of you, and Jon pulled you back to his lips knowing he was going to make you cum as he tasted you to wake you up come sunrise.

Your orgasm shattered around you, holding tightly onto him as he fucked you through it, but something in Jons mind through the alcohol in both your systems had snapped. Pulling you from his kiss, Jon looked you up and down. “Lay down.” A breathless ask of what, Jon was almost looking in an anger with his sternness. “In the back, you’re going to lay out for me.”

Pulling you off of him, Jon ensured you carefully without hurting yourself could climb into the back seat before he tucked himself back. Leaving the car with a rough slam of his door, Jons eyes scoured the no one going by, and thought, even if they did, let them look.

Opening the back door, Jon had spared no time in pulling your skirt right off of you as you gasped in suprise. Leaving you bare in his back seat, Jon climbed up over you, slamming and locking the door behind him. A look up the other doors too were locked. There was so little room back here but thats what he wanted. He wanted to have you close and warm against him, even moreso with your bare form below against him fully dressed.

Kissing you again, your hands wound around his neck and holding onto his hair, Jon biting roughly at your bottom lip before shifting slightly. Partially on the ground Jon yanked your leg open wide. Kissing from your calf up to your knee and growing greedy and almost sloppy as his lips dragged up your thigh. Dark eyes watching yours the whole time before he had you out on an obscene display in his car for him. Mouth feasting upon your cunt with a greed, tongue against your clit before sucking the bundle of nerves with such a sudden roughness that you were utterly soaking his mouth already. Out of nowhere Jon dragged an orgasm from you, sinking down more to drink deep from you, a growl in his chest as you came on his tongue. One to the next his mouth brought you too before as you just barley were to cum again he tore his mouth from you.

Your eyes still closed barley catching your breath did Jon pull his cock back out as it strained painful confined against his jeans. Moving again to hover over you, yanking a thigh high up in his hip did Jon run his thumb tight over your clit, rasping roughly as he stared at your eyes barley able to even meet his in the moonlight. “Come on, darling, come on.” Just as your orgasm waved over you, did Jon sink inside of you.

In truth, it took not long for him to follow. A fast pace he couldn’t possibly keep up when you both were this worked up and not sober, but he was rough. No doubt leaving a sting between your legs as the car echoed every sound back to your ears of your cries and his grunts, and fully dressed his clothes scratched at your inner thighs. Pounding so deeply inside, truly Jon had spilled inside of you before he knew it.

Roughly kissing you all the while his hips sunk again and again into yours as he came. By the time Jon got you home, he had fallen asleep unable to let the ecstatic feeling leave his bones, that when he woke up first the next morning, Jon was going to kiss down your body, spread your legs again and drink deeply from your cunt until you woke up, and only then when you came for him awake would Jon sink inside you all over again.

Instead he was here, at the Wall in the now too hot building as every taste of the coffee he drank almost was bitter in comparison to what he truly had wanted that morning and it only made him more angry. The reasons why unknown, but even the Old Bear had picked up on his tenseness. “I’ve never quite seen anyone treat that coffee maker like they hate it as much as you do, Snow.”

A harsh swallow to finish what was left in his mug, he sat it down with a clench back in his jaw. “I apologize-”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to your future paycheck that will be taken out of to pay for a new one if you break the damn thing.” Barley a half smirk came across his face, and luckily, the man was smart enough when not to press Jon when this in a mood.

He had the option to leave, approaching his desk Jon considered he idea of going home now very tempting, knowing he’d have you alone for hours. But when he had gotten to his desk, computer off, Jon had glanced to his phone and saw nothing from you yet. Normally when he left you a note if he left earlier then you woke up, you’d text him your response so he knows you read it. Nothing. It was nearly noon, you’d be awake no doubt. But he had nothing. You had posted nothing anywhere either, normally at least replying to someone’s post online out of the hundreds of people you seemed to know. And when he texted you twice, you still didn’t respond.

So Jon turned his computer on, he’d write his report until you did and then he’d finally head out to his car. Or that was his plan. Opening up his browser though, the news story posted all over the main page told him exactly why you didn’t respond, and he felt a dread at not having put it together before. If he wasn’t looking forward to the so called “guest” coming to visit Castle Black before, he certainly was looking forward to it even less now. He knew who was visiting here, but not why they were in Westeros, until now.

“Daenerys Targaryean lands in Westeros, the first challenge against House Baratheon’s governance in three hundred years.”

Pulling into the driveway, the moment Jon stepped from the car did Ghost come barrelling his way. Knocking him nearly over with his enthusiasm as he kneeled down, hands running over his white fur with an affection shining in his eyes and smile. “I know. I missed you too, boy.” Standing up, Jon glanced up to where he could see your window from the side of the house. Your light off, but he knew Robb and Theon weren’t back yet either. Looking down with your name on his lips Jon asked, “Where is she?”

That was when a small whine left the direwolf as Jon nodded for him to show where you were. Out by the back of the property, there was a variety of spaces laid out as if once a great courtyard of a grander manor now split into many buildings and homes. Right up by a cliffside against a path leading up to the wolfswood was a small sitting area not often used by any of the Starks on a normal basis. Too far from either the main family home, or the smaller more apartment style home that he and his brother, and Theon all lived in.

But he could see you over there not even sitting. Pacing back and forth as he could tell you were on the phone and likely had been for a while. He could hear an echo of your voice from where he stood, and you clearly sounded stressed. Were you to have two hands free instead of one he knew you’d be gesturing vaguely all over as if to emphasize whatever point you were arguing. Catching the tail end of something as you had yelled in a frustration, “I don’t care what you think, Joffery. You’ve never taken it seriously-”

Jon looked down to Ghost, whose red eyes gazed up to meet as both wolves felt the worry in how worked up you were but he wasn’t sure interrupting you was a good idea. The feeling in him to go over to you, pull you to him and help you relax was so painfully strong, as was the burning need in his system to finish what you didn’t even yet know he started that morning. His mouth could water thinking about your taste and the longer he watched you not having it the worse that need got.

Beckoning Ghost to follow, he went inside. One by one those whom came inside did not really help the tense feeling in the air. The first was Robb, all but slamming the door behind him and disappearing without even realizing Jon was there into his room, where he heard his phone go off likely as it had been all day. Theon followed next, an agitation in his shoulders but at least he had made his way into the main room after grabbing a much needed drink.

Sighing as he fell down into his own seat, grumbling as he let his head fall back and close his eyes, running his free hand over it. “You’re lucky to be in the Nights Watch. Not having to deal with shit like this.” Still feeling somewhat out of the loop in general, Jon prompted Theon to elaborate.

The mans head shooting up at the sound of the front door opening and closing, Jon not far from where he sat ready to jump up needing to have you to himself for even just a moment. Only you were much like Robb, finding your way into your room with a firm close of your door, within seconds the likely sounds of you on the phone once more muffled to Jons ears.

The urge to look unbelievably grumpy about it was an immense feeling to swallow down.

Theon finally elaborated a little now that the door slamming seemed to have ceased. “You heard about the Targaryean?” Jon nodded. “Apparently she’s been building her case over in Essos about why she should have the right to come here and take back her families seat. Someone forgot to tell her after three hundred years, it isn’t your seat anymore. And now-”

Jon was short and a bit quiet, “Now shes coming here.” Theon asking how Jon knew that, the dreading look came over him too. “She’s coming to the Wall. Apparently her advisor has a connection to Lord Commander Mormont and so he’s bringing her up there to try and start her campaign in an easy spot.”

Both men looked at each other in a knowing. “How long is she up there?” Answering a week, Theon whistled out as he looked away. “Don’t know if I should envy you then. Having to put up with some entitled diplomat for an entire week, or just having to handle the fallout she’s causing the rest of us.”

Back and forth they went over details when the discussion finally came around to them. “Robb’s got pretty much all of your fathers work on his plate out of nowhere and every other bloody House in the North is either calling him or your father about her coming here.” Jon asking your name, but he knew the answer already. “If your last name is Baratheon, then you were all but dragged into the family business all over again.”

You had begun working from home to avoid being part of your uncle and fathers political jobs, but judging by how stressed you looked from what little he saw of you, they had forced your hand into getting involved. By the time Robb had emerged, he looked less irritated and only exhausted now. A hand patting against Jons shoulder before his brother sat on the other side of the couch. “Hope you’ve enjoyed your one month with her, Snow. At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if her father and uncle drag her all the way back to Kings Landing for this one.”

Jons eyes only flew to the hall he knew you were in, even though the door couldn’t be seen from where he sat. Robb said it as a joke, but Jons eyes went a bit wider as his heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t leave now, he had just gotten you. You had only started to find a life again, you had just met some of his friends. Jon felt something he wasn’t able to yet identify as panic. This was too new to survive you going so far away for so long. You’d leave him and not want him when you got back.

It didn’t get any better by the time Jon went to bed. You had passed out exhausted in your room. Not his. Jon sat at his desk just looking at his bed, at your side of the bed. Since that first morning you shared together, you had slept in his room, in his arms every single night. At this time the night before, Jon had you in his lap in his car. Your perfect high pitched yet shy pleads of his name in his ear as your hands grasped him desperately. Two hands gripping your hips so tightly as Jon struggled not to fuck up into you even rougher then he was bouncing you on his cock. Finally moving you to lay out in the back seat so he could fuck you properly. Hitch your leg up on his hip and pound into.

Yet here he sat in his own room, nothing close to that. It would be inappropriate to join you in your bed already. He had given you his office so you had privacy, and going into your room to carry you to his would be equally as inappropriate when you hadn’t even expressed want to. So Jon went to bed alone that night.

And again for three nights afterwards.

You were more tired then you’d been in months. Every single night your family had all been in touch as you suddenly had been dragged back into these affairs. Your father stating, “I did not bring you to Kings Landing for a wasted education.” Not at all acknowledging that you did not ask for the courses, nor did you want to choose them for yourself. If he had his way you would move back to the captiol and utilize your business education. Instead you met him halfway, each morning sending someone to come pick you up and meeting at one of the many buildings between Winterfell and Moat Cailin, you now sitting around the meeting table growing closer and closer to two options.

