#and I thought ‘he should do that again. it’s the perfect time’

[akeaaan]

If Only...

Jinu X fem.Reader

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is my fourth fanfic of jinu and I'm going crazy someone stop me please. Also I'm losing ideas so if you have any request please do drop a note. I still have another idea of angst until I make some soft happy endings lol

Synopsis:

╰┈➤ If Only...

It was never supposed to happen.

You weren't supposed to feel this. To hesitate.

But fate — cruel, laughing fate — had always toyed with you, over and over again. And here you were, caught in its trap once more.

Your scythe had cut down hundreds of their kind. Demons had crumbled into dust at your feet, your blade unflinching, your heart colder each time.

But now?

Now you couldn't kill even one.

Why him?

You didn't belong in the spotlight. You hated it — the blinding lights, the staged smiles, the never-ending swarm of paparazzi. The fake interviews, the forced poses, the soul-sucking brand deals. You hated being told to be perfect.

So you stayed in the shadows, right where you belonged.

You let Huntrix shine in the public eye: Mira, Rumi, and Zoe — the idols, the faces, the voices. They danced in the light, while you hid behind soundproof glass.

You were their producer — the faceless fourth. The one who stayed up late tuning tracks, patching lyrics when writer's block hit, and crafting every beat that sealed away the honmoon. You wove magic into the melody, just like the ones before you.

Because this was tradition. Always three on the stage. Always one in the dark.

You were older than them — not by much, but enough to feel responsible. You were their unnie, their protector. You had more battle scars, more stories, more secrets. That's why they never worried when you went on solo missions.

And that was your greatest weapon: anonymity.

The demons thought there were only three.

There had always only been three — as far as they knew.

But behind every generation of Hunters, there was someone else. Someone offstage. Someone who wrote the songs, not to climb the charts, but to trap the shadows lurking in the echoes.

You didn't need powerful vocals.

You had powerful visions.

And now... your power betrayed you.

Your mind spiraled. A million thoughts screamed inside your skull.

Should I let my heart keep listening? Up 'til now I've walked the line—nothing lost, but something missing...

You had everything, didn't you?

A found family that never let go. Best friends who would die for you. Your parents—alive and well. A career that others only dreamed of.

So why... why did your chest ache like something had been carved out of it?

And then—you saw him.

That's when it clicked.

What you were missing wasn't something. It was someone. It was love.

The kind that doesn't knock politely—it breaks the door down and stands in your ruined threshold.

You cursed yourself, quietly, for saying yes to Bobby.

"Come on," he had begged, "You've got the lightest schedule. Just help us set up the fan sign?"

And because you were you—softhearted, capable, and impossibly easy to guilt-trip—you agreed.

Even went the extra mile.

You planned the whole event. Stayed up finalizing logistics. Then told the rest of the staff to clock out early and go home to their families.

Now here you were. Alone in the quiet morning, taping up last-minute signage outside the venue.

You were halfway through unfurling a tarp when you spotted them—four bundled shapes huddled in sleeping bags along the curb.

"...Idiots," you muttered, frowning. Fans like these were rare and reckless. Sleeping outside just to be first in line for autographs?

You shook your head and kept working—until one of them stirred. One pulled back his hood and stood, dusting off the creases from his shirt.

That's when you saw him.

Eyes still puffy from sleep. Hair a soft, tousled black. That calm, unreadable face framed by the dawn's early light.

Back then, you had no idea who he was.

You'd been off the grid for days. Locked in the studio producing songs for idols you barely knew. Huntrix had been hunting without you. You hadn't checked socials in a week.

So when he stepped forward and said—

"Uh... can I use the bathroom?"

—you didn't even blink. Just sighed, rolled your eyes, and jerked your head toward the venue.

"This way."

No thanks. No recognition. He simply nodded and followed.

You didn't think much of it. You were too busy—back to climbing a wobbly stool to hang the tarpaulin behind were the girls will be sitting .

Balancing on tiptoe, gripping the thin banner with cold fingers.

Until a quiet voice called behind you:

"You know, that thing's totally uneven."

You didn't have to look to know it was him.

"And you're going to fall if you keep shifting like that."

You gritted your teeth. "I'm fine."

"You're not," he said flatly. "At least let me help."

You finally glanced down—and your heart skipped. He was already walking toward you. Calm. Composed. His face unreadable, but his hand was outstretched, palm open like he already knew you'd take it.

You didn't.

And in that split-second—of course—you slipped.

"Shit—" you hissed as your balance gave out and gravity claimed you. The ground rushed up too fast. You braced, eyes squeezing shut, waiting for the sharp slam of wood against your back—

But it never came.

Instead, strong arms wrapped around your waist, halting your fall mid-air like it was nothing.

Your breath caught.

Slowly, you cracked one eye open—then the other.

There he was.

Smug. Too close. Too confident.

That crooked smirk on his lips practically screamed "told you so."

His dark eyes flicked over your face, glittering with something unreadable—maybe amusement, maybe something else entirely. The hold on your waist tightened just slightly, grounding you in his grip.

He was close. Too close.

You could feel his breath against your mouth. Hear the steady, unbothered rhythm of his heart. And yours—yours was stammering like it didn't know what to do with itself.

He tilted his head a little. "You always this stubborn?"

You swallowed hard. "You always this annoying?"

His smirk widened—but his eyes softened, just barely. "Only when I'm right."

Later that afternoon, the event hall buzzed with energy—fans lined up, banners waving, cameras flashing. But your focus narrowed sharply when your eyes caught a familiar face.

Him.

He was back, but not alone this time. He stood upfront at the signing table with a few others you recognized from earlier—those same guys who'd been in the sleeping bags back at the entrance. And now they were freshen up, styled, and posing as if they belonged.

The Saja Boys.

You stood stiffly near a concrete pillar, arms crossed, trying to keep your face neutral. Rumi, Mira, and Zoe exchanged less-than-thrilled glances. No one had told you this was going to be a joint fan sign. The Huntrix event you had personally organized—put your own hours into, from venue to logistics—was now sharing space with a brand new K-pop boy group?

Your eye twitched.

You caught sight of him again, seated right next to Rumi. They were speaking quietly, heads close. Something about the way he leaned in, relaxed but confident, made your skin prickle.

"Do they know each other?" you murmured to no one in particular.

You flagged down one of the event staff, your voice firm. "Who approved the seating chart? Who is that?"

She gave you a sheepish smile, clearly overwhelmed. "Oh—uh, that's Jinu. He's the leader of the Saja Boys.

Your stomach dropped.

Leader? Of course he is.

As if on cue, Jinu glanced up from the table and locked eyes with you across the venue. Recognition flickered instantly in his gaze—and then he smiled.

That same maddening, devastatingly charming smile from earlier. The one that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

You didn't bother looking back.

The moment you stepped off and slipped behind the black curtains marking the backstage area, it was like you could finally breathe again. The air felt less heavy away from the flashing cameras, squealing fans, and—most of all—him. You paced for a second, then stopped by a corner to scroll through your phone, pretending to be invested in it. Anything to not think about the way your stomach twisted when he was near.

The distant noise of the crowd faded just enough for you to hear footsteps. Lazy, heavy, tired ones. You looked up.

It was Jinu—of course it was. He stood a few feet away, sharp eyes unreadable beneath dyed bangs, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, the rest of the Saja boys passed by in a blur of exhaustion—Abby tossing his bouquet dramatically into a trash bin, Mystery yawning, Baby leaning heavily on Romance's shoulder as they all disappeared toward the van.

But Jinu? He was the only one who didn't just throw the bouquet in. He placed it gently—deliberately—on top of the pile. A folded piece of paper stayed clutched in his other hand, something he didn't discard. A letter from a fan, maybe. Or something else.

You glanced back down at your phone. He didn't leave.

"So what are you to them?" he asked, voice smooth, slightly amused. "Their manager? Event organizer?"

You looked up again. He was staring at you, head slightly tilted, brows raised in quiet challenge. The others were gone now—just the two of you. You squared your stance.

"I'm their producer," you replied flatly, folding your arms. Cool. Professional.

Jinu's lips tugged into a half-smirk as he slowly folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. "And you planned the fan event too? Damn. All in one, huh?"

He took a few slow steps in your direction, casual but not aimless. Calculated.

"I'm a perfectionist," you said simply, holding his gaze.

"Mm. Figures," he said, voice lower now as he closed the distance just a little more, eyes scanning your face. "You've got that look. Like nothing ever passed by you."

There was something in the way he said it—less teasing, more observant. He didn't mean just the event.

You looked away first.

You always did.

And ever since that day, your lives kept tangling—deliberate or not. Jinu always seemed to be just a few steps behind you. Or ahead of you. Or waiting.

There was something about the way he smiled—just a little too slow, a little too soft. The way his eyes held yours longer than they should've, almost as if memorizing the shape of your face each time. And then there was the way his gaze would flick down to your lips before rising back to your eyes, like a secret only he knew.

It wasn't just glances. It was tension. Thick and charged, like static before a storm.

The day he reached out—his hand resting on your waist to move you gently aside in the crowded idol common room—it felt like something clicked into place. The contact lingered. Not enough to raise suspicion, but just enough to make your breath catch.

Then there were the late-night run-ins. The 24-hour convenience store closest to your apartment, where you'd both pretend surprise even though you frequented it around the same hour. That time he "accidentally" found you working late in the studio, hunched over your laptop, trying to produce a new track under deadline.

"I didn't know anyone else was here," he'd said. But his voice didn't match the words. It was too calm. Too knowing.

Neither of you made the first move right away. But one night, you both stopped pretending.

Your lips met—slow, hesitant at first, then hungry. The kiss tasted like everything you'd both been holding back. Like the first breath after drowning.

And somehow, it felt like more than just a kiss. It felt like a beginning. A fragile, burning beginning.

You were falling for him. And he was falling too.

But then you heard it.

A conversation behind closed doors—Huntrix voices lowered in warning, laced with urgency. Jinu's name. A word you weren't meant to hear.

Demon.

Your heart plummeted like it had been cut loose from your chest.

Enemy.