Falling asleep where you sat, or throwing something at Jofferys head. Your cousin only served to make all of this far worse, considering you had wanted nothing to do with this in the first place. You had done everything to move away from the politics of your family, but your uncle and father both had determined that all of you needed to be working as a unit on this campaign. Joffery across from you had spoken up rather loudly, “She has no right to come here and make stupid claims. Who does she think she is?”

Glaring your eyes up to him, your voice was as dry as the heaviness of it was laced with condescension. “We went over this the other day, but allow me to explain it again. She’s essentially utilizing a very old law she dug from hundreds and hundreds of years ago about lines of succession. Now, the law was never written to be more explicit about our present governance, as it was still a matter of monarchy then, but she seems to think if she can sway enough people to her side that perhaps it will grant her the authority of your fathers seat.”

Asking if that would work, Renly had the easy answer without the attitude you provided. “It could, if it were hundreds of years ago and we all still had armies made up of knights and horses.” A back and forth begun around you, as your eyes once more begged to close. Three nights in a row you had passed out at your desk, the night before that you had sat down to finally peel your boots off and the next thing you knew you were being awoken before dawn to a phone call from your fathers driver informing him he was there to pick you up. Most of the past nights you hadn’t even returned home until the three of them were asleep.

It was depressing, utterly depressing. Anyone whose last name wasn’t Baratheon you hadn’t even spoken too since the news broke. Your father stood at the head of the table, seemingly none to happy he had his repulsive nephew being tagged onto his side but you could only think that was such form of punishment for forcing you to take a leave from your job for this. Being informed that you and Renly both were to be in charge of Public Relations, you being the one to gather the information and Renly to enact plans to keep up the best appearances possible.

Though if you were being completely honest with yourself, you would have admitted that the moment the meeting finished you had been the first to leave without any goodbyes knowing your father was not yet done with you. You knew what was coming, him saying you were to return to Kings Landing but you were not ready for that.

You were not strong willed enough to defy your fathers orders so blatantly, so you were quick in avoiding being given them in the first place. You didn’t want to go back to that rats nest of a captiol, you hated living there and everyone in it. You wanted to stay in the North. Yet, something even more upsetting brewed deep in your heart at the thought of what would happen should you leave now.

Everything between Jon and yourself was still incredibly new, if you left now, it was early enough that he may simply move on without you there. It had been days since you saw or spoke to him already. Making your way down the steps of the building you resisted the urge to look at your phone. You’d see missed calls and email after email, messages between you and Robb as he was as flooded with work over this as you, as well as a few from Theon. You wondered if you would check and still had none from Jon, what did that mean going forward?

You didn’t know for sure whose voice it was the thought spoke in, but someone in your mind was simply telling you that Jon had gotten bored of you. Which of course he had, afterall twice you had boyfriends to drill into your head that you weren’t a “good lay” let alone even something worth looking at.

The longer away from him your family would keep you, how quick would it take for him to find someone new?

Jon was so vastly uncomfortable. She had arrived with a numerous amount of guard, all but demanded attention anytime she was in the room and none of them it seemed could say no to what she asked of them. The Targaryean had a way about her that to Jon, came off as rude and smug. Always feeling the need to interject whenever she disagreed on something as if her opinion had any bearing of any present matter but the Old Bear had said to be respectful.

More then once though since she had arrived at the Wall, had this Daenerys watched him. Most of the time from across the room as he had more then enough duties to keep him busy the entire day but she’d walk into a room and seek him out as he avoided her gaze. The first she had ever spoken to him, she had been left in the room by the advisor at her side being pulled away to another room for a moment when she begun walking.

Jon was keenly aware she had been nearing his desk, and more tense his shoulders grew trying to focus on the work in front of him. If she thought he hadn’t noticed she was incorrect. Even were Jon not someone who was always atune to his surroundings, if he couldn’t simply sense she was there, the abnormally immaculate manner of dress gave it away. He wasn’t quite sure where she thought she had come to, if she thought this level of ornate designs and style was at all fitting.

“I don’t believe we have met yet.”

Play nice, Jon told himself. Mormont had said to play nice. Turning to glance up at her, Jon only gruffed out a short “No.” A very awkward pause passed consisting of Jon returning to his work when she had asked if he planned on introducing himself. “Jon Snow.”

There was an authority in her tone, almost as if to say in silence he not refuse her. “And what it is you are currently doing, Jon Snow?” Eyes flickering to her and the computer, Jon somewhat turned so he at least partially faced her when she had come rather close.

Clearing his throat, Jons eyes turned back to the screen. Missing the hint of a smirk shining in her eyes. “It’s a trade agreement outline. The Nights Watch receives a certain amount of resources, and we have a trade deal with the free folk so to ensure enough goods are passed onto them that are harder to come by North of the Wall.” Asking him what sort of goods, “Medicine and medical devices are most common.”

It was an odd thing, that her eyes seemed to be on the screen but yet as Jon spoke they had flickered down to his desk for only a moment. Without his notice, Jons phone sat out had lit up as a new message came through. All of his message notifications were set to private as so wandering eyes could not just read what any sent him, but it still popped up enough that Jons lock screen was clear as day.

The photo was a rare one he had managed to capture only weeks ago. He had laid you out on his bed, your hair splayed across his sheets beautifully as Jon was partially hovering over your front, one hand pressed to the sheets to prop himself up. The other cupping your cheek as he had angled you up to is lips. He had it set to take many in a short span of time, and the perfect one he chose was beautiful to him.

Just the hint of Ghost laying beside you as his head had moved to rest on your stomach, your own hands gently grasping at Jons waist. It was not the kiss the photo showed, but in the mere second Jon had pulled away, still so close the faint silhouette trace of a strand of saliva connected between you both was just visible if one looked hard enough. You both were fully dressed but it was one of the most intimate photos he felt he had of you.

Agreeing to let him set his phone camera up just for this moment, and the one he chose was right as he pulled from your lips after getting too carried away. Your lips clearly a bit swollen from where he had bit at your bottom one with a roughness.

There was no mistakening the dynamic between him and you in the photo, but he had never thought of people seeing it. It wouldn’t matter who saw it. Until it did. Until a pair of purple eyes glanced down and in the seconds his phone remained lit, had recognized the other person in the photo.

It was that very phone Jon was currently toying with. Typing and deleting each and every message he tried to think of in a way that didn’t sound as if he was being far too possessive. He had wanted to hear from you, he wanted to see you, even just in a photo of whatever you were doing right now. He needed to have anything from you because he was worried but each time he tried to phrase it, it sounded as if he was trying to order you around.

A cawing from above dragged Jons eyes up, a narrowed squint in the sun at the sight of the large, exotic birds now making their home in the skies above his station. She had brought them over from Essos, apparently not aware that their feeding needs were a drain on their food resources with no offer to make up for it. But it all felt lackluster to Jon. You had slept in the apartment every night for days but you may as well have been gone from Jons life.

Robb had said you were being kept busy handling issues having arisen from the very woman walking about his station with her unnerving watchful eyes towards him. It was rare part of Jon wished he followed Robb and Theon into the familys work. They at least partially got to keep in touch with you, whereas whenever Jon was on duty he was isolated here with no way of reaching out to you if you were too busy.

Four days he hadn’t seen you and he missed you. He wanted to see your beautiful face again, hear your voice murmuring quietly as you both laid facing one another in his bed right before Jon would decide he wanted to take you one more time. Gods did he miss that. As if the interruption that morning had set him on edge. He wanted you in his arms, to kiss you until you would whine at how much he refused to let you breath. He needed to pry your legs open and drink from you for so long you’d forget anything not his touch. And right when he was finished, would Jon finally slide inside of you, knowing you’d be so sensitive by then.

Sex was never really important to Jon before you, but now it felt as if it was the easiest way Jon and you could open up to one another. You gave yourself to him as much as he did you, and all of your uncertainties or insecurities were gone when he had you like that. Jon missed the feeling so pure in his heart that he’d struggle to withhold his desire to tell you how much he loves you. He missed all of it, and the voice which joined him did not add well to his agitated state.

“Wonderful aren’t they?” Coming up to his side she braced her hands on the railing to the point Jon couldn’t help but notice how close she stood. Gazing up at the birds she continued as if Jon said anything. “In Essos they say these are the last living descendants of the dragons of Valyria.” One separated from the other two, more blueish in colour and strange looking like the others as if covered in scales. “That one is Rhaegal. I named him for my eldest brother. That one too, the small one. Viserion, I named after my other brother once he passed.” Jon only giving an apology for it as she only seemed to smile to the sky. “The last one with the black colouring, Drogon. Named after my late husband.”

Again, what Jon could say was very little. “I’m sorry. Losing your partner couldn’t have been easy.”

Inhaling with more of a knowing smirk. She only replied in a tone suggesting something Jon had yet to pick up on. “I appreciate your kindness. But it was some years ago now. Eventually we all move on from the ones we love, finding it somewhere else we don’t expect.” Her eyes which Jon did notice, looked down to his phone first and then him. “I was considering taking a walk up above on the Wall, I would be grateful to have someone to knows their way around.”

Jon tensed up, and if she sensed it, she clearly did not care. “It’s a straight path one end to the other, I’m sure your guard can manage.” Yet she persisted.

“I could speak to your Lord Commander about requesting an escort, but since you are already right here and clearly not doing anything.” She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Her eyes glanced to his phone once more before Jon relented. Were she to go to Mormont, he’d assign Jon anyways he already knew. There was no point in delaying it.

More then once when she would wish to step closer to the open gaps, as if he should’ve already known better, she would extend her hand out as if needing him to guide her up the small steps and back down. The smile each time Jon continued to not enjoy, but he had to only get through this day and it would be over.

Only it went on and on. Daenerys found every reason to force Jon to her side and considering his position, no one questioned it. He was second in command next to Mormont so it made sense that he would be showing her around. Only a willing guide may have looked far less on edge then Jon had.

By the time he had walked into the main building the next morning however, Mormont informed him that she had requested he be her personal guide the remainder of her visit as she travelled also to the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch by the Sea. “It will be a week long trip, and you will receive a fortnight off afterwards to make up for it.”