And now, here you stood—frozen in place, suffocating beneath the weight of everything you knew and everything you felt. Love, twisted with betrayal. Warmth, laced with danger.

I can't decide what's wrong, what's right... Which way should I go?

The lyrics echoed in your mind, torn from a memory you couldn't quite silence. A song that once comforted you—now mocking your indecision.

Your scythe's blade hovered dangerously close to Jinu's neck. Your hands trembled, not from fear, but from fury barely contained. Your jaw locked as your blurred vision clung to the shape of him. The boy you used to trust. The demon he became.

Jinu didn't move. Didn't even raise his eyes to meet yours at first.

The wind whispered across the rooftop ledge, catching the hem of his jacket and brushing through your hair like some ghost trying to push you apart. He let out a slow breath, and when he finally looked at you, it wasn't with defiance.

It was guilt. Heavy. Real. Like he'd been carrying it for lifetimes.

"I never wanted you to find out like this," he said quietly, voice low and raw.

Your grip tightened on the scythe's handle. The curved blade shimmered under the moonlight, inches from his skin.

"You lied to me," you hissed, each word heavy like it cost you something to speak them aloud. "All this time. You were one of them."

Jinu lowered his gaze again. "Four hundred years is a long time to regret something."

"Don't you dare make this poetic," you snapped. "You could've told me. You let me care about you—trust you—when you knew what you were."

He didn't defend himself. Just stood there, letting your anger land where it may.

"I'm still me," he finally said, barely louder than the wind. "Even if the past is monstrous... I never stopped being me when I was with you."

Silence stretched. Your blade didn't waver, but your heart did

You didn't know when the tears started to fall—only that they burned on the way down.

All this time, you thought he was your safe place. The quiet in the chaos. But now... now he was the very storm you'd been trying to survive.

Jinu stepped forward—slowly, cautiously, like he was approaching a wounded animal. Like he knew one wrong move would shatter everything.

"You're right," he said softly. "I should've told you. I should've let you hate me from the beginning. But I didn't want to lose you before I ever had the chance to keep you."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, half-choked and broken. "So instead you let me love a lie?"

He flinched.

The scythe dropped from your hands with a metallic thud against the rooftop. You couldn't hold it anymore. Couldn't hold anything anymore. Not the rage. Not the love. Not the grief curling inside your ribs like fire.

"I don't know if I'll ever forgive you," you whispered.

Jinu looked like he wanted to speak, but the words never came. Maybe there weren't any left that could fix this.

And maybe... that was the point.

You turned away from him, the wind now at your back. The skyline blurred through your tears, the city below indifferent to the war inside your chest.

Behind you, Jinu didn't move. Maybe he knew chasing you would only make it worse.

Maybe he knew he'd already lost.

Your voice broke the silence one last time, barely above a breath:

"If only I knew what my heart was telling me... Don't know what I'm feeling, is this just a dream?"

And then you were gone— leaving Jinu standing alone beneath the stars, with nothing but regret and the sound of your fading footsteps.

[authorhjk1]

May I request Yoona in green pls? Those hips, that peach, that bod, everything is perfect she makes you want to just devour her whole…in a good way.

https://x.com/mystarmyangel/status/1674366849121927168

https://x.com/mystarmyangel/status/1674386325661945861

https://64.media.tumblr.com/adf6a28c97285056f2422e72d36288e5/da6b6af7912c5cf4-b0/s2048x3072/327d9b42bc0e711321c074e44d3538ccf2587a5f.jpg

Green

(Yoona X Male Reader) Word count: 3265 words

"Have fun, honey."

You read your mom's text after telling her you are going to spend the night at a friend's house. Putting your phone back into your pocket you cross the road. Your hand shakes a little in excitement when you ring the doorbell. The sound of heels clicking on marble floor reaches your ears. Then they seem to stop right in front of the door. The milky glass enables you to make out a silhouette behind the door.

When it swings open you're greeted by Im Yoona. Your teacher.

"Hello, Ms. Im."

And your friend's mother.

"Hello, honey. Are you here for my son?"

"Yeah. I planned on sleeping over tonight."

You try to look nonchalant, but you notice your voice betraying you a little. You know it's wrong and yet you have fantasized about your friend's hot mom a million times. The fact that she's your teacher makes it even worse. In a good and in a bad way.

"Oh? He didn't mention anything."

"Typical."

You joke and Ms. Im cracks a laugh.

"I swear he got this from my husband."

She steps out of the way to let you inside.

"Please come in. He isn't home yet though."

"He isn't?"

You take your shoes off and follow her into the house.

"No, but I'm sure he'll be here soon."

As you walk after her your eyes naturally wander towards Ms. Im's perfect backside. Her most attractive feature is definitely her face and she has an amazing body to go with that, but seeing her ass in that tight green skirt has you thinking all kinds of things. You know you shouldn't think them. She's your teacher. Your friend's mother.

"Anything to drink, sweetheart?"

You feel something tingle inside of you whenever she addresses you with these teasing nicknames. You know she is just doing it to her son's friend and she has been doing it for years. But you wish she would see you as someone on her level.

"I would... I would like a water, please."

"Water?"

She chuckles as she walks into the open kitchen.

"I can't remember the last time my son drank water. He's always after something sweet. Please, make yourself comfortable."

She motions towards the couch in the living room and you don't plan on ignoring her offer. As you sit down you watch her preparing a glass of water. She's facing you and once again you can clearly see the face that always distracts you during class. Just like earlier today. That small, but warm smile and the always loving and caring gaze she seems to carry around everywhere.

"It's a hot day today. You should really be drinking a lot."

You quickly pretend like you were not staring when Ms. Im looks up and walks around the counter towards you.

"It really is."

You accept the glass with both hands.

"Thank you."

Ms. Im sits down next to you on the couch and you're both frightened and excited. Your gorgeous teacher is sitting so close to you, her knee almost touching yours.

You watch her reaching for the hand cream on the coffee table and you nervously take a sip.

"So, what are you boys up to today?"

"Homework."

You reply, which earns you a hearty laugh.

"You're such a sweet talker, mister."

Ms. Im playfully slaps your leg. You feel your cheeks heating up and you would've loved to feel her hand on your thigh just for a second longer.

"For real, though. Anything interesting in mind?"

She glances over at you with an encouraging smile on her lips.

"I was serious."

You chuckle.

"But apart from that we thought about going out later."

"Anywhere specific?"

The slight hint of hidden curiosity doesn't escape you. As much as you would love the idea of Ms. Im being insecure about you going out, you know it's just wishful thinking. She's just curious because of her son.

"A friend of ours has the house to herself for the weekend."

"Oh, I see."

You continue to glance at her hands as Ms. Im is applying the hand cream to her skin. Until now you never thought of fingers or hands as explicitly attractive parts of a person's body. But the way the white cream is partially covering her skin makes you shift around a little.

"And I'm sure your mom knows what you've planned?"

She gives you a cheeky, but knowing smile. One that warms your heart. You know that she is pretty chill about parties and all that. And of course you could lie, but you don't want to get caught the next time the two of them talk.

"Not exactly."

Ms. Im laughs again.

"Teenagers."

She continues to massage the cream into her skin. You would've loved to correct her. You're not a teenager, you're a man. But you know she'd just give you an amused laugh.

"Can't blame you though. I was once your age as well."

Your breath hitches when Ms. Im leans closer. Her smile widens a little and you know she caught on to that.

"It's gonna be our little secret."

She winks and smiles at you and you have the desperate urge to excuse yourself and head to the bathroom.

Ms. Im then ups the ante by placing her hand on your thigh.

"I hope you're able to keep it."

Suddenly you have the feeling she isn't talking about the party anymore. You try your best to stay calm and look into her eyes. Not just because you want to seem confident, but also because you're very aware of the fact that you can see her black bra shimmer through her green top. Earlier in class today it only seemed like imagination, but now when she sits so close, it's clear that it's definitely real.

"But you know me. I'm not the best in keeping my mouth shut."

Only now you notice how her tone has switched from warm to seductive. You don't know when it happened.

"I'm little chatter box."

You bite your lip. You pray that you're not dreaming. Is she really hinting at the thing you've been thinking about since she opened the door?

"I don't think you're that bad."

"Oh, really?"

Ms. Im's smile continues to play around her lips as she raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Yeah."

You look away. Out the window. Looking at her is starting to become too much.

"Oh, please. You're probably the person who knows the most of my son's embarrassing childhood moments. Even the ones he doesn't know himself."

The mention of your friend makes you remember that this his mom. That this is wrong. You shouldn't even be entertaining the thought of his mother wanting something from you.

But when you turn your head again to look at her, you catch Ms. Im looking down at your body, her teeth biting her lower lip. You glance down as well. Wearing a white shirt on such a hot day was a mistake. Even without moving much you're sweating. Or maybe it's because of her? The fabric is sticking to your well toned body.

"But I think you could help me."

"H-Help you?"

You see her having to repress a laugh at your nervousness.

"Yes. Help me."

By now she's almost whispering into your ear.

Then you feel two of her fingers slowly moving towards your crotch on your thigh. As if they're walking.

"If we share a secret, a very important one, I'm sure I can learn how to not tell anyone."

You know that she didn't mean anyone. She didn't mean your mother. She meant her husband. And your friend.

"I-I'm not sure about this."

You say that, but you're mentally kicking yourself.

"Just go with it!"

Your inner thoughts scream at you.

"Trust me, handsome. No one will ever find out."

Once the last word has left her lips, Ms. Im's fingers have reached the zipper of your jeans.

You finally manage to look into her eyes. A mixture of lust, excitement and amusement meets you.

"Oh oh."

She says as if it was an accident.

Your breath catches in your throat as she keeps eye contact. The noise of her opening your zipper is the only sound in the room. Both if you don't dare to breathe for a second.

Then, Ms. Im reaches into your pants. You feel her fingers search for a moment. You aren't wearing underwear and soon her fingers wrap around your length.

"Oh my god."

You whisper, which makes her smile.

"You never had a handjob before?"

Carefully shaking your head, you hope this will turn into more than a handjob.

Ms. Im takes your cock out of your jeans and looks down on it.

"Not bad. More than I usually deal with."

Her wicked grin and another teasing bite of her lip makes you shiver. Did she just tell you you're bigger than her husband? Your friend's dad?

"Do you like this?"

You can only nod as she strokes your length. She's doing it very slowly, almost too slowly. But you're sure she knows that all too well. Ms. Im always likes to tease. And it seems like she doesn't mind doing it with your cock in her hand as well.

"Want me to go a little faster?"

There it is. The innocent tone of her voice makes you even more desperate.

"Yeah."

Your voice sounds hoarse now.

"Say please."

Her whisper makes you bite your lip.

"Please, Ms. Im."

"That's a good boy."

You can't believe this is happening. Your head rolls back when your teacher picks up the pace a little.

"So nice..."

She murmurs and then looks you directly in the eyes.

"And so thick."

Your cock twitches in her hand, which only widens her smile.

"So you like it when someone compliments your cock?"

"I-I guess so."

"You guess?"

Ms. Im shakes her and you notice her teacher face appearing.

"Don't guess. You know, or you don't know. Do you guess when you take an exam?"

That'd be a yes, but you feel too good to ruin this right now.

"No. I like it."

"That's what I thought."

Ms. Im reaches for the bottle of hand cream once more.

"Do you want me to continue then? Do you want me to admire and praise your dick?"

She is saying that with such a nonchalant and innocent tone. It makes you buck your hips up into her hand.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Her smirk makes you melt further into the couch. Especially when she lets the bottle hover over your cock.

"I'm gonna have to empty this all over your cock. It's so big I won't be able to pleasure you properly otherwise."

You sigh when you feel the cold cream fall onto your tip.

"That's it."

Ms. Im begins to spread it all over your cock as she continues to talk. "I have to admit, your dick really looks nice. Long and thick...and look at those veins. I bet I'd feel every inch of you if you were pounding me."

The dirty talk alone is already challenging for you. Ms. Im talking about talking your cock is even worse. She continues to stroke you, which means you don't even get a break. Her cream is completely covering your cock now. She has picked up her pace again and the white substance sticks to her fingers and parts of your length.

"And with a cock like that? Your cum must taste amazing."

You watch her lick her lips which almost does it for you. If it weren't for the sound of the front door opening. Your eyes grow wide, but before you can even move, Ms. Im has already thrown a blanket over your lap.

It's the person you've been waiting for.

"Hey, mom."

He sees you sitting next to her.

"Hi, man. Sorry for being late."

"It's all good."

You know you sound weird. But it's hard to talk if your friend's mom is stroking your cock while he's standing right there.

"I'll take a quick shower and then I'm ready to go."

"Take your time."

This is the first time in your life that you really mean those words.

"He's right, honey."

Ms. Im looks into your eyes while her son walks out the room.

"Take your time."

Her handjob becomes quicker under the blanket and before you can say something about getting closer towards your limit, she places a finger over her lips, shushing you.

The two of you hear the lock of the bathroom door click. Then the shower starts.

"Come wit me."

Her devilish smile makes you expect the worst, but you still get up. Not just because you want to feel more of her body, but because she is holding onto your cock.

"Now..."

Ms. Im has reached the bathroom door.

"If you can keep it together until he's done, you can do whatever you want with me."

You swallow hard. Not sure what she is hinting at, but you nod your head in agreement.

"Which implies your chance of deciding where to dump your load as well of course."

Ms. Im gives you another wink.

Your breath hitches when you watch her reach down and take her panties off. She keeps the skirt on, but the black lace disappears into the right pocket of your jeans.

"Take me."

She gives you a quick kiss on the lips.

"Take me hard."

Too stunned to speak, you stay in place while Ms. Im turns around. She places her hands on the white wood of the door and slightly bends over.

"Come on. I've caught you staring at me thousands of times. I know you've fantasized about this exact moment. Put your cock in my pussy and your dreams will become reality."

You hesitate only a second and then you step closer. With a shaking breath you let your cock disappear underneath her skirt.

"Oh god."

A whisper escapes you when you feel her wet folds against your tip.

"Yes, right there. That's where your huge cock belongs."

You push into your friend's mom, penetrating the tight walls of her pussy. Your hands find themselves on her naked waist as you try to hold onto something. Her insides overwhelm you as you push deeper. A groan escapes your mouth when you bottom out inside of Ms. Im and you almost fall over, your legs shaking.

"God, yes. Fill me up."

She moans against the door and despite the running water you're afraid your friend is gonna hear her. That's why you want to take it slow, but you can't control yourself. Within a matter of seconds you thrust in and out of her at a quick pace, leaving Ms. Im a moaning mess.

"Deeper. Harder."

She half whispers, half moans. Her hands hold onto the wood for support as you basically fuck her against it. You pull her hips back whenever you push forward, making her take your entire cock.

"Fuck. You are stretching me out so well. Your cock is amazing."

Her breathless sighs and moans makes it harder for you to keep your composure.

You still can't believe your fucking your teacher, your friend's mom, while he's showering on the other side of the door. It feels wrong and you think you should stop. But you also know that it's too late to turn around. You already had a taste of Ms. Im's pussy by now and you are sure you won't be able to live without it from now on.

"Keep going, yes."

Her moans begin to increase in volume.

"Ruin this pussy, baby."

You decide to silence her, afraid she might get you caught. Even over the running shower you can clearly hear her.

"Make me your-"

As much as you would've loved to know the ending to that sentence, your hand seals her mouth right before she finishes it. Your other hand still holds her waist and now you are able to fuck her a little harder.

Ms. Im moans into your hand. You feel her drooling onto your palm a little as the pleasure overwhelms her. Unfortunately, you become louder as well. Your grunts increase in volume as you near your end and the continuous thrusting makes you grow tired. You know it won't be long until the shower stops running. It can only be a matter of minutes.

Afraid you might not last that long, you lean forward and rest your lips right next to Ms. Im's ear. If these are your final moments, you might as well say everything you ever wanted to say to her.

"You're so fucking sexy."

You groan into her mouth while your cock plunges deeper into her snatch.

"I dream about fucking you in your class constantly."

Ms. Im moans into your hand in response as if she's challenging you to do it the next time you're in her class.

"Whenever you lecture us about anything I just wanna shut you up by putting my cock in your mouth."

You feel yourself getting closer towards your orgasm. Your rhythm starts to become irregular.

"I-fuck..."

You feel Ms. Im's tight pussy hugging you even more, making it even harder to move inside of her.

"I want to cover your face with my cum. Make you look like the slut I always imagined you to be."

It hits you in that exact moment that this really isn't your imagination anymore. This is real. Your inside Ms. Im's pussy. You're fucking her. Her walls are threatening to make you cum.

That's when the shower stops. You only realize the water is off a couple of seconds later. Instinctively, you let go of Ms. Im's mouth and slow down. Which proves to be difficult, because by now you really are right on the edge.

But instead of pushing you off of her and leading you away, Ms. Im just turns her head and looks at you. Her eyes are filled with lust and you catch her lower lip quivering.

"Do it."

She whispers.

"Do it right now."

You don't understand at first, but when she placed a hand your abdomen and pushes you a step back, you realize what she means. Your cock slowly leaves her tight cavern, her juices making it easy for you to slide out. Once she isn't filled anymore, Ms. Im turns around fully. She gives you another deep kiss and then looks into your eyes.

"Now make me look like the slut that I am."

She gets on her knees right in front of you. Your breath hitches. Ms. Im wraps her hand around your cock once more. Instead of her cream, it's her juices that make it a smooth handjob. It only takes her a couple of strokes to push you over the edge.

The only thing you see before you have to close your eyes is Ms. Im on her knees, eyes closed and lips firmly pressed together, waiting for you to shower her with your cum. Your orgasm hits harder than ever before. You almost lose your balance. You feel your built up load leave your body.

When you finally manage to open your eyes, you look down at a cum covered Ms. Im. Her lips and nose got hit with the most of your semen, while her closed eyes and one cheek got some of it as well.

You let out a deep breath, too tired, too baffled to say anything.

Then the klick of the door lock echoes in your head.

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

Hi everyone!

This is chapter number 50! I can't believe I actually wrote this many colour chapters already. And I keep getting more and more requests. My list of chapters that I am going to write has already surpassed the 150 mark. So stay tuned for the next chapters!

[zyafics]

FULL THROTTLE (EXCERPT)

my submission to my lil' campaign, make rafe great again, if anyone wants to join! this is for a longer fic for biker!maybank!reader that i have yet to finish, but i love her attitude, so i fear i must share it <3

content: angst angst angst, tensionnnnn

Rafe’s trying to reach you.

He knows you’re back on the island, and for the past few days, you’ve been letting his calls go to voicemails and his texts on delivered. At this point, you should block him, but for some reason, you don’t. You tell yourself it’s because Rafe isn’t the extra effort, but you know, deep down, it’s because you don’t want to.

It’s an aggravating line to dance on.

Rafe hurt JJ. While they’ve previously had squabbles, this time, it’s different. Before, you weren’t sleeping with Rafe, weren’t spending time with him, and you didn’t care for him. Now, inexplicably, it feels like a complete betrayal of your trust.

You hate it.

Trying to keep your mind off the Kook, you wipe down the tables from the previous customers with complete vigor. It’s a slow day at the diner, and most customers have been attending to corner booths that are not in your jurisdiction. Perfect. This brevity of waitressing allows you to stew in your emotions with little interruption.

The bell chimes, and since you’re the closest to the door, you lift your head to welcome the customer. However, it came to be some sick cosmic joke because the one person you don’t want to see steps through the door.

Rafe’s holding a bouquet of flowers—your favorite, actually—and his eyes sweep across the small bistro. When his gaze catches yours, Rafe offers one of his charming smiles, taking a leisurely stroll to reach you.

“Hey,” Rafe greets. Upon arrival, you notice he has his own battle scars—spreads of yellow-and-blue bruising covering his cheekbones and jaw, a testimony to your brother’s blows.

Half of you is proud of JJ for managing to procure such vicious swings, but the other half—quieter, more empathetic—is concerned over Rafe’s injuries. A juxtaposition of emotions, you blame Rafe for putting you in this position. You blame him for letting it get this far.