Yet Jon could sense there was something else coming, if by the way Alliser Thorne were looking at him with eyes amused in a maliciousness. Before Jons dreading heart even had the chance to ask, did the man answer for him. “You will be with her day and night until she returns.”

Quickly Jon felt his heart begin to beat a little more painfully, his voice a strained rasp as he attempted to hide such a feeling behind a sternness that no doubt was not bought. “Lord Commander, I’m not comfortable with-”

And yet, the Old Bear did what he did best. Shut things down to get to the point. “I don’t care if you’re comfortable. I care about playing nice with a politician long enough to get her out of our hair. I suggest you go home now to pack whatever you may need, she wants to begin her tour as soon as she arrives. You’ll be fine, she’s taken a liking to you.”

What protest could Jon give, this was his duty. He knew whatever he said would not be convincing but he had to try anyways. “That’s my problem, Lord Commander. I’m not the right person for this, I have a-” He couldn’t even get out the word girlfriend before Thorne had picked it up and thrown him right out the door metaphorically.

“Unless she’s your wife, it isn’t serious enough to get out of this.” Jon could feel his muscles twitch wanting to say something, anything to change their minds. But they dismissed him before he could come up with it.

Gathering his jacket he had just sat at his desk, he looked up to Sam having just arrived. Swallowing down a heaviness in his throat that he could not allow to come out here of all places. “What’s wrong with you?”

Wide eyes forcing into a furrowed brow to pack his stuff that he may need from here. “Mormont has me bringing Daenerys around the Wall for the week to show her around.” Sam didn’t quite pick it up at first why it would make Jon this on edge, even asking as such what the problem was when Jons head shot up looking with a glare, and an exasperation in his voice. “What’s the problem? I can’t get this woman to leave me alone since she’s been here, she wants me at her side all the time and on top of that beacuse she’s even here, I haven’t seen or heard from my own girlfriend in days because it’s kept her so busy. And now I have to spend an entire week with her away from my girl, because she couldn’t just pick any other man in this building.”

Almost taken back, Sam let Jons anger steam until he stood up ready to leave, a defeated look coming more back into his wider eyes now as his breathing returned to normal. Your name passed from his lips, only straining Jons heart more. “You didn’t ask for this, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Morose was the only thing Sam would be able to ascribe to Jons tone. “She’ll understand, just not in the way I want her to.” Before any other words could be shared, Jon adjusted the hold on his jacket before passing Sam with a tap on the arm. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I need to grab Longclaw and go pack.”

Not that Jon had known it, but it wasn’t much later when the Targaryean in question had arrived. Sam had an advantage, he was always looked over as the fat one and thus some people in power tended to underestimate him. In the dining hall, Sam had been leaving to drop something off to Pyp when he heard Jons name. Looking up subtly, he saw the Targaryean speaking to her assistant. Their appearances vastly different, her silver hair and pale skin with dark clothes contrasted to the other womans appearance entirely. “And you’re sure?”

The other woman nodded. “I am. He has reported that they live in the same home on the Stark property.”

The silver haired Targaryean nodded with a frustrated grimace. “So we won’t be getting anyone in there anytime soon, I imagine. That should be fine for right now. What was it Daario said, that I have a temping way with men?” Both woman laughed almost as if simply sharing gossip. “You watch, my friend. A week with me and maybe I will find out if wolves are as hot blooded as they say.” The other woman asked about you, making Sam feel that much more alert and urgent. “Grey Worm assured me they will be able to keep her busy. That’s one less part of the country to win over if I can take the Starks right out of her hands. You know how these people work, if I can get even one public kiss then that will sway the masses easily.”

The other woman seemed to begun to look not as if she agreed. “I presumed this was about your interest in him alone?”

“I am far more interested in keeping him away from her for the time being then I am anything else. Any other pleasures which may come as a result of the week with him are simply a bonus.” Not even the Targaryeans assistant looked comfortable, but no doubt held back that thought whatsoever.

By then, if they thought Sam was listening they would’ve said something, but they didn’t. He walked right by as the Targaryean gave him no mind. Getting to his desk almost in a rush, Sam looked through his phone only to find that he had no one in his contacts which were of use. Jon wouldn’t pick up before coming back here he knew, but he needed someone to know. Writing a note, Sam looked to Jons desk next to him.

Ruffling through his drawers, Sam could have almost laughed at what he found were he not in a bit of a rush. All well put together, save for his top drawer, with a variety of printed out photos all placed specifically to be seen. Many of he and his siblings and father at various points in their lives all together, one Sam could only guess was from the day Jon first got Ghost, newer ones clearly out far north with the free folk, but two sat right on the top. Ones which Jon would’ve seen each time should he open the drawer.

Both were photos of you and him. The first was before anything happened between you. Sam remembered the story when Jon told it to him one day. Your nameday was coming up and all of your family was going to be in Kings Landing for an event and they had forgotten that you had tried to make plans to have a dinner together with them to celebrate for once. You told Jon about it, he noted almost in passing, and so Jon had gone out of his way.

Calling your work as you hadn’t yet begun working from home, to tell them he needed them to give you at least 4 days off. Managing to talk your superiors way into delegating it a paid leave so it didn’t cut into your actual vacation or sick days. He had brought you out to part of the wolfswood which had cliffs and trails and lakes and rivers for days on end where you’d encounter no one else. A small camping trip just you, Jon, and Ghost. Jon had clearly set his camera up to take the photo automatically. The evening sky against a lake was in the background as you both sat in front of a fire. Ghost lay across your legs, but you sat right back against Jons chest. Your arms hidden by the large sleeves of your sweater, but Jons were wrapped around your front. Both of you in the middle of laughing. And that was before you got together.

The other Sam recognized, it was much like Jons lock screen but from a different time in the photos automatically taken. This one showed Jon hovering over you much more intimately, one hand in your hair behind your head, the other wrapped around your back pulling you up into him. Your hands grasping at his shoulders, but Jon had you firmly trapped against him in what was clearly a passionate kiss. Nothing about it was inappropriate, but to Jon, clearly it felt a photo that was very intimate. He had delegated that drawer to only very important things and rarely did Sam see Jon put things in it, but that was why.

His brothers and sisters, his father, his friends, and you. The most important things and Sam suddenly looked back at where he had known the Targaryean was even if he couldn’t see her. Clearly she knew you in some way, and wanted to take Jon from you. Sam had no doubt Jon would never do anything, but it sounded as if she would try to make something happen between them and he did not know what lengths she may go to to achieve that. So far, she seemed entirely untrustworthy. So as Sam left the note just sticking out enough from that drawer Jons keen eyes would notice it, did Sam too turn his computer on.

He had a lot to write out to Gilly and no patience to type it all on a phone. But if this Targaryean wanted eyes on her and Jon, she too seemed to imply she had eyes watching you. Which means he would need to have someone far less known and far more inconspicuous to help.

Sam could only wonder though, how did you two know each other to the degree she seemed to be planning to seduce your boyfriend into her bed as if to get back at you for something.

It was the worst possible timing. Jon barley managing to pack the basics for a week, distracted the whole time since no one was home when he got back. Writing out a message for Robb, he had put it on the kitchen counter with his bag now sitting on top of the table, with a plan to call you pretty much until he got back to Castle Black to tell you. He didn’t know how he missed it, but it almost startled his heart from his chest when he heard it behind him.

“What’s this?”

Turning around with wide eyes, Jon felt horrible. Not now, he thought. Don’t make him rush out of the door right now for this. Your hands were perched against the empty door frame looking between he and the bag with eyes he could only describe as close to breaking. You looked so exhausted and instantly Jon realized why, you had been sleeping at your desk, only passing out in the middle of working when you couldn’t keep your eyes open. But you either had a small bit today to come home, or Jon hadn’t even realized you were still here when he left, and you just had to be wearing that shirt. His Nights Watch shirt that you looked so beautiful in.

But clearing his throat, Jon felt such guilt in doing this now. “Mormont assigned me a job that will take me away for a week.” Asking if it was north, he felt so much worse. “No, it uh..Daenerys Targaryean has been visiting the Wall..” You didn’t have any change in reaction and Jon knew that was a withholding of dread in your heart. “And she requested me specifically to...accompany her in her tour of the different stations for the week.”

All you said, was a quiet little, “Oh.”

Jon truly hated this, he hadn’t seen you in days but he had to leave now, he was late as it was. “Darling-”

Your interruption was heartbreaking, “No, no. Your duty is important, Jon. I shouldn’t keep you.” Jon knew you wanted him to think you meant keep him waiting, but he had a horrible feeling you really meant something else. Calling your name gently Jon just managed to grasp at your waist to turn you to him.

Looking down at you, he grappled with what time he had. Not enough. “He sprung it on me only this morning. Once I’m back I’ll have a fortnight off though. To make it up to you.”

He knew what this was, and why you said it this way but he was desperate for you to not do this. “There isn’t anything you’d need to make up for with me. I’d never keep you from doing what you want.” Oh he really felt ill, whatever you were thinking was going to happen, he more firmly asked you if you thought he’d do anything like that but your answer was so horrible he felt his heart cracking into pieces. “The last thing I want is for you to feel chained to me.” Pulling away from him, Jon tried and failed to get you to come back close. “Dany is rich and beautiful, you’ll have fun spending time with her. Lost of men always did. I’ve kept enough of your time.”

Jon tried grabbing you and calling your name. Following your retreating figure you closed the door before he could get to you. Mouth slightly agape, Jon felt something truly sickening. Twisting his stomach and rising up to burn away at his heart and lungs. He was going away for a week on a miserable work job, but something about your reaction looked like you knew something he didn’t.

Muttering your name, Jon was alright if you didn’t respond. He just wanted you to hear him. “I love you. I know it’s too soon but..I just need you to know that.” If Jon listened any more closely, he felt a sting behind his eyes at the realization that you hadn’t moved from the door. You likely had your back against it, having slid down to the floor and all Jon could hear was the possibility of you hiding your head in your arms as if trying to smother the want to cry.

Forced to walk out to his car without even having you in his arms for even a moment, Jon sat in the front seat for a moment. Jaw clenched and the sting in his eyes mixing with anger. Every gods forsaken boyfriend you’ve ever had treated you so horribly that just the idea of Jon spending a week with someone like Daenerys Targaryean had you convinced you’d lose him. And worse you didn’t even act like you’d blame him for it.