Because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

“Do you need something?”

He raises a brow, not recognizing your indifference as resentment. “What’s up your ass? Bad tips?”

You shrug, not answering.

“I got a few ideas to cheer you up,” Rafe offers with a cocky grin, trailing down the length of your body in a suggestive manner. On any other day, you would reciprocate his flirt with a tease of your own—bantering and sharing sharp-witted comments as forms of foreplay. But today, you just want him out.

“No thanks,” you answer blankly, turning back to your cleaning.

Rafe bristles at your curtness, but he dismisses it as professionalism for your workplace. He understands that. Honestly, he shouldn’t be here in the first place but it’s been days since you returned to Kildare, and you haven’t returned any of his messages and as much as he refuses to admit it—he misses you.

He holds out the flowers. “I got you these.”

You don’t turn around to acknowledge them. “For what?”

“Heard you won some big competition in Charlotte; thought you might like a congratulations.”

You falter, slightly, slowing your sweeping circles. You almost turn around, to take a better look at the flowers, knowing they’re expensive, fresh, and exuding a pretty scent—but you stand your ground.

“I don’t like those flowers.”

Rafe’s taken aback by the comment. He was certain he remembered the right ones. “I’ll get you new ones.”

“I won’t like those either.”

He blinks, trying to figure out if you’re messing with him, as some sort of cat-and-mouse game. But with your back remaining, and your attention reduced to a clean spot that’s spotless, he realizes it’s something entirely different.

You’re distant. Cold. You refused to meet his gaze, nor spare an inch of your time, and Rafe is reminiscent of another period where you did the same thing.

“You’re mad,” Rafe concludes, lowering the flowers to this side, holding them by the plastic wrapping. You spritz another round of disinfectant on the already-cleaned surface. “I did something.”

Saying nothing, you head to the next set of tables, but Rafe matches your steps. Now recognizing your detachment, he’s also picking up the irritation radiating from your demeanor.

“Maybank,” he calls.

“Is that all you came here for?” You finally turn around, but Rafe doesn’t feel any gratification. Your eyes are sharp, your expression unreadable. “Because I need to get back to work.”

“I…” Rafe doesn’t even have the capacity to speak. All he can do is stare, taking in your indifference, and a curling sense of agitation is employed in his stomach. He hates being pushed into a corner.

“If you’re not ordering anything, I’m going to ask you to leave,” you point to the door. With no argument, Rafe hesitates before dropping your flowers on one of the tables and exits the establishment.

You pick up the bouquet and drop it to the nearest waste bin.

Afterwards, you finish the rest of your shift. It was difficult seeing Rafe in your place of work, but it’s over. When the diner comes to a close, and you’re locking up, you step out to discover Rafe waiting beside his motorcycle.

You forgot how stubborn he can be.

He pushes himself off the vehicle as you attempt to circumvent him, stepping between two cars parked beside each other.

“We need to talk,” Rafe declares.

“I thought we already did,” you say apathetically. Before you go far, he pins you against one of the cars, arms on either side of your head, and his hardened gaze settles on you. You settle your eyes on his, tilting your head to the side, giving him that slow, irritating sense of detachment. “Throwing a tantrum?”

“You know that’s not the problem,” he grits out.

“I don’t see a problem at all.”

“We need to talk,” he repeats, irritation spiked his tone at your dismissiveness.

“You can talk; I’m not listening.” You attempt to duck under his arm, but Rafe moves it, quickly containing you. With a sigh, you lean back against the cool car door, crossing your arms over your chest. “What?”

His dark blue eyes study you. “You’re pissed,”

“I’m perfectly fine,”

“And you’re a terrible liar,”

“And you know me well enough to say that?”

“I know you pretty well, Maybank,” he declares, his words slow, drawing out the tension. All he needs to do is push your buttons to snap. His lips curl with a smirk. “At least, physically.”

Your jaw locks, but you refuse to let him rile you. “Charming, Cameron. Perhaps you should use it on girls who give a damn.”

As much as your relationship is undefined, the thought of Rafe with another woman stirs an ugly emotion inside of you. But you refuse to let it be shown.

He scoffs at your deflection. “Maybe I should,”

You roll your eyes, wanting nothing more than to appear like you don’t care. Especially if he’s talking about fucking other women. Both of your hands plant against his chest, giving a hard shove, but he barely moves an inch. You forget how strong Rafe is, how he doesn’t move unless he allows himself to be.

“Let me go,”

“Not until you talk.” He insists.

“About what?”

Rafe lowers his head to your level, closing the distance until he’s right in front of your face. Your breath hitches, heart stuttering. His eyes scan through your hardened features, loosening by his closeness, and he asks lowly. “What did I do?”

His unyielding attempt unnerves you. “You’re well aware of what you did.”

“So I did do something,” he deduces.

You don’t answer, shimmering in your renowned anger, and you break contact to look elsewhere, studying the flickering fluorescent sign of the diner. You trace the curve, and Rafe’s jaw ticks at your lack of attention. He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze back on him.

“Talk to me.”

“Let me go,”

“No,”

“Asshole,” you scowl, and Rafe grins.

“There she is.”

“You’re fucking irritating, you know that?” You shove him again, and while he takes a step back, he still cages you in. Anger fuses through your veins at your inability to change it.

“Because you’re being vague and distant,” he snaps. “If I fucked up, tell me. Stop giving me this prissy act like you’re too good for me.”

“Maybe I am,” you challenge with a skyward tilt of your chin, matching his hard stare. “Maybe this was all I needed to remind myself I should do better than fuck a Kook.”

His eyes narrows. “Shut the fuck up,”

“You shut the fuck up,” you hiss.

He slams his fist against the car, the loud thump booms beside your ear, but you remain unflinching. “Tell me what I did wrong!”

“You punched JJ!”

Rafe whips back. It takes a second for him to process, studying your face to recognize this was some random excuse. It’s the truth. “That’s what this is about?” He questions quietly.

“Of course it is,” you huff. “He’s my brother.”

He scoffs, looking elsewhere. He can’t believe you’re becoming reclusive and defensive without talking to him first. “Did he tell you what happened?”

“I didn’t need details. You punched him,”

“And he punched me,” Rafe retorts, showing his profile. “What do you make of that?”

It looks uglier on close proximity, the magnifying damage heightens. But you can’t seem to conceal the bitterness from your tongue. “He should’ve hit you harder.”

“You’re a hypocrite,”

“I’m loyal,” you correct. “I thought you would respect me enough to not stir trouble, but I’m guessing your pride can never be replaced with some considerations for a fuck buddy.”

“It’s different,” he declares. “He was the one who snuck into Midsummer. We got into an argument. We fought. It’s a guy thing—stop making it a big deal.”

You huff at his pathetic argument. “That’s your excuse? It’s a guy thing?”

Rafe’s getting agitated by your lack of comprehension, your refusal to accept it at face value. But he doesn’t want to disclose the full story. “What do you want me to say? You want me to apologize?”

“Are you even capable of such a thing?”

He exhales through his nose. “You know what your problem is?” He says lowly. “You’re using this as some pathetic excuse to break it off because you’re afraid.”

“I’m afraid?” You repeat, but your throat goes dry.

“Yeah,” Rafe nods. “You’re a coward.”

“Have you ever considered that I have more loyalty to my blood than who I fuck?” You snap, pushing at his chest. “That Kooks may not think the same way, but for me, for Pogues, it’s different? If you hurt my family, you’re done.”

“So that’s it?” Rafe challenges. “I mean nothing? What does it mean for you when he hurts me?”

Eyes slowly sweeping over his scars, unwanted emotions bubble inside you regarding his injuries. But you steel your expression. “What about it?”

Rafe scoffs at your coldness. “You’re such a bitch.”

“And you’re an asshole, we’re done,” you shove him off the last time, and this time, he lets it pass. Staggering back two steps, you use the opportunity to escape, fastening your steps until you’re out of the parking lot.

Rafe’s left at the side of the diner, fuming. He watches your silhouette grow smaller and smaller in the distance, and decidedly, he wants to do one last thing.

“Should’ve known better than to fuck a Pogue!” Rafe yells after you, full of rage, hurt, and insecurity. He needed something to cut you as deep as you done him. But you don’t respond, don’t entertain an answer, and uncross your arms just enough to raise your middle finger.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

pickles. l Joel Miller

Summary: preparing for the arrival of the most important guest in your life

Warnings: pure fluff, a little worry, Reader pregnant, doctor's checkups, pregnancy cravings, lots of love

A/N: .

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

The colorful bedding with small flowers was nicely arranged. Ann smoothed the material and adjusted the pillow. She was pleased with the result, everything looked perfect - from the curtains on the windows to the bedding in the cradle that Joel had made.

"She should be back to Maria soon, are you done?"

She smiled at the man who was entering the nursery, with a slight hesitation. "Yes, everything is ready," she replied. "You have an amazing talent, you know?"

She pointed to the delicate decorations on the edge of the cradle, the edges were decorated with flower shapes. Joel was clearly embarrassed, he looked down.

"It could look better," he mumbled.

Ann patted him on the shoulder. "It's perfect. You'll see, she'll be delighted. Have you been hiding it from her all this time?" he nodded. "Ellie's right. You're totally crazy about her."

"Yes, I am." Joel's gaze swept over the freshly finished room, now completely ready for your daughter's arrival. "She saved me."

"You both saved yourselves." The woman's voice cracked slightly, but she cleared her throat and smiled again. "Less than two months? Well, I'm sure you're excited."

"I think we're more scared."

"Young parents always say that, but you two will find each other quickly."

"Young parent?" Joel raised an eyebrow at Ann in amusement. "No one has called me that in a long time."

You were due in early September. Of course, the baby would decide when it was ready to come into the world, and Joel was afraid that if your daughter looked too much like you or her older sister, Sarah, she would do so unexpectedly. So he started going on shorter patrols, eventually limiting them to running errands in Jackson and being nearby if necessary.

"Nothing's happening." You repeated every time he looked at you, every time you moaned or touched your belly. “Little lady decided to rearrange my internal organs.”

“Sorry,” Joel would say. He was starting to worry a little.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“This.” He pointed to your rounded belly like it was his fault.

Ellie giggled, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re completely hopeless.”

You were craving pickles and Ann’s apple pie. It didn’t matter in which order, you could eat both at the same time. When Joel came home from Tipsy Bison one night and found you barefoot in the kitchen, eating pickles from a jar, he thought he had fallen in love with you a second time. Was that possible?

He was grateful to God or whoever for the way his life was now, but in the back of his mind he still wondered what your life would have been like in a different, better time. He wanted you to be safe, so you could go shopping for baby clothes instead of receiving clothes that had been used by several other children. 

Joel knew he would probably wince when he saw the receipts, but this would be your first child. And Sarah would love it. She would be a wonderful big sister, and you would be just as wonderful to her as you were to Ellie.

“Are you okay?”

He felt your gentle touch on his back and smiled to himself. “Yeah, baby. I think so. You should still be asleep.”

It was early, although the sun's rays fell into your bedroom and stained the floor with bright spots.

“Little Miller is already awake.” You mumbled, and Joel instinctively turned to you.

You were asleep in his shirt, but it was already rising, revealing your rounded belly. A few thin red lines appeared at the bottom, stretch marks that you would probably worry about in another world. No change in your body escaped Joel's attention, he loved every single one of them.

“Can I?” he asked, reaching out to touch the warm and taut skin.

“She's yours too, of course you can.”

His. This little one was his, just like you. The kick was clearly felt, and then the movement, as if the child was looking for a comfortable place.

“She kicks like her sister.”

You smiled, because it was the most beautiful compliment you could hear. Joel rarely spoke of Sarah, and you never pressured him to change that. But your daughter brought back the most beautiful memories for him.

“Everything seems fine. The baby is the right size.” Dr. Morris stared at the screen, the probe moving across your belly. “She’s not very active today, is she?”

“She definitely prefers mornings.” You replied, and Joel, sitting next to you, squeezed your hand.

“Maybe this will stay with her and let you sleep through the night.” The man smiled. “Any discomfort?” You shook your head. “Any contractions?”

“Sometimes.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Joel twitch uncomfortably.

“That’s normal. As long as they’re not regular, everything’s fine.” He put the device down and handed you a towel to wipe your belly. “You should rest. Get some sleep, take care of yourself.”

“I’m doing that.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her.” Joel interrupted. “And what about her blood test results?”

„Everything's fine. There's no need to worry. You're the picture of health." He smiled. "I'll see you in two week, okay?"

He left the office, and with Joel's help, you sat up and straightened your dress. It took you a moment to notice that he was offended.

"What's that face?" you asked, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer.

"You didn't say you were having contractions." Joel mumbled, and you sighed quietly.

"Because they're not even contractions, they're rare and I don't feel them very strongly." You replied, but he didn't seem satisfied with the answer. "Joel, that's normal. Even Dr. Morris said so."

He nodded, but you could see that he was still struggling with it. He was so worried about everything...

"Kiss me." He looked at you confused. "Kiss me, Joel. I need it, and you can't say no to a pregnant woman, can you?"

He leaned down and lightly touched your lips.

“Not enough,” you replied, pouting.

Joel rolled his eyes, but you saw the corners of his mouth twitch. He stood between your legs, looking at you.

“Sometimes you can be really insufferable, you know that?”

“You love it, Miller.”

“I love you.”

He leaned down again and kissed you properly this time, your hands fisting his shirt as you pulled him closer. He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“Tell me about everything, baby. I worry about you both so much.”

“I will. I promise.”

It was already evening and the sun was slowly setting when he told you he had to go to the stables. The air was warm and pleasant as Joel walked briskly in the direction he had indicated, but when the stables appeared at the end of the road, he suddenly turned and entered a side street. He passed more houses with children running around in the gardens, but he kept going. A few more steps and he stood in front of the house he was looking for.

When Dr. Morris saw Joel on his doorstep, he was clearly surprised.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, adjusting his glasses.

"No, no." Joel quickly shook his head, clearly irritated. "I just wanted to... Can we talk?"

The man pointed to two armchairs on the porch and after a moment they both sat down in them. Morris rested his elbows on his knees and looked at his guest expectantly. Joel cleared his throat after a moment.

"Sorry to bother you at this hour." he began, but Morris just raised his hand.

"Don't worry. I'm here to help, it's my job."

Joel nodded. "I had to come, ask you about it. I know your clinic is well-equipped, you have the equipment and people who know what to do..."

"You're worried about her, right?" Morris looked at Joel with concern. He sighed quietly. "You know, we're not the best hospital in the region, but we're the only one." He smiled slightly. "Yes, we have the equipment and people. Her pregnancy is going well, and she's a strong woman. Everything will be fine."

"But you can't be completely sure." Joel paused. "If something happens..."

"We can do a c-section if necessary. We also have the equipment for the baby. I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to keep her and the baby safe."

Joel looked down, he should feel better, but it was hard. Dark thoughts had been circling in his head for some time, he couldn't get them out of his head. Morris must have sensed it, because he finally spoke.

“You’ve both been through a lot, but she’s strong. She’s stronger than you think. Her body does amazing things, but if something happens, we’ll help her, I promise.”

He nodded. “What can I do?”

The doctor smiled. “You’re already doing a lot, Joel. You’re taking care of her, that’s enough. And if something happens, we’ll help you. We all want this baby to be born safe and sound.”

“Thank you.”

“Keep your eyes closed. Slowly.”

First, Joel told you he had a surprise for you, then he told you to close your eyes and turned you around a few times to get you off track. He did. So, holding your hand tightly, he led you toward what he had prepared for you. The door creaked open and you smelled the pleasant, delicate scent of lavender. You guessed where you might be, but you didn’t say anything. You felt the carpet beneath your feet and Joel slowly pulled you to a stop.

His voice echoed softly in your ear. “Open your eyes, darling.”

You weren’t ready for what you saw. It was already dark outside, but the room was lit by a lamp in the corner. And then you saw it. A beautiful wooden cradle stood against the wall. Delicate flower and leaf decorations decorated the edge, and the inside was lined with bedding with small flowers. You could see Ann’s talented hand in it, but everything else...

Joel didn’t say anything. He watched carefully as you touched the cradle, your fingers tracing patterns, and then you touched the sheets. He couldn’t see your face, so he couldn’t guess.

“Did you do this yourself? All of it?” you asked, your voice sounding unnatural.

“Y-yes. Do you like it?”

When you turned to him, your eyes were full of tears. "It's wonderful..." you moaned, holding back a sob "You prepared all this for her, and I..."

"You're doing the most important thing." He walked over to you, taking your face in his hands to look into your eyes "You're giving birth to our beautiful daughter. There's nothing more important."

Tears were streaming down your cheeks, but the corners of your lips turned up. When you snuggled up to Joel, you knew you were in the right place.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait @mmmunson @grace-928 @umadirectioner @libraryofneith @princess76179

[mono-red-goblin-party]

what you can't have | part 4

Pairing: Cameraman! Joel x Reality Star! Reader

Summary: Hooking up with your cameraman is the last thing you should be doing as the lead of Mr. Right. But when Joel Miller is assigned to be your personal shadow, it's impossible to deny your attraction. He's the guy you want, and the only one on set that you can't have.

Chapter content warnings: 18+ ONLY. Dirty talk, pining, oral sex (f! recieveing), Joel calls you a slut, reader gets handsy at one point

Word Count: ~6.4K

A/N: New banner, who this? Enjoy this filthy chapter <3

AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | First Chapter

Joel Miller slams on the horn of his truck with all the frustration of a man who knows he’s done for.

Sure enough, the Jag still cuts him off, stopping short before the crosswalk as the light turns yellow to red.

Goddamn L.A. idiots.

Like he’s trying to prove Joel right, the driver of the Jag sticks his middle finger out the window. Joel leans on the horn again, telling himself this tool in the muscle car is all that’s got him bothered.

But then he hears your name on the radio. The hosts are filling airtime arguing about Mr. Right, and somebody - probably Tess - has hinted to the press that you might be the next Dream Girl.

You’re everywhere, your lust-drunk eyes glowing neon in Joel’s mind.

He wants to keep last night perfect, laid out exactly as it happened. But he’s revisited it a hundred times by now, wearing creases over the soft sounds you make when you’re close, and he knows already that the memory is ruined.

He can never hold on to good things for long.

You’re toying with him, he knows, chasing after him for the fun of it. You confirmed as much last night. But maybe Joel is a sucker for punishment, because it’s killing him, the thought that you might want him in your warm, wet mouth.

Joel’s cock twitches. He tightens his grip on the wheel. Idiot.

The light turns green. The Jag roars through the intersection. Joel shuts off the radio and drives on in silence.

He’s barely pulled up to Tommy’s place when the front door opens and Sarah runs to the car. She’s got her backpack in one hand and two napkin-wrapped pop-tarts in the other.

Joel eyes the pastries as she clambers into the passenger seat.

“You abandoning the food pyramid?”

Sarah shrugs. “Aunt Maria had to leave for work early, so Tommy made breakfast.”

“Tried real hard, did he?”

“He toasted them, if that’s what you mean.” Sarah holds out a pop-tart. “Brown sugar cinnamon?”

He grunts in surrender and accepts the pastry. “Seat belt.”

Sarah straps in, and he pulls out of the driveway. It’s barely a ten-minute drive to her school, but it’s one of Joel’s only chances to see her during filming.

“It’s going ok then,” he asks, “staying with Tommy?”

Sarah replies through a mouthful of crumbs. “S’good. I like going in the pool.”

“You sure? Cause if you wanna stay home I can find a sitter until the season wraps.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow. “Did Tess give you a raise I don’t know about?”

“That ain’t nothing for you to worry about, kid.”

“So it is something for me to worry about?”

Joel rolls his eyes. “You’re getting too smart for your own good.”

Sarah wrinkles her forehead. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“For my good, then.”

Sarah props her converse up on the dash. Golden yellow. They match her North Hollywood Prep tee.

Joel nudges her feet back down. “You got that dance team audition today, right? Feel good about it?”