He was glad no one was around to see the way he threw something harsh into part of the inside of his car in anger. Realizing why this felt so sickening in his heart. You weren’t treating this like something may happen on his work trip away. You were treating this, as if once Jon comes home, he’d be done with you without question.

You were treating this like it was already a breakup.

The constant buzzing around the building was tedious at the best of times. It had been years and years since you worked anywhere near here but you had been thrown right back into it as if you hadn’t purposely left this job. But you were part of the family, and thus you were given no choice. Though in a truth, you knew there were reasons you were more on edge here then usual. You simply had not gone home in many nights. The small couch in what was designated your office again, had housed you as each late night gave you no incentive to wish to go home.

For most of the week you had gone home, Robb had both been a blessing and a companion in misery. He suddenly had his job and his fathers all on his plate as Ned was working directly with Robert. For the first while, Robb had taken up taking you to and from work. Shutting you down when you insisted he not go out of his way, but you knew Robb could see the exhaustion and stress in your eyes clear as day.

At first it was comforting, having someone you’ve known for so much of your life there for you but eventually you stopped wanting it. The closer your father came to telling you he was going to bring you back to Kings Landing the more you started to realize you didn’t know how to say no. So you told Robb you were needed at earlier hours then he’d wake up, and that your father would have a driver bring you home so Robb didn’t have to go out of his way anymore.

And then you stopped going home, and stopped answering Robbs calls and messages. You were going to have to go back alone to Kings Landing soon anyways, you may as well get used to this loneliness now then later. But that wasn’t the only thing keeping you from being home, and you knew Robb had picked up on it too.

Whispers of Daenerys Targaryeans arrival had gotten around and soon followed photos online of interest. She was exactly as you remembered. Her luscious silver hair and immaculate wardrobe, the brightness of her Valyrian beauty something all wanted to catch a glimpse of, but it was never photos of her alone. You recognized what appeared to be a normal entourage of people around her but too was the early talk around her, a so far publically unidentified man close to her side.

The difficulty came though in that you had known you saw pictures like this before. Photos sent to you from a friend whom had seen Ramsay around with a girl named Myranda just like this only to be told by him it was nothing. Yet when you had begun to sleep with him, he revealed the truth that he was seeing her too and you were going to have to either live with it, or step things up to convince him to stay with you alone. You had not been worthy of giving any attention individually, you had not the worth and he was sure to teach you that.

Telling you one night, “Most men won’t stay with you. They’ll find pretty girls just like Myranda and fuck them until they realize the first one they dated just isn’t cutting it anymore.” He had unsettlingly traced his thumb down your cheek, jaw and down your neck with pale blue eyes scouring you with a falsehood you didn’t know how to tell if it was real or not. “I’d recommend listening to what I tell you to do from now on. Afterall, love, you just aren’t good enough to keep a man tied down to you alone. If you didn’t have me, the next man you date would just toss you away one day for a prettier and better version of you.”

You didn’t understand. Jon had told you that Ramsay and even Karl had been using you for sex, and you believed that then and now. All they wanted to do was have sex and never do anything else. Jon and you did plenty of things, but then you sat there, hands hovering over the keyboard unmoving. Jon was also very physical with you, quite so. You had asked him to be sure if all he wanted to do was have sex, and he said he wanted all of it.

Did all of it just mean sexually? Did you make yourself a fool thinking the romance would stay? Were you not giving yourself over physically enough to keep him interested?

The most recent photo was from the night before. Spotted at a small restaurant in the Gift, clearly much of the area had been closed off for her and thus photo were taken out of interest. A beautiful dress on her that you couldn’t afford in many lifetimes with hair which must have taken hours. Of course she looked better then you ever would, you sat at your desk with messy hair thrown back into a braid and dark circles under your eyes.

Naturally some did not question the circumstances, he was her guide here as his duty of course he would be polite and respectable about her wishes, but you looked at the photo again and again. The way she looked quite naturally close and cozy attached to his arm. There was not a world in which you would understand why Jon would have anything but a good time. She was so much more glamorous, rich, and powerful at his side.

You normally worked a calmer job from home, and had far too much baggage for him then he deserved. What made it worse, was a message which appeared on screen from Gendry. That very photo with the message only containing a rather angry ask of what was he looking at, only with a few more expletives thrown in for colour. Good, you thought sarcastically. Other people were about to start seeing it.

Hardly any outside of the Starks or Jons circles even knew about he and you yet. The first woman of meaning they’d see by his side was her. You looked horrid in comparison. People would look down on Jon for going from her to you.

Another message from Gendry, then one from Arya. By the time you got the same photo and kind of message from Loras of all people did you turn your computer off. Elbows propped on the table and hanging your head into your hands with a deep sigh. Any other women would be angry, mad, offended, but you should’ve simply seen this coming. You gave Jon what he wanted, and expected too much in return. That wasn’t his fault, that was simply yours.

As you ascended the steps to the main door, you could only contemplate how you even got here. It felt like a blur, as if only moments ago did you turn the computer at your desk off. But walking in, it had yet to get busy. An open seat right by the corner of the bar, you sat down. Barley registering what you had ordered, only that it was as bitter going down as you needed. You didn’t even bother pulling your phone out to entertain yourself.

What were you going to do? Avoid worried messages from Robb telling you to either come home already or call him? Wait to see what other photos would arise? Jon looked cordial in them but how long until he looked like he was having fun, how long until he was giving Dany the looks you wished for so long he would give you? How long until he sent you a message telling you that this was not going to work anymore?

Men always boasted that she was good in bed, and she was always good at tempting men she wanted into her bed in return. At least someone would give him a pleasurable time other then him always having to take the reins with you. You knew nothing compared to what she did, why would he want to stay with that after she could show him how much better being with her felt?

You’d ask worried how long until that happened, but then you felt that dark wave of fear that maybe it already did. Within an instant, you downed the ale before ordering another. It was straight forward with Karl and Ramsay. They told you what to do, what they wanted or expected and would just take it when you didn’t get the message. You never knew what Jon wanted, and clearly guessing had not worked out.

Ramsay was upfront for most of your relationship that he would fuck other women. If that’s what Jon wanted to do, you wished he would be honest and tell you. You’d understand. He was a man, he had needs and you weren’t talented or good or pretty enough to fulfill them. This is why you never wanted Jon to know about how you felt. You knew you weren’t good enough, that you would ruin the friendship you both already had.

How much had you drunk at that point? You need not stand up yet and find out.

Jon had yet to have a single moment to himself from the very instant he opened his eyes. She needed this or that, ordered one thing or another from him or simply would change her mind and have him escort her somewhere. She was, for all intents and purposes, his boss currently. Or at least, she was certainly ordering him around like she was. He apparently had no choice here as much as he couldn’t refuse an order from Lord Commander Mormont if she had anything to say about him telling her no.

She had wanted to go to a specific restaurant, and as utterly uncomfortable as Jon felt, when she asked him to sit and join he had refused initially. Only to have a more narrow eyed look with a smile that felt judging with a tone filled with less room for interpretation. “It is bad manners to refuse a ladies offer.” The stare off lasted around five long and painful seconds before he begrudgingly sat down. Nearly refusing any offer of food for drink at her expense, stating he was fine while picking at whatever too upscale appetizer she ordered for him.

The only easier moments were with the waitress, a young girl, likely around Aryas age in over her head at the degree of upscale done for the Targaryean. She would take her orders with a nervousness but seemed at least to relax at Jons ease with her. Ensuring as long as she came around often enough to refill his water, she had nothing to worry about with him. Daenerys had her team pay by cheque.

Jon had caught the young waitress his way out, giving her a gold coin specifically for her good job. It was the only real smile anyone had given him in days as she thanked him.

Now though? Jon could hear voices muffled outside his door even through the noise and walls with his keen hearing. Soon enough his only chance at quiet would be interrupted, but Jon was begging for it to wait until he could finish showering. Or, at least finish his illusion of showering. Towel long since around his waist as he let the hot water keep running to steam the bulk of the room, Jon leaned against the counter picking up his phone.

If he had one fundamental flaw, it was he had no idea how to handle issues like this in most forms not in person. Not even over the phone was ideal, but you didn’t answer his call. Not that he blamed you. Photos begun going around online and it was painting Jon out to look like he of all people was treading into the path of being unfaithful. But Jon didn’t know how to text you about it either, he knew he didn’t come off well in text.

A few more days, thats all he told himself. He would be back with you in a few more days and he would fix everything then. A knock at the main door had him rising his head up, but Jon made no move to go answer it. It was late, he wanted time to himself, she would survive without his company. He didn’t even understand why she wanted to spend time with him, he barley spoke to her if she didn’t require an answer.

Swiping through his photo gallery, one then the next, then the next. You hated having your photo taken but always managed to be talked into letting him at any point. Jon could admit to himself with a ghost of a smile painting across his face that he took his best photos when he’d set his camera up to take them automatically as he kissed you. The one he had looked at in the moment, he had sat his phone against something as if moving it out of the way before coming up and wrapping his arms around your front, his own lips finding your neck as you leaned into his touch.

So many with you Jon could look at until he passed out, he missed you terribly, and he hated that he had to leave while you were still clearly so upset. Every night when he fell asleep in a bed not his, he too felt angry that you weren’t curled up in his chest. Jon was practically spoiled with how often you slept in his bed, hell Jon felt alone without the inevitable feeling of Ghost hopping up onto the end of the bed and curling up around both of your feet.

Only finding it in him just then to contemplate turning the water off and attempting to call you one more time before passing out, did he get an email. From Gilly of all people. Opening one, the subject line left empty did she send him photos of articles.

Another email, more photos of articles and names he somewhat recognized. Another email with more personal photos as if scanned from a book online. But it was the last one that had Jon swiftly turning the water off with eyes narrowed. Face tensed as he looked at the final article photos she sent him.

If any noticed, they said nothing. The falsehood in the smile Daenerys was giving him and the stiff attempt at remaining neutral in Jon the next morning. “We had wondered what happened to you last night. You didn’t answer your door.”

Hardly looking as Jon stood somewhat in front of them all fiddling with his own credentials, they had finally arrived last night in time for her tour of the Shadow Tower and he wanted to get her in there and distracted as quickly as possible. Mumbling out, “I fell asleep after I had a shower. Must not have heard you.”

Not making any eye contact, Jon gestured with a nod for them all to simply follow him. By the time they arrived, with merely one look at him did Jon know that his demeanour was even more off put then it normally was. Most were trying to be polite, but with the wave over for him to come up to speak to him, Jon simply directed them to follow Dareon as he swiftly made his way up the stairs. That time he felt her eyes watching him, but he didn’t care as he shut the door behind him.

Rummaging through the cabinet behind his desk before turning did Qhorin Halfhand let out a far more natural tone then he greeted the party with. “One bloody foreign politician shows up and suddenly we’re expected to bend over backwards to kiss her ass.” Letting the glasses thud against his desk, he didn’t even need to ask Jon to sit while he begun pouring the amber liquid Jon hoped was strong. “Whose idea was this anyways?”

Grabbing his with a thankful nod, Jon muttered with a frustration. “Mormont. His son is her advisor, Jorah. I think he’s trying to use it as a way to make amends but he’s just thrown me into the fire this time.” A laugh came out that Jon understood but didn’t quite appreciate as he just took another far larger sip, holding back the wince as it burned down his throat.

“She looks like she fancies you.” Jon only grunted from within his chest, his eyes dark and expression twisting into something akin to a frown. “Too bad for her, she’s in the North. Most men I know born and raised up here aren’t quite into whatever they have going on.” If Jon had the capacity to laugh he would’ve. That certainly was true. Those of the North were never normally looked at as the attractive culture of the country and if any were as far from what they were like or looked like it was the Targaryean. By the time the Halfhand found his word again, Jon knew he had to tackle this now while he had someone alone who could help. “You’re trapped with her for a week? Doesn’t Mormont know you have a girl?”

“I don’t know, but she does.” Looking at him in question, he leaned forward with his arms on the desk in curiosity as Jon elaborated with your name on his lips. “She was going to school in Kings Landing, and went over to Essos for a few months for some special program. Apparently they paired students up with people to live with over there that should match in lifestyle.” The Halfhand putting together the indications that you had been moved in with Daenerys Targaryean.

Jon recalled when he got back, Sam leaving a note that said to stay distant from her until certain information was found. Which he had no idea what that had meant until then night prior. How Gilly found all of this, he had no idea as he continued. “Her brother Viserys lived there too.” Once again your name coming out, albeit with far more of a strain the man before him could sense was rather protective. “He took an interest in her, wouldn’t leave her alone. Was at her side day and night always trying to get close as possible to the point some people thought they were together.”

Recalling the report filed with both local officials and schooling records, he suspected that Gilly may or may not have gotten access to things she normally shouldn’t have, but Jon told himself to remember to thank her for it. For finding something you had never told him about, but now more then ever seemed to be needed. According to your written and spoken statements, Viserys had convinced you on a night you felt homesick out to a club. You hadn’t drunk much but you do remember that one of which he had ordered from the bar for you and brought your way, all without you seeing.

Medical reports attached showed traces of Shade of the Evening in your system. You had said you did not take anything like that, but refused to point the finger at Viserys because if you were wrong you thought it would be a horrible accusation. The official you spoke to had pointed out what they already had on record of what he had done as to try and convince you of a truth you still refused to accept. Feeling not right, you had found yourself dragged to a more secluded hallway where Viserys has tried to-

Jon had cut himself off on that one as the Halfhand filled in those details. Saying your name, “What’s all this now then have to do with her? Miss Silver Hair out there not like that a girl reported her brother for being a raper?” Jon heavily swallowed down any thoughts about that, it didn’t go that far he knew, but dare he tread into what else he had learned of your time with men since.

Rasping out after taking a final sip, before handing the glass over to the Halfhand waving for him to get it refilled for his own sake. “He never got charged for anything. He and his sister were rich and they got him dropped of charges.” Directing back to you, “When she was put on a ship back home, apparently someone had let it out that Daenerys helped to hide what he did, and they kicked her out school for it. And apparently she blames her for it still.”

“So now she’s trying to steal you to get back at her.” Nodding begrudgingly, Jon hated that in your eyes, that plan was working. He felt ill thinking what you could be worrying he had done already, or what he would have to do to prove he never would betray you like that. “Well, she’s here for two days then you have barley any more alone with her to get back to Castle Black. Suppose in her mind that’s plenty of time to charm you. What did your girl have to say about all this?”

The dark frown growing on Jon was immense. “She’s been busy with her Uncle’s campaign against Daenerys, and even beyond that I think she’s afraid to pick up my calls.” Asking why, Jon answered with a heavy weight in his throat. “In case she does, and I’m only calling to break up with her.” Almost in an instant Jon nearly downed the second refill in one large go. “She was dating this abusive-” He cut himself off before he let that anger get him too carried away. “And a little before him she had been dating Karl Tanner.”

The looks shared between men spoke volumes. “Tough girl you’ve got. Making her way out of that mans life and then another? That isn’t easy.” It was easier to see where Jons struggle was coming from, and why from here he felt trapped from being able to do anything. “Sounds like you need someone to go talk her into her senses. Who from up here does she know?”

One plan set, and the next came in the form of Jons only last question. “What do I do in the meantime?

“Your job. Nothing more, nothing less. Get her out of our gods forsaken hair, and yours for that matter. As long as you don’t trip and fall naked into her bed, I don’t see what you’ve got to worry about.” A more firm voice coming out, catching his eyes. “Snow. Stop worrying. We’re brothers, all of us. You’ve had our backs more times then I can count, we can have yours this once.”

Though, being brothers meant they did not go without getting on each others nerves. “One more question, Snow.” Turning with his hand still braced on the doorknob, Jon could already sense the irritation based on the jesting brightness in the Halfhands face. “How long’s it been since you and your girl have fucked? Haven’t seen you this wound up since your first year here.”

Jon almost didn’t answer, with a more flat glare though he grumbled out, “Too long.” Which was the real answer of almost a fortnight. Considering though, a fortnight passed into Jons relationship with you he had fucked you nearing twice a day, this was starting to feel like a true torture. A torture made worse everytime he noticed her staring at him, now realizing that he was just a pawn to get back at you.

He didn’t want her to want him in the first place, but now he was angry. Using him to break your heart all for something her own brother tried to do to you in the first place. He’d only ever met one, but already he hated that family to his core.

You didn’t pick up when Jon tried calling you then already, or that night, but he had to trust the Halfhand to help with you. He just didn’t realize by the time the one sent to talk to you was going to find you at a bar in that state. Each night he reminded himself how long. But before he had reached his hotel bed the night before beginning the days long journey back to Castle Black, did he get a call from Robb, pretty unbelievably angry with him.

Leading up to that call though, one would have to go all the way back to the bar you sat in hours before. The low rumbling voice coming to your side held a laugh that nearly caught you off guard, as did his size. “How’s someone your size stay conscious with that much in you?” Nudging at your arm as he took a seat did you meaninglessly try to swat at him back.

Little thought came out of your mouth as you didn’t even bother to greet him. “What are you doing here, Tormund?”

Ordering something for himself, he shrugged which hardly passed your notice. Eyes presently trained on the wood of the bar. “Thought I’d come out. Have a drink with a beautiful woman.”

Eyes rolling somewhat to the side did you mumble, “I repeat. What are you doing here then?” That time the nudge was much more noticeable then before. Only saying he was here to check on you, your eyes narrowing as you whipped your head to the side to look at him suspiciously, not quite aware it was coming off more adorable then intimidating. “I left work not telling anyone where I was going. How did you know to find me here?”

The answer gave your insides a little bit of a sobering jolt in sorrow. “Jon mentioned he and you used to come here all the time. Seemed an easy guess.” That time you on a true spree of questions asked why he was looking for you and the answer was just as unpleasantly whirling in your stomach. “Got a call from that half handed cunt at the Shadow Tower, said Snow’s pretty on edge that you haven’t spoken to him in over a week.”

Your hands twitched as if to go grab your phone, forcing it to remain in your bag. For now. “I don’t know what to say to him.” Asking almost incredulously that meant you chose to just ignore him, you felt a tinge of annoyance creeping through the anxiety. “We can talk about if he wants me to stay or not when he comes back, I don’t want to have that conversation over the phone.”

Grumbling out, were you not drunk you may have picked up the amusement instead of judgment you interpreted it as. “You think he wants to get rid of you?”

“It isn’t a matter of getting rid of me or not. If he’s bored of me, that isn’t his fault.”

Tormund was quiet for more then a good few seconds. Still difficult to pick up his tone, but you also didn’t even notice his freedom to reach inside your bag and grab your phone as he spoke. “As long as I’ve known him, he’s been stupid in love with you. Watched you date shit bag after shit bag and refusing to make a damned move whenever I told him to. Something about not wanting to take advantage of you when you were vulnerable.” Turning a little, you at least could see the partial sight of his wild orange hair in the low bar light. “Now I knew Karl Tanner, means I know the kind of shit he’d have put you through. Your crow doesn’t even know the half of it does he?”

Slowly you shook your head as a heat begun forming behind your face in a rather unwelcome way.

“If you told him the truth about that, he’d run day and night to come back right now-” Cutting him off you told him that wasn’t the only thing you weren’t honest about. “Alright, fess up.” Telling him a rather drunk version of the events, Tormund whistled out by the end of it. “You have a great habit of trying to surround yourself with the worst shits I’ve ever known.”

Continuing on, you hardly noticed his jest. “As soon as he told me who he was going to be with, I just knew what would happen. I knew Dany. She’s beautiful, rich, charming every single man I met in Pentos adored her. There wasn’t anyone who she couldn’t get into her bed and I always knew why. She was everything men dream of having all in one woman. She’d be perfect for him. She looks perfect at his side. And I know she’d figure out Jon was with me, and she knows she’s better for him then I ever could be. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s in her bed right now. Doesn’t take most men this long.”