“I told you, I did it last year so it’s like I’m on the squad already. But Tommy still wants to celebrate after.”

Sarah glances at Joel, and her voice wavers as she continues. “He said you might be getting off early today.”

Joel’s heart sinks. Tommy’s got no business getting her hopes up like that.

“’S only a possibility, kiddo.”

Sarah crumples up the paper towel in her lap. “Okay.”

Joel reaches across the console to squeeze her hand. “I’m gonna try my best to make it, but it might be out of my control.”

“I get it, Dad. It’s okay.” She looks out the window.

There’s a knot in Joel’s chest. She deserves so much better than him.

“Wanna listen to music or something?”

Sarah turns to him. “Will you let me pick for once? Since you feel bad for being negligent?”

“Damn, kid, my filming schedule is hard enough without you using five-dollar words to twist the knife.” Joel stops at an intersection and sighs. “But yeah, play whatever you want.”

Sarah beams, then rummages through the CDs Joel keeps in the console. “Got it!”

She chooses Summerbash. Of course she does.

The album cover teases Joel from the corner of his eye. A photo of you naked but for a few soap suds. His mind is all too happy to remind him what’s underneath.

Sarah misreads his scowl.

“Yeah, it sucks compared to her first album, but some of the beats are good! Julie wants to choreograph to them for the halftime show.”

She pops the disc in the ancient car stereo, and your voice fills the cab of the truck. You’ve been autotuned beyond recognition, but Joel’s pulse speeds up all the same.

He’s so fucked.

Sarah holds up the CD case, looking sideways at Joel. “I read a spoiler that she’s the Dream Girl you’re filming. Is it true?”

Joel taps his thumb on the steering wheel, checking his blind spot as he changes lanes.

“You know I ain’t allowed to tell you things like that.”

“She is, isn’t she? You must be flipping shit.”

“Language.”

 “Okay, flipping out.”

“’m not flipping anything. It doesn’t matter to me who the Dream Girl is. She goes on dates, and I point the camera. Same as every other season.”

Sarah narrows her eyes. “You’re being weird, Dad.”

“No one’s being weird.”

“Really weird. Is she stuck-up or something?”

Joel wishes that you were. Or cruel. Anything would be better than you, real and vulnerable and terrible at hiding it, finding meaning in his work, making him laugh. You, open wide and begging for him.

He swallows, keeps his voice steady.

“No,” he says. “She’s fine. And she ain’t officially the Dream Girl until Friday, so forget I said anything.”

“I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Joel lets Sarah celebrate. He finishes the drive while your voice talk-sings “Gimme It!” from the stereo.

Yeah, you’re gonna be the death of him.

The drop-off area at North Hollywood is crowded with parents trying to beat the first bell. Joel waits for a glimpse of open curb and pulls up. He puts the truck in park.

“Good luck today, kiddo. Even if you don’t need it.”

“Thanks.” Sarah picks up her bag and hops out of the car, hesitating before she shuts the door. “Maybe see you tonight?”

Joel’s throat is tight. “I really wanna be there.”

---

It’s seven in the morning when Eliza comes to your room bearing Courtney, a “prep itinerary” and some fantastic news. Every round of Mr. Right ends the same way, with a formal cocktail party and elimination ceremony, but this week Tess is shaking things up.

Instead of an evening cocktail party, you’re having a daytime pool party at the Mr. Right Villa. This means Eliza-sanctioned flip-flops for you, and for the crew, the possibility of an early wrap.

“What are you guys going to do tonight?” you ask an hour later, when you’ve finished the first half of the itinerary and are sitting through your blow-out. “If we finish early, I mean.”

Courtney sighs. “Aaron,” she says dreamily. “From Hinge. I’m praying he can take me to dinner before travel rounds start.”

Eliza shakes her head. “You two are going to jinx us. It’s a lot harder to film the pool party than the regular eliminations. On Ashley B.’s season we didn’t wrap it until three in the morning. Let’s just focus on getting you to your Suitors on time. I told Jacob to have the guys ready by 9:30.”

She delivers. It’s 9:24 by her watch when you pull up to the Mr. Right Villa, dressed in a lavender string bikini and a pair of translucent gauze pants.

Courtney spends a handful of precious seconds reminding you how long it will take her to re-do your hair and makeup if they get wet. Under no circumstances are you allowed to actually get in the pool at this pool party.

“Water will melt me,” you say. “Understood.”

Courtney grins. “Not that you’re unclean.”

Your legs splayed open in the mirror. Joel’s low voice, telling you how to fuck yourself.

Hiding your blush, you scramble out of the SUV.

At the Villa’s entrance, the host of Mr. Right is filming an intro to the pool party. An army of PAs navigates off camera, carrying inner tubes and umbrellas over their heads like worker ants. The line of them indents as they skirt around Tess where she’s issuing instructions from the center of the driveway.

She waves you and Eliza over at once. “Perfect timing. Ryan just got here.”

You’re spared having to ask who Ryan is when a lanky, bald cameraman emerges from the Villa and raises a hand to greet Tess.

You turn to her, confused. “Is Joel not working today?”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “He got here 20 minutes ago. He’s setting up by the pool. Ryan is here to fill in for your interview.”

“Oh, okay.” You deliberately avoid making eye contact with either producer. “Where do you guys want me?”

Eliza escorts you to the front of the Villa, and Ryan trains his camera on you while you answer questions about the Suitors you most want to see shirtless. When you’re done, Tess grabs Eliza and Ryan to look through some B-roll footage, then directs you to the pool.

“We need some footage of you in your swimsuit, Dream Girl. For the promos. Taking off your pants, that sort of thing. Joel will walk you through it.”

You bet he will. You follow the trail of PAs to the back of the Villa, trying to ignore the flutter in your ribcage.

The pool is even more crowded than the driveway, and you dodge a frantic Jacob hunting for a missing mic pack before you cross to the half of the patio that’s blocked off for filming.  

Joel is crouched by the edge of the water, frowning into his camera and fiddling with an attachment over the lens. He grunts in dissatisfaction and glances at his watch, oblivious to your approach.

You stop beside him.

“Hey, Miller.”

His profile breaks into a half-smile. “Morning, Cinderella.”

He’s still looking at his camera, pointing it at the water to test the attachment.

“Is that a waterproof lens?”

Joel shakes his head. “Polarizer. Blocks out glare from the pool so I can see you better.”

He turns the camera toward you. Then freezes. He looks up from the screen, taking in your chest, your bare stomach, the scant outline of lavender keeping you decent beneath your pants.

You smirk. “Is it working?”

“Nice outfit.” His voice is low.

You grin. “Tess told me you’re gonna help me take it off.”

“That so? Because I’m hardly in a position to be pissing off Tess right now.”

“Good thing we practiced, huh?”

Joel is still taking you in. “Reckon I wouldn’t mind practicing some more.”

Your stomach flips.

He stands up and checks his watch again. “We better start shooting. Keep your pants on for now.”

You’re trying to.

Joel starts with a few shots of you walking up to the pool, then switches to a full-body pan. You monitor your expression, conscious of the crew nearby, and try to distract yourself from the way Joel is looking at his camera.

The man is a study in tension, eyes locked on the screen, his grip tight on the handle.

You remember his hands clenching the back of your chair last night. Why didn’t he touch you?

Because it would get him fired? Probably no more than if Tess found out what already happened.

Maybe he gets off on teasing you. Well, two can play at that game.

You wait for Joel to pan the camera over your chest, then lift your arms above your head and stretch. You arch your back, and your bikini top follows, riding up to expose your breasts until your nipples are just barely covered.

Joel grimaces, and the camera shakes ever-so-slightly.

“You’re a menace,” he growls, checking the time before he resets the shot.

You smile innocently at him and adjust your top. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like you’re being tortured when you’re turned on?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I look like I’m being tortured when I’m being tortured.”

He steps back. “I’m gonna sweep the camera down again, and this time, when I signal, I need you to take off your cover-up.”

“Anything you want, Miller.”

“I want you to stop trying to kill me, Cinderella.”

He gets the camera in position.

You smirk. “Almost anything you want.”

He pans over you once more, nodding as the frame approaches your waist. You hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants.

“Slowly,” he murmurs.

You flush at once, your core throbbing in recognition. Judging by the way Joel is tensing his jaw, his mind has gone to the same place.

You lower your pants to the ground. Joel follows the motion with his camera, then pans up to capture the bare skin of your thighs. He takes in a slow inhale, keeping his eyes trained on the screen.

“You’re devastating,” he says quietly.

Your body is tuned to his every word, aching to come apart for him again. You sigh softly.

Joel glances up, holding your gaze for a long moment. 

Deliberately, he steps back. “Good. Got it on the first take.”

“One more to be safe?”

He shakes his head. “No time.”

He pulls out his walkie and signals to production that you’re finished. 

Joel has never wrapped a shot like this after a single take. You shoot him a skeptical look as you pull your pants back on.

“Either I’m suddenly much better at posing, or you have someplace to be after our early wrap, Miller.”

He scowls. “What early wrap? Pool party’s a disaster every time. On Ashley Benson’s season – ”

“– you didn’t finish until three AM. Eliza told me. Why is everyone around here so pessimistic?”

“Cause we know what a bitch it is to make lighting good when everyone is greased-up with sunscreen.”

“I mean, hating sunscreen seems like a symptom of pessimism, not the source of it. And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing later.”

Joel readjusts the polarizer on his lens, expressionless. “You’re looking at it, Cinderella.” His words are harsh, like he’s convincing himself as much as you. “We’re gonna be here all night.”

Not if you can help it. He deserves the night off. Your whole team does. How can you get them out of here as fast as possible?

You contemplate the day’s itinerary. It takes an eternity to film the weekly Love Letter Ceremony, but if you get started by 2:00, the crew will almost certainly be done before sunset.

You can’t start the Ceremony until you’ve had a reasonably personal conversation with every Suitor who is up for elimination. Thirteen of them in total, and you have a little under four hours.

Ambitious, but you recorded Summerbash with a straight face. You can do this.

The crew finishes setting up. Suitors spill out onto the patio.

You charge right up to them, weaving through body oil and board shorts to grab a scruffy twenty-something whose name you can’t remember.

Eliza mouths it over his Hawaiian-shirt-clad shoulder as you escort him to a lounge chair. Zack. Right. You don’t let yourself forget again.

Zack is talkative, so you don’t need to sit with him for very long before he’s opened up about beach days back home in North Carolina. You glance at Eliza. Is this enough personal information? She nods.

You look around for another Suitor you can talk to. Jasper meets your eyes and strides over. He places a hand on Zack’s shoulder, cutting off a monologue about jet-skis.

“Mind if I steal her?”

Zack takes his leave. One conversation down, and you think you’re ahead of schedule. You wish Eliza would let you wear a watch.

Jasper takes your elbow and leads you to a cabana, where he’s set up a champagne toast. Quick and romantic. Perfect.

Only when you get to the cabana, there’s no champagne to be found. It takes a PA twenty minutes to hunt down a replacement, and then the guys all feel so bad about the mix-up that they’re hesitant to interrupt Jasper’s time.

When a Suitor finally does grab you, it’s Sasha, a wide-necked hockey player who production has already decided to send home. He wants to sit with you and go through photos of his best games.

The instant Sasha pulls out the first picture, Joel interrupts with a growl of frustration.

Sasha’s photos are printed on glossy paper. They’re not only unreadable on camera, but they also reflect light from the pool all over your face. Eliza peeks over Joel’s shoulder at the screen, then winces.

“You guys look like you’re telling scary stories at a campfire. We have to move.”

It takes two more locations before you find a spot that works. At least an hour must have passed by now. You can read it in the lock of Joel’s shoulders, in the frantic way Eliza checks the time.

Then Sasha launches into a highly detailed story about something called backchecking. You’re contemplating a mad dash for freedom when Mike interrupts.

“Hey, Dream Girl,” he says in his soft voice. “Can I steal you for a second?”

You look at him with raw gratitude.

Sasha doesn’t look away from your face, lifting a hand to shoo Mike away.

“Later, dude. We’re talking.”

No.

Mike furrows his brow. “Okay, I’ll come back in a few.”

The feeling that overtakes you as he leaves to refill his margarita can only be described as despair. It’s another ten minutes of Sasha describing a fight he got into with the ref before Mike returns.

The two of you cozy up on a daybed at the edge of the patio, and Mike pulls out a set of “get-to-know-you” questions on index cards.

Sweet or salty. Morning or night. Hug or kiss.

You shoot a knowing glance at Eliza at the last one. She raises her eyebrows as if to say she knows she’s good.

“Kiss,” you say to Mike.

He smiles, then leans in to give you one. You kiss him back, bracing your palm against his bare chest. When you pull back, Joel is glaring into his camera so hard that even Mike notices.

“What’s up?” he asks, looking curiously at Joel. “Is there a shadow on my face?”

“It’s probably me,” you say, taking Mike’s hand. “I bet my makeup is all kinds of smudged from the heat.”

You use the pretense of a touch-up to end your time early, then regroup with your team in the Green Room. It turns out you really do need to fix your makeup. Courtney powders over the smudges in your foundation. When she’s done, Eliza offers you a water bottle and a sandwich.

You turn to her. “What time is it?”

She sighs. “Twelve-thirty.”

More than half your time gone, and you’ve only talked to four Suitors.

“Can we do this differently?” you ask. “Maybe you can walkie to Jacob when a conversation wraps, so he can send in the men faster?”

“I suppose. He’ll still have to nudge the Suitors, and they might be slow, but it can’t hurt.”

It helps. A little. When you return to the party and grab Solomon, it’s only a few minutes before Nick S. comes to steal you away.

The conversations start to blur together. A story about Nick J.’s dog. Chris pulling you close for a kiss on the cheek. Then Paulie doing the same. You force yourself to keep up your Dream Girl poise as you chain through the interactions with blinding efficiency.

You still fall behind.

Joel halts production in the afternoon so he can reset the reflectors. When he’s done, Zack steals you for a second conversation, fumbling through a plea to stay for one more week. Then Henry pulls you aside, even though he’s already won a Love Letter this week, and somehow you waste almost an hour on conversations you didn’t need to have.

You get through the last few interactions knowing that you haven’t done enough. But it’s something. The crew will be out in time for a late dinner.

Lucas is the last Suitor to steal you. He’s the chief suspect for the theft of Jasper’s champagne, and he’s been drowning himself in margaritas all day. He slurs that you look like a dream come true in your bikini as he takes a seat beside you on the daybed.

He wiggles his eyebrows playfully. “Wanna help me put on sunscreen?”

You accept, knowing it will make good TV. You’re sitting cross-legged behind him, spreading the lotion on his back, when he breaks the fourth wall and points at Joel.

“Dude,” he says. “You gotta come closer and get a slow-mo of these Dream Girl hands on my back. You can add in saxophone music behind it.”

Joel levels him with a stony glare. “Shot’s fine how it is.”

Lucas shrugs it off.

“Suit yourself, man,” he says, then turns over his shoulder to look at you. “Honey. There’s a big question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

He sets his face in a solemn mask. “How many people,” he says, “do you think have peed in the Mr. Right Villa pool?”

You burst into exhausted laughter. Lucas springs to his feet and takes advantage of your distraction to scoop you up in his arms.

He sprints to the pool and takes a running leap into the water.

You’re ready to lay into him when you come up for air, but he covers your protest with a kiss. His hands reach beneath your legs, pulling them to wrap around his waist, and he holds you close in the water. The patio falls silent around you.

Your face is burning when you manage to pull away. You try to break out of his embrace, but he’s a solid wall of gym-bro muscle.

Lucas pushes a wet lock of hair out of your face and gives you an “aw-shucks” grin. You can’t bring yourself to smile back.

“That’s enough.” Joel’s gruff voice breaks the silence. “Get out of the water. Now.”

Lucas releases his grip. You wade to the edge of the pool.

Joel sets down his camera and offers you a single, broad hand. You take it, boosting yourself from the water. He tugs you to your feet.

“You alright?”

He’s quiet, asking only you.

His brown eyes scan your face. In the sunlight, you notice that they’re flecked with gold. 

You swallow. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Tess strides over, turning you away from Joel so she can inspect your face.

“Shit, Dream Girl. Your makeup is fucked.”

She snags a nearby PA.

“Tell the crew to take fifteen and call whoever they need so they can cancel their plans tonight. No way we’re wrapping early now.”

Beside you, Joel stiffens. The center of his brow creases. His next breath is slow, like it’s pressing down disappointment.

Is this what crestfallen looks like on Joel Miller? A vice squeezes in your chest.

A smart Dream Girl would follow Tess’s lead here.

You grab her arm anyway. “No. Wait. Don’t cancel the early wrap.”

She looks at you, impatient. “We’re about to film a three-hour elimination ceremony, kid. It’s already four.”

You shake your head. “It won’t take three hours, I swear. Night one took forever because Eliza had to remind me who all the Suitors were, but after today, I know their names.”

Tess is already losing interest. You let go of her arm and point at a sandy-haired investment banker.

“That’s Neil.”

You gesture to each suitor in turn.

“Adam. Sasha. Solomon. Jasper, Mike, Levi. Nick S. and Nick J.. Zack, Paulie, and Chris. Lucas is in the pool. Henry and Brooks already have love letters, so I don’t need to say their names tonight, but I know them.”

You stare determinedly at Tess. She sighs. “Okay, two hours for the elimination ceremony. But it’s at least that long again before we get your face ready.”

“Then don’t get my face ready,” you say. An idea is beginning to form. You look around the patio for a Suitor who can play to the cameras.

Brooks steps out of the Villa, yesterday’s love letter pinned to his open shirt. He pauses as he takes in the stalled, silent crew.

You turn to Joel. He’s studying you, expression unreadable.

“Miller,” you direct. “Camera up.”

You take off toward Brooks, breaking into a jog and springing into his arms. He catches you, looking startled for a fraction of a second before his features smooth into curated delight.

You lock your ankles around his waist and lean down to kiss him.

He kisses you back, grinning softly when you pull away. “Hi, beautiful.”

He’s flawless.

“Hi,” you say. You drop your eyes, putting on your best bashful expression. “My makeup is ruined.”

He lifts a hand to cup your face and gives a characteristically Prince Charming response.

“You’re still just as beautiful to me.”

You stay still for a moment, making sure Joel can get the shot.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

You leap down, then run back to Tess.

“You want me to be vulnerable, right? Then let me do the elimination ceremony without makeup. You can edit a whole storyline around it.”

Tess considers. You push on before she can say no.

“I can film an interview with Eliza about how scary it is, and you can get guys like Brooks to say gentlemanly things in their interviews.”

Tess sighs. “It’s actually a good idea.”

You beam.

She crosses her arms. “But I’m still not letting you film like that. You look like the clown from It. I’ll send Courtney to the Green Room to meet you. She can put you in a quick no-makeup look. Concealer and mascara.”

She activates her walkie and signals to the crew. “We’re starting the elimination ceremony at four-thirty, everyone. Get moving. Six-o-clock wrap if no one else fucks up.”

She turns back to you. “Go clean your face, Dream Girl. Upstairs bathroom.”

You scamper off before she can reconsider, a heady excitement racing inside you. You can’t remember the last time you called the shots like that.

In the bathroom, you realize Tess’s comparison to the It clown was generous. Pennywise at least was serving clean lines.

There are makeup remover towelettes on the counter. Most likely for the Suitors. You steal one and get to work taking off what remains of your face.

In the mirror, the door opens.

Joel slips into the bathroom. His gaze slides over your barely covered body, lingering on the curve of your ass.

He locks the door. “Why did you do that?”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about your argument with Tess.

You turn to face him. “I wanted to.”

He walks closer, looking at you like he’s trying to make sense of something.

“You wanted to do the Letter Ceremony without makeup on?”

“I’ve been on camera without much makeup before.” Your words come out unsteady as he draws near. “I know what I’m getting into.”

Joel closes the space between you, resting an arm on the countertop.

“’S not gonna look like you think, Cinderella.”

“Are you calling me ugly, Miller?”