Unbeknownst to you it was rather ill feeling to other people at how little blame you placed on Jon in this imagined scenario. You’d refute every ounce of guilt he could be accused of beacuse of men like Ramsay and Karl. In your eyes, you were unattractive and broken, Dany was beautiful and perfect. Jon probably took one look at her and gave her those wide and bright eyes you for so long wished could be directed towards you just once.

“Then why is all he can talk about when you’re not there, you?” Brows furrowing you shrugged while turning more away, curling a bit in on yourself. “Ever since you two got together, all he can focus on is you. If he’s not with you, he’s talking about you. If he’s not talking about you, he’s obsessing over you. And if he’s not doing any of that, then he’s probably busy getting off thinking about you. Hates talking about you with other men in any way. If this girl is what he wants, then why in seven hells is he so obsessed with you every second of the day?”

If you were entirely truthful, you had always thought Jon was exaggerating when he said he told his friends a lot about you. You assumed when he wasn’t with you, you were barley in his head. That’s what Ramsay and Karl were like, it was what you were used to. “Before he left, through the door he told me he loved me.” Tormund gave you the silent space to think. “He’s never said that before. We’ve never said it before. But he told me before he left and I didn’t say it back. I hadn’t seen him in days, I didn’t understand why he’d tell me when he was leaving for even more.”

More quiet then usual he asked, “A man ever tell you that before?” Shaking your head no, you refused to acknowledge the sting behind your eyes. “You are a mess if I’ve ever seen one before.”

Muttering with a bit more amusement peeking through, “You know all the proper words to flatter a girl, don’t you?” That time you nudged his side back as much as he did you. The thoughts simmering in your head for a little while until they came out calm. “I don’t know how to do this. Normal relationships, let alone when the one I’m with is my best friend. I’ve never been in one that wasn’t so horrible, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act with Jon if he doesn’t tell me.”

“And he’s not going to know how to talk that out with you, if you keep your damned mouth shut about every problem in your pretty little head. He comes back in what? In a day or two? Just wait until he comes back before trying to push him away all over again. Let him choose to do that this time, you’ve had your fun.” He was being hyperbolic at the words of fun, but you understood his position. “Now,” Slamming your phone onto the table between you both, “Who the fuck can you call at this hour to pick you up?”

By the time you were outside, the cool night air was somewhat comforting in your lungs. Leaning against the much larger Tormund for support you felt the need to fall asleep coming. Eyes jolting open each time they were tempted too. At the sight of headlights, you felt a relief as if he wouldn’t have come. You had figured by now your attitude would’ve driven Robb from wanting to put up with you, but it wasn’t the case.

The concerned and gentle way he handled you was more comforting then you had thought it would be, that at least he hadn’t written you off entirely just yet.

Whatever it was that was said between Tormund and Robb you didn’t really know, almost falling asleep Robb had just picked you up by then. “Last thing you need on top of everything is a concussion” All you remembered was by the time Robb sat you carefully in the passenger seat did you drift off to sleep.

Robb carried you into the house, gently resting you down on the couch on your side. Grabbing a fur to cover you wish as Ghost came scurrying out of Jons room over to your side. “Come on now, give her space.” Whining, the direwolf rested his head on the couch looking at you as Greywind came up to nudge Ghost as if comforting him.

Debating what he wanted to do, stay here and make sure you didn’t throw up in your sleep or finally say a word or two to more then one persons. Telling Ghost and Greywind to come get him if anything happened, Robb went outside. First thing was first, then Robb called his brother and it likely was the first time in along time he chewed him out for something with an actual anger.

On the other side, Jon stood almost taken back in the middle of his hotel room that Robb had called him in the near middle of the night to yell at him without even so much as a greeting. “Sometimes I have no idea what runs through your head.” Trying to ask what he was even talking about, Robb only cut him off not even before reaching the end of the sentence bringing up your name. “Everything she’s been through the last few months, no the last year and you start pulling this sort of thing? What is wrong with you?”

Face twisting into his own taken back offence, Jons tone dropped beginning to match in the frustration. “Do you want to be more specific?”

But it was you again, of course if was you. Jon felt haunted by your lack of presence. “After Tanner, after Ramsay we all waited to see if you’d actually do anything finally. You made a move and we were all proud until you pulled all of this. She’s never even been in a relationship with someone that wasn’t a piece of shit and the second things got even the slightest bit difficult, you took off for a whole week.”

Blood rising in intensity in his veins Jon felt his muscles tensing with nothing to let it out on showing in the sharp edge to his shortness. “I didn’t ask for this, Robb. I was assigned to it, I had no choice-”

Not having a second of it, Robb was far firmer then Jon was growing angry. “You did. If you said no, did you really think Mormont of all people would what? Discharge you? Demote you? Of all people? No, things with her got tough, you didn’t know what to do to fix it, so you ran. And worse, you ran off to the side of the very woman making her life hell in the first place. How do you think seeing photos of her with you day in and out is making her feel?” Almost in a stunned sense for a moment, it gave Robb room to continue. “I had to pick her up from a bar tonight, did you know that? She was so drunk she couldn’t even stand on her own, she passed out the moment I got her into the car.”

On Jons end, suddenly an ill, blackening poison grew from within his stomach at the thought. He had assumed you wouldn’t have spiralled this hard, and Robb was clearly irate at the fact as he had to watch the rest of it. “Is she-”

“She’s asleep right now. I called father, told him he needs to put his foot down to Robert about dragging her back into all of this, because either shes drowning in work she hates or drowning in her thoughts all alone. There’s no excuse this time. When you come home you fix this, you’re not the only one who cares this much about her.” It was Robbs next words though that hit Jon somewhere deep in a much more slashing strike. “But I’m not the one who ran away from my struggling, traumatized girlfriend the second things got difficult. I’m picking up the pieces you’re causing. Daenerys Targaryean isn’t your girlfriend and she isn’t your boss. Set some fucking boundaries, Snow.”

Hardly a few words Jon got in before Robb hung up. It had been a long time since the two brothers ever argued like that, and he didn’t quite know how to feel right away. Yet the more he thought about it, the more Jon realized he was right. Jon hadn’t tried to fix things. He’s argued against the Lord Commanders orders more then that before on less, he should’ve learned letting either of you walk out the door without talking a problem out only made it worse. And knowing what he knew now, Jon knew he did wrong by not being far more firm towards Daenerys about him not being interested.

Even if she was doing this to get back at you, Jon should’ve known better then to let it even vaguely fall into place. The first time you struggled more then usual in the month and a half since he had started to be with you, and he took off for a week without speaking to you on it for more then a few minutes.

Some good example he was setting for this relationship, Jon knew.

No doubt she had not been expecting whom was at the door at this hour, but perhaps she should have read the room before giving this reaction. The middle of the night, Daenerys in her sleeping clothes and yet he was fully dressed as if the sun was out but she somehow misread this in a way that only made him angry. “What a pleasant surprise, you coming by so late to see me. Please, come in, I insist.”

Trying to pull the door more open for him, Jon let a gloved hand reach out and grasp a higher edge of the door stopping her in her tracks with eyes growing more frustrated within them. “I’m not here for a chat.” If Jon were a worse man, he might have snapped at her for the audacity to give him almost a leering look up and down. Starting to form something or another with a much more intentional tone of voice, Jon hissed out. “I don’t know what gave you the idea I’m interested in you, but I’m done.”

Head jolting back, the act dropped within an instant. “What do you mean done?”

Pulling something in front of him previous tucked away, a freshly printed out receipt and details for a driver and arrival time. Asking what this was, Jon pulled his hand back from the door finally. “A driver bought and paid for to take you to wherever you need to go from here, but I’m finished. Whatever you thought this was, you’re wrong. I’ve been taking you around beacuse I was told to, because it was my duty, but nowhere does it say I’m to stand here and let you try and push my girlfriend out of my life beacuse of something that happened years ago.”

Eyes wide and if he was not mistaken, just a tint of an unsettling rage hid too beyond her controlled words. “I don’t know what it is you’re accusing me of-”

“We both know exactly what I’m accusing you of.” Your name falling from his mouth as a twitch in her eye gave it away. “I’m sorry for what happened to your brother, but what he did to her was wrong, and you got caught covering up for him. None of that is her fault. And you come back trying to take her families livelihood away and on top of that, try to take her partner away from her too just because you can’t let go from something that happened when you were both still teenagers. Move on, Daenerys. This isn’t healthy.”

Stepping out the door only a bit as Jon turned, raising her voice. “So that is it? You walk away now after telling me off for things that are not your concern?”

If she expected it, she didn’t seem to show it in how quickly she leaned away from him. Stepping close to her personal space, Jon all but growled in his voice with dark eyes looking down at her with your name. “Everything that concerns her, is my concern.” Moving away only a little, Jon feigned as much respect as he could but still let such impulsive feelings slip out. “I’d wish you luck on your campaign, but we both know I wouldn’t mean it. Consider this you losing the support of the North.”

He knew she watched him the entire way down to his car, throwing his bag in the back seat and not waiting another second in the lot before pulling out and down the road. Glancing down to his phone Jon considered stopping to send you a message in case he didn’t make it back in time, but Jon knew the route from the Shadow Tower back to Winterfell. And how quickly he could get there in the empty middle of the night traffic, perhaps not following the speed limits as much as he should’ve.

But he had somewhere else to be, and someone to get to. She tried to use him for her spite but Jon had still alone be responsible for leaving you for a week in such a vulnerable position. And that was no ones fault but his.

The last you recalled was seeing Robb show up to pick you up from the bar, and yet you had no idea how you got to where you awoke. The sun blurred from your eyes as dark curtains were pulled across the window, early enough you presumed that it had only just peeked over the darkness. For a moment you felt confused as to where you were instead of how, a warm figure behind you keeping you pulled back into their front with a hand more loose against your waist as if a tighter grip had been there when the owner of it was awake.

For a moment you had a thought still marred by the alcohol in your system of what was possibly realistic, wondering if you had done something horrible and ended up in Robbs bed, only to come to your senses. Even if somehow being drunk turned you into a woman suddenly with no morals of commitment towards a partner, it wasn’t as if Robb of all people would take advantage of that. But the warmth, the familiarity, and only when you registered the feeling of longer curls against your skin where he lay behind you did you realize you were in Jons room, with him.

Frozen for a moment, you once again worried you did something wrong, but your heart refused to let it grow that time. At the very least, you could recall words in your head Tormund had spoke of the night before and thought to yourself in such a wakening state, perhaps you should trust him for now. Stop acting so scared right off the bat, give Jon the chance Tormund was insisting on. But for you, you couldn’t just lay back in his arms yet. Not when you hadn’t even spoken.

Inch by inch did you slip from his grasp, and a miracle was granted to you as Ghost did not wake up from his bed either. The moment before you slipped out the door, you turned back to look. He must have come right from wherever he was last. Still in his Nights Watch attire as you were your clothes from last night, sans your boots no doubt. Jons strictness about any shoes on his bed of course.

Curls wild and even a hint of stress in what normally was his most peaceful time, maybe he didn’t have the week you were trying to convince yourself he had. Really, he looked no better then you felt. But you had your routine. Showers normally saved for night, you needed one this early if only to wash the grime off your skin from the bar. Standing before the mirror after, there wasn’t even much there. An indicator neither of you had been home in days.

Teeth brushed and mouthwash, ridding any access of what was whatever you drank in access of last night, for the most part the next little while as you felt a little more calm trying to do your hair alone, the stubborn thought in your head that it was so much easier when Jon would happily stand behind you and help with the bulk of it for you.

Creeping into your room, intentions on finally choosing something fresh to wear before looking down to notice someone had even plugged your phone in for you, but atop your dresser sat clothes chosen out that you know you didn’t pick. You recognized the writing right away, and while you didn’t know yet what it meant, it seemed Robb thought it spoke for itself.

“You’re not going into work. Dress comfortably for once. That’s an order.”

A smile was easy after that. Part of you wanted to feel bad, wanted to think of a way to make it up to Robb but you could predict that outcome. A lecture all of your own to stop trying to owe people back things they do out of kindness alone. Robb was not a man afraid of getting rough, and would all but drag you out of the kitchen by just picking you up and placing you out in the main room whenever you tried to take over either his or Theons night to cook when you thought they could use a break.

Stepping out into the main hall, Jons door was wide open as you could hear the sounds of both Ghost and Grey Wind pattering about. Inhaling deeply, your eyes fluttering closed for only that moment as you told yourself to just be a big girl and talk to him. Though maybe that would be less intimidating if the last interaction between you, was not you being too upset to respond to him trying to tell you he loves you.

Coming to the kitchen, you could see what he was doing before he noticed you. Clearly your intoxication had not passed him by, recognizing the ingredients sitting out as he prepared them. You stood there, internally following his steps as he did each in exact order as usual. After nights all of you would enjoy a good too many drinks, it became habit that Jon woke up first. Always making something easy and helpful for you to get down once you woke up, and then jesting to Robb and Theon when they’d ask what he made them, “Neither of you are girls, you can make your own drink.”

Theon normally joking with a bite if he was being bigoted, only for Jon to grunt out a simple, “Only towards you two.” But the others weren’t anywhere to be seen, it was only you two to deal with your failures towards him with two direwolves to watch.

Jon hadn’t even turned towards you, looking almost too soft in such casual clothes compared to his normal uniform with his voice rasping in as gentle tones as he could saying your name. “Sit down before you get lightheaded.”

He knew you so well even without glancing, knowing with little in your system but remnants of alcohol you likely hadn’t had much else to give you energy. His curls pulled all the way back in a bit more of a messy manner as if simply haphazardly throwing it up to get it out of his way quickly, but you could see his shoulders deflate with tension as he clearly could see from the corner of his vision when you sat down in your normal spot without debate.

Instantly the sounds of Ghost trotting over to you filled the air as a happy whine came out from the direwolf. Your hands running over his head and ears as he rested his head in your lap, not noticing Jons grey eyes bright and shining looking over to you with his wolf so perfectly. A dark feeling only just coming about him, having to swallow roughly and turn back to grabbing the smaller, more quiet hand blender at the thought that Daenerys would have ever thought she could take Jon away from this.

Grey Wind followed suit but with more of his respectable demeanour, nudging you happily beside Ghost but allowing the pure white furred red eye’d goofball to soak up all of the needy attention. Suddenly making a low sound to the other, both direwolves turned back to give you space as Jon had finally turned to indicate to them both to leave be.

Coming up to you, one hand put it down in front of you, the other without any hesitation running gently over the back of your still damp hair as he sat in his seat pulling it a bit closer to you then it normally would sit. Glancing down, you felt almost as spoiled as you did like a child. The right fruits you liked and the one metal straw in the entire kitchen found to put in, always after you once ever so briefly mentioned preferring straws like a child, he had not hesitated to do things as care filled as he always did for you.

Muttering a thank you, your hand reached out to the glass but pulled back slight for a moment, looking over to his soft gaze with a worry. “Jon, I want to a-”

His hand running down your hair more toying with the strands through his fingers, he nodded to the glass with a low rasp. “Don’t worry about that right now. Just drink, let’s get you feeling better first.”

Neither of you spoke for a bit, so far, you didn’t need too. Jon never left toying with your hair, nor even move away anywhere near far enough to lose his warmth. In fact it felt as if he kept getting closer. Prompting you to keep going when you’d pause for too long, both of you knowing he made you just the right amount you would need and not any bit more then that.

The hand in your hair slipped to run across the top of your back as he muttered that he’d handle it when you even twitched to get up to clean it. You stood regardless, looking at his back turned realizing that it wasn’t just unfair to compare Jon to Karl or Ramsay. It was downright insulting. Jon was the only man whose ever looked at you with such a softness or dealt with you with such precise care.

Hands braced against the cool feeling of the fridge, you leaned your side into it not knowing if you would be able to summon the courage to say it all in a calm and thought out manner before he turned around. But as he did, and you hadn’t just as you thought, Jon stepped closer to you anyways.

Not waiting more, a hand coming to rest at your waist while the other traced two knuckles of your neck and cheek, using them to tilt you up to look at him. Taking the reigns himself, his eyes soft but with a sadness that looked like a guilt, but not a scary sort of guilt. One of something far more dipped in trust then that to feel scared by it. “I shouldn’t have just left like I did. That was wrong. You were upset, you needed me, and I took off for a week. And if I was sorry for that, I’m even more sorry that it was with her.” Now running down the hair at the side of your head, your hands tentatively moved to rest along his torso. “I should’ve said no in the first place, and I should’ve stayed long enough to talk it out with you. Because then I’d have known who she is to you, and never would’ve even considered doing it. I would’ve called Mormont then and there and told him to send anyone else, but I didn’t, and I’m so sorry, darling.”

Nodding a little, you looked not yet at this eyes anymore but more distracting yourself purposely down, presently at his collarbones. “I thought you’d do the worst, and that was...horrible of me- no, Jon it was. It’s insulting to even put a piece of you where someone like Ramsay or Karl are like, you’re not and you wouldn’t do what they did and it was horrible of me to push you away for something you didn’t even do.” Hands sliding a bit more comfortably on his chest, Jon finally cupped your cheek, slowly raising his other hand to cup the other. Tilting your forehead to press a kiss before resting against it.

Only you both stood there with nothing more to say for the moment, and truly Jon realized telling you what she tried to do wasn’t worth it. You had enough pain, this wouldn’t even do anything but add to it. You had him, and he had you, that should be enough without bringing her into it anymore then she already tried to be. “If I tell you I love you, are you going to start crying again?”

It wasn’t a mock, but a very tender teasing as he pulled you up to look at him. Your smile small against his brighter one but you shook your head. In a suprise to him, you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek before returning flat on your own feet. “Is it too late to tell you I love you back?”

Jon didn’t dignify that with a response, pulling you into his kiss without a second thought. Your hands coming up to his shoulders, gently wrapping around the back of his neck. Guiding your lips with his soft ones, Jons kissed you with as much need as it was filled with the amount of times he wished he had told you he loved you prior. Never letting you lead as if to tell you, you need not try to match up to him, that you gave him enough. Deepening it, Jon tilted your head up more to keep you at his mercy, not letting you break away. Always surging forward to keep your lips to his whenever you’d attempt parting for air.

Arching a bit more into his front as he deepened it again, more of a greed this time, a small sound high pitched and needy came from your chest. Both hands dropping to your hips, Jon moved you almost so slow you didn’t notice until your back found the edge of the counter. Holding him tighter, Jon crept into your space, pressing more against your front as his kiss grew rougher and rougher with a greed almost bordering too much to not be noticed as a strong need. One hand still tight at your hip, his other grasped your cheek and jaw, tilting you better to his lips again as he nibbled against your bottom lip.

More the once leaving a tingling sensation in it’s wake as Jon instead of indulging in how easily you parted your lips for him, he pulled away without any thought. Dropping his head down to your neck, lips and tongue soaking up and down the sensitive skin of your neck as you held him tighter, leaning more into his touch. The hand on your cheek slid to grasp your hair, pulling it out of his path and using the grip now to tilt your head giving him more space as you so willingly let him move you.

The moment his teeth sunk into your skin, a loud gasp left you, arching into his touch as his hips begun to press more firmly and noticeably against yours. On an instinct in such an open space, one hand left him to cover your mouth. Only for Jon to leave your hip, yanking the hand away and pushing it to rest against the counter behind you as he kept his own covering yours. Leaning even harder into your front, now a slight shifting as you moved to his touch. Both of you knowing me meant for you to feel his cock twitch and harden against you.

Dragging his teeth rough up and down your neck, only transitioning into his gentle kiss and licks across the bite to sooth the sting before returning to the same feeling making you cry out needy for him now free in the air. “Jon..” Almost weak and unsure in what you were asking for, time need not pass as he still know your needs better.

It was still new, you still did not really know what you liked, but Jon did. Jon knew your body like it was an instrument he had long since mastered the art in playing, he could figure out anything you liked and what you needed when you had not even the understanding to know what that need consisted of. It was bold but Jon knew sometimes he had to be bold.

Hands running under your shirt, Jon found the edge of your sports bra right away, grasping firmly you read his intention, pulling your hands from him as he used the leverage to pull your shirt and bra off. The tight later material snapping as almost as if a show for him, bounced in the jostle as he carelessly tossed it to the ground.

Black and narrowed he stared at you before shaking his head with a gruff mutter through his teeth, “Any man who wouldn’t want this is blind.” Capturing your lips again, did both his rough hands grasp your breasts. Tightly groping with no mercy, pushing them together as he roughly groped at them before sliding to the small buds peaking in the cold kitchen air. Biting at your bottom lip, Jon pulled away to look at your eyes the second he yanked. And not gently, a rough yank that had your core shake in need as you felt the wetness grow within seconds for him. Eyes forced in a silent command to meet his, your mouth dropped open in need as he twisted and yanked before groping your breasts all over again so roughly.

Skipping a path, Jon moved enough so his mouth took over as one hand moved to steady you at your hip. The same soaking and yet rough treatment he had marked your neck up did Jon run his lips and teeth over your breasts. Bruising marks into it with a growling need, only becoming more intense each time you gasped into the air in plea of his name. Sinking his teeth onto your nipple more roughly you cried out so much louder as he matched in harshly pulling and twisting your other with his calloused fingertips.

Hardly tearing away, the only thing splitting the trail of saliva between his mouth and your chest as moving to the other. Giving the same rough treatment and yet your chest arched into his mouth making him all the more greedy and bold. Groping rough, and biting down even rougher then before as he more purposely pulled your other nipple pulling a loud sound into the air from you. So he did it again, and again and as your core soaked you under your clothes did Jons cock throb unbearably hard.

Jon was there for a while, attacking your chest and leaving proof of his presence in bruises and teeth indents as he pulled away. Still pushing and pulling them together in a more rough massaging manner, Jon returned to full height. Speaking to you through very strained gritted teeth and eyes black as he met your eyes even as he hands were rough on your breasts. “I was going to wake you up with my mouth. That morning I had to leave you before you woke up. I was so close to tasting you when I got called in, and all I’ve been able to think about since is you.” Never not roughly adding to the sting on your chest from his tough hands, Jon leaned forward to urgently capture your lips in a deep kiss before pulling away to run his nose along yours. “There hasn’t been a single day I haven’t wanted to spread you for me, taste you until you cry and then sink my cock inside you until you don’t even have it in you to cry anymore.” Another kiss, that time biting at your lip roughly. “Fuck you until you don’t remember anything in your life but how I feel inside of you.” Another bite. “Do you want that?”

Nodding, Jon demanded you say it outloud. “Please, please, Jon I want that. I promise, I want you.” Gritting out in what way, you were far more honest in such a need Jon knew you weren’t even aware you were begging him with a true desperation. “Inside me, please. Gods I want you inside me, I’ve missed you so much.”

Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Jon grappled with himself as he kissed you. He always prepared you, always, but something about having you here begging for his cock sent Jons brain into a feeling almost raw and feral like an animal. Leaving your chest, Jon yanked your pants and underwear both right off and tossed them too. Standing at full height he pulled his own shirt off before cupping your cheeks for another rougher kiss. “Take them off for me.”

The way in which you knelt down without question to pull Jons own pants off with such slow care, contrasted to the quick speed which you got on your knees was unfair. Cupping the side of you face, Jons chest heaved with his breathing staring down at you. You almost didn’t know what he wanted for a moment, and yet unlike anytime before him, did you feel your now bare thighs want to clench together at the thought with him. Almost asking with your movements, your hands found his thighs and drifted up to his hips.

His cock thick and long, hard right at your mouths perfect reach looking up at him, staring down at you with something dark. In truth, neither you or Jon were sure if he was aware he had said it, as if so raw in need it slipped out as dark as it did. “You’d look so beautiful on my cock. So deep in your mouth you couldn’t breathe until I spilled down your throat.”

Biting your tongue from begging him, you leaned a bit closer to his cock. Almost presenting yourself as something for his need and use, but Jon shook his head and yanked you up. Hoisting you up onto the counter, Jon spread your legs and invaded the space between, holding your hips tightly as his cock sat heavy between your legs. Trying to entice him gentle into the right head space, you ran a hand gentle along his cheek and down his coarse facial hair. “I’ll take your cock.” Hands tightening to the point it was leaving bruises as his eyes were painted over in black looking down your frame. “In any way you want me to, I’ll be good, I’ll take it I promise.”

Jon truly fought with himself. He wanted to be gentle, and easy and comforting but you looked at him with such strong trust that you knew he might have done anything at that point. Instead he yanked you over the edge of the counter, one hand gripping the back of your neck to rest your forehead to his, Jon gave you a view of his other hand. Gripping the thick base of his cock, Jon guided himself to your core.

The tight grip on your neck tightened further to force you to pay attention, as Jon slid every single thick inch inside of you in one go. Smooth but so tight and warm around him, you took Jons cock with no resistance. Crying out as your hands dug into his shoulders, your head would've hung even if he didn’t force you to watch him.

Slowly pushing all the way inside of you, Jon didn’t even linger. He was cruel, slowly sliding almost all the way out to the point only his tip remained inside of you. The whine in your chest as Jons eyes flew up to meet yours, but you were so good for him, you didn’t beg or even ask. You’d take whatever he gave you, and Jon just as slowly sunk right back to make you take his whole length. That time not letting you look away from his eyes, your hands on his shoulders. Slowly thrusting inside of you, Jon never wavered in his rhythm. Slow as his cock slid in and out of you with such a soaking sound it would’ve humiliated you if his black eyes weren’t neatly hypnotizing you.

The hand on your hip moved to what he could cup of your ass, pushing you further over the counter. A grunt close to a growl left Jon, eyes closing as he felt as if he was somehow thrusting even deeper inside of you. Hand right of what his fingertips could feel of your plush ass, and once more it came from something Jon didn’t even know he could’ve said to you. “Tonight, darling, I’ll remind you we belong to each other. I’ll taste you until your soaked, I’ll fill your beautiful mouth before fucking you just like this.” Another grunt almost forming to a groan left Jon as his head rose up to almost beg for air to breathe properly despite your core burning so much at his twisting pleasure he stole all your air. “I’ll fuck you as much as you want, darling. But then, I’m going to flip you over, and take you here too.”

Fingers treading to your ass enough to make you jump, but never pushing too far. Only arching more into his touch as he again sunk in and out of your soaking walls, his cock so thick the stretch stung to the point that if it were any but Jon, you’d have wanted to stop. But you couldn’t get over how much your insides twisted in need, barley finding air to beg for him. “I can take it, please-”

His pattern never stopped, he never sped his hips up, nor did he slow down. Jon fucked you nice and deep and slow right on the kitchen counter, sweat building between your bare bodies against one another as your hands grasped at his shoulders. “You don’t now what you can take. I have to show you. You don’t know you’d want my cock deep in your ass until I’m already fucking you there over and over.” You just nodded, you could only agree with no thoughts beyond how close to the sun his cock burned through you. “We can do all of that, but you need to look at me. Now.”

Rising up, Jon still refused to leave his pace, your muscles shaking all around him at how close you were, at how you could hear each time he sunk into you by how coated you made his cock. “Jon..”

Leaving your ass, one hand back on your hip keeping you steady as he fucked into you without letting you even move with him, taking control entirely of the cruelly slow, yet so deeply intimate pace. The other cupping the back of your neck again to keep you close, nudging your nose with his. “Promise me you’ll never doubt this again. Promise me you’ll never trick yourself into thinking I’d want to be with any woman who isn’t you.”

The look on your face was far more wide eyed and innocent then Jon expected and you could feel his cock throbbing inside of you as a result. “I promise, I love you. I’ll never doubt that Jon, I promise.”

A single nod getting through before Jon leaned forward as he pushed your head to to capture your lips in his kiss. The gasp leaving you letting him slide his tongue inside your mouth, brushing along yours coaxing you to follow suit and explore him. But when you were too shy, Jon took the lead once more. Pulling you closer and closer to your end did Jon finally pick up the pace.

Not anywhere near fast, but steady as the sounds of how wet and deep he sunk into you filled the air over and over. Your core twisting and setting on fire, before Jon pulled back enough to bite at your lips and turn back to a deep yet chaste kiss did you find your end.

Arching into his front, Jon let you suddenly hide in his neck. Grasping at your hips tightly though, Jon did not let up. Pulling you as much as the angle could to meet his every thrust, sliding in and out of you at a matching pace he moved you to before pulling you as much as he pushed deep inside of you. One arm wrapping around your back to pull you into him, the other grasping at your hair as Jon hid in there, groaning your name deeply into your ear. Just as deep as he came. Spilling his seed inside of you, pouring thick and deep as it felt hot, Jon kept going. The more you begged meekly into his neck, the more your tight walls clenched around his cock did Jon spill more and more thick spurts of his seed inside of you with not a single bit of shame.

You felt almost lightheaded as he pulled you up to meet your eyes. Yours hazy and needy, but Jons were bright and loving as if he was not still deep inside you. One last kiss to your lips, Jon smiled a bit at how you just clung onto him like you were exhausted. Not everything was fixed, but you were happy that it was a step in the right direction. One more kiss, Jon rasped against them as his hot breath danced across your skin. “I know you had a shower, but I think I want you with me in a hot bath for a while.”

Nodding, Jon knew you’d agree to nearly anything right now. Preparing you that he was going to pull you, Jon shushed you through the wince before picking you up. He’d deal with the mess and scattered clothes he left behind of you both later. After a week of being away from you in such a horrid manner, all Jon could focus on right now was having you laying back against his chest in his arms with soothing hot water around, so he could take care of you. He had you alone for once, he was going to take advantage of it.

But Jon was not the only one who lived there. Intending on stopping by only to see how you were, did the remains of a scene lay out. One he knew he wasn’t supposed to walk into the aftermath of, Jon no doubt would put the kitchen back into respectable order before the others were set to come home. But eyes looked down to your clothes.

The ones he sat out for you. He had been the one to call Jon, to tell him to come fix things with you and you and his brother being happy is what he wanted. But as he stood there looking at your clothes in the remains of a passionate scene, there was only one strange thought in his head.

Why did Robb feel so intensely, almost unbearably jealous?

#jon snow x reader #jon snow #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #jon snow x you #jon snow imagine

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