“You know I don’t think that.”

“Are you mad at me for something?”

He braces his other arm on the counter, scaffolding you in the impossible span of his shoulders. He looks at you steadily.

“No,” he says. “But it ain’t your job to worry about when we quit filming.”

“Then call me an overachiever.”

Joel laughs softly.

He’s left open the top button of his henley. The collar stretches wide with every rise of his chest.

You look back up at him, piecing together his words.

“Joel. Is this your way of saying thank you?”

A smirk spreads across his face, and he shakes his head slowly.

“Had something else in mind for that.”

He picks you up, calloused hands warm on the backs of your thighs, and places you on top of the counter.

He nudges your legs apart and takes a step so that he’s standing between them. Your heart stutters.

Joel’s hands go to your hip, his fingers finding one of the knots that holds your bikini in place. He undoes it with a steady focus, then turns his attention to the remaining tie.

When he’s finished, he slides his thumb beneath the useless string, tracing your bare hipbone.

A single, loose scrap of cloth is all that covers you now. Joel strokes his index finger once over the outline of your slit, releasing a shiver of sparks inside you. You gasp.

His smirk widens. “That’s what I thought, pretty girl.”

He trails his eyes up to your chest. His hands lift to sides of your bikini top, and he pushes it up. You’re bare before him.

Joel slides his warm hands over your breasts. It’s dizzying, the feel of him touching you at last.

“This what you wanted last night?”

His voice is rough, a slow drag that strikes a match inside you.

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and you whimper.

“This why you were teasing me this morning? Showing off like a little slut?”

He lowers his mouth and licks your nipple with his hot tongue. You moan.

“Fuck, Joel.”

He raises a hand to cover your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.”

He returns his mouth to your breast, closing his teeth around your nipple and biting softly.

You shudder. He feels it, tightens his hold on you.

He nudges his thumb over your mouth, sliding it between your lips. You run your tongue over it, sucking on him.

He pushes deeper, and you take his finger down to the knuckle, letting out a quiet moan in spite of yourself.

Joel’s eyes flicker shut. “Fuck, Cinderella.”

He opens his eyes and lifts his head to watch you, like he can’t believe you’re real. “You love this, don’t you?”

You whimper softly in agreement.

He pulls his hand free and rises to his full height. You look up at him, not bothering to hide your desperation.

“Please.”

“You’re filthy, pretty girl.” He taps his wet thumb against your lower lip. “Begging for it right here, for me to fill this slutty mouth with my cock.”

His words burn a fuse inside you, setting loose a hazy, overpowering need.

You grab his belt and tug him close. Your hands slide down to find him where he’s pressed against the front of his jeans.

He’s hard for you already. You gasp at the feel of it, running your thumb over his length.

Joel shudders. He closes his eyes as though he’s lost a battle with himself, and then he tilts his hips, thrusting up into your touch.

You stroke him again, and he lets out a ragged exhale.

He’s so beautiful like this. It stops your breath. You whisper out his name and reach for his zipper.

He opens his eyes, and his face is suddenly tight. His hands catch ahold of your wrists.

You whimper, wracked by a longing that’s impossible to control now that you’ve felt him.

“Please, Joel.”

He leads your hands back to the counter, holding them in place.

You glare at him. “And you say I’m a tease.”

“We ain’t got much time, Cinderella.” He releases one of your hands so he can hook a single broad finger beneath the remains of your swim bottom, nudging the fabric so that it falls away. “And I mean to spend it playing with this wet little pussy of yours.”

He grazes the knuckle of his index finger slowly along your folds.

You light up for him, a surge of desire coming forth like it’s been waiting all your life for his touch.

You struggle to clear your head. “You had your chance to touch me yesterday, Miller. It’s my turn now.”

“That so?” Joel slides his finger over your clit. Your body responds automatically, hips bucking against him. He raises a smug eyebrow at you. “Don’t think this cunt of yours wants to take turns.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

He nods sympathetically and strokes your clit again.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let yourself feel good.”

You’re falling apart for him, and he knows it. He traces a slow, patient circle around your clit, studying your face as the pleasure ignites inside you.

You mumble out your final protest, your body shuddering.

“I’ll – fuck – I’ll flip you for it.”

Joel looks at you in shocked delight, a rare, real smile spreading across his face.

“You offering to flip a coin so you can suck my cock?”

He’s still circling your clit, his fingers asking a steady question that your body is all too ready to answer. “Do you even have a coin, Cinderella?”

“Not – not exactly.” You gasp, fighting to stay afloat as your desire swells. “Or you could be nice and – God – and give me what I want.”

His eyes are dancing. He sinks to his knees before the counter, then spreads you open with both hands. He gives you a long look, like he’s memorizing the sight of you.

“Ain’t my job to be nice to you,” he says. Then he leans forward and licks a slow, greedy stripe along your core.

You whimper.

“Gonna need you to keep quiet for me now, pretty girl.” He strokes you with his index finger. “Can you be good for me?”

You nod softly, and he runs his tongue over you again. You bite your lip and rock your hips against him.

He hums appreciatively and brings his tongue to your clit, fast and insistent, stoking the blaze inside you. Your legs start to tremble, and he guides them to sling over his shoulders.

Your hand tangles in his soft curls. He shudders at the touch, looking up to catch you with his dark gaze.

The sight of him is obscene, panting with lust, beard coated in the slick of your arousal. His voice is raw with need when he speaks.

“You’re heaven, pretty girl.”

He pulls your hips as close as he can and lowers his mouth with a desperate urgency. He slides his tongue inside you, and the crude intimacy of it, Joel’s mouth inside your cunt is enough to take you to the edge.

His fingers find your clit, and there’s nothing teasing left in his touch. His pace is relentless, claiming you, setting free a primitive, unstoppable fire.

You want so much more from him, but you can’t hold out any longer. You clench your thighs around Joel’s head and surrender, biting on your own wrist to stifle your cry as you light up inside. 

Joel lifts his head to watch you come. He slows his pace on your sensitive clit, brushing his thumb lazily over you as you catch your breath. You tremble at the soft contact and run your fingers gently through his hair.

Joel rises to his feet, dropping his eyes to retie your bikini strings. When he's finished, you push yourself up and slide off the counter to stand on unsteady legs. You're separated from Joel by the smallest cushion of heat. He tugs your top back into place, adjusting it so you’re once again decent.

It’s almost unbearable, the warm and steady way he puts you back together. You feel a sudden instinct to be close to him, to press yourself into his chest, but you know that’s not what he wants. Instead, you raise your palm as if to brace yourself and rest it over his heart.

He steps back, and your hand falls.

“You head out first, Cinderella. Can’t keep Courtney waiting.”

You leave him in the bathroom, his hair mussed, and swallow down a feeling that sits tight in your throat.

 --

By Eliza’s watch, it’s 6:19 when you pin the final Love to See You Again letter to Lucas’s button-up. You say your goodbyes to three despondent, letter-less Suitors, and just like that you’ve made it through your first week of filming.

The Villa’s parking lot is glowing with amber light as Eliza walks you to back to the SUV. Courtney rushes past, squeezing you into a quick hug on the way to her car, her Hinge date successfully scheduled. The PAs chatter giddily around you, unable to believe they’re out while the sun is still in the sky.

You spot Joel in the cab of his truck. He raises a hand to you as he turns the key in his ignition. You hear a swell of music as the engine hums to life.

It’s Bob Dyan. “Boots of Spanish Leather.” The kind of music your parents loved.

The ballad echoes in your mind, continuing long after you return to your plush, empty hotel room. Finally, you pick up your guitar and take a seat on the balcony. You sing your favorite verse.  

Oh, but if I had the stars from the darkest night And the diamonds from the deepest ocean I’d forsake them all for your sweet kiss For that’s all I’m wishin’ to be ownin’

Then your hands move of their own accord, shifting to create a wordless melody. It’s slow and deep, the type of song that you’ve forgotten how to find. You watch the setting sun in the distance, steady on its path to meet the sea.

[thewitchblue]

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Tim asked, hurt. His own twin was hiding a secret lair. How did you even build this thing with nobody noticing? He felt betrayed. You mumbled while searching for a way to get the entire family out of your lair,

"It was the only thing I can call my own without needing to sibling tax half of it."

That hurt Tim even more because it's true. Everything you two have and everything you both do is together or split between you two. That's not always a bad thing, but it's nice to have something not tied to Tim for once in your life. You both work together better than anybody else and even suffer when apart in a lot of aspects, but you desperately need some autonomy, and so does Tim.

"We could have done so much illegal stuff in here, idiot."

Tim said, and just like that, the tension between you two broke. You ran towards him as he opened his arms to hug you.

"That's your fault that you brought them with you, stupid."

Your muffle voice said, officially smothering yourself into Tim's chest. Tim scoffed as he pulled you into a tighter embrace. How was he supposed to know this totally evil looking tower would be yours? You disabled all of your trackers and even cut out the one Tim thought he was subtle in injecting. He's certain you injected one into him, so he figured fair is fair.

"How did you even find the tracker I put in you? I placed it right next to your femoral artery. You could have died."

You smirked. The tracker wasn't small enough. He was an idiot not to put it into the artery itself like you did. There would be no way to cut it out because it was constantly moving inside his body. You said happily,

"I didn't, though!"

Tim rolled his eyes. Fine. You always were mechanically gifted. All of their newer tech was made by you and your brilliant brain. Who even thinks about half of the gear they have on them? You came up with nanotechnology specifically to track Tim. Who else would go that far just for Tim? It's saved him from many villains, but it's borderline insane and completely uncalled for. The worst part is that he hasn't found the device that displayed his specific tracking information. If he could, he would just take whatever device with him.

The device is actually inside your middle finger because it is hilarious to you. Screw Tim and his sneakiness. You're joining him or tracking his every movement when you do find out about him sneaking off.

Nobody should have given the twins access to unlimited resources. They just find ways to make the other's life slightly better or worse. It's straight up warfare, and it's a game the family can only watch helplessly and sigh. Why is Tim making shape-shifting tech? Because he wants to see what embarrassing things you tell your best friend to blackmail you with, of course! Why are you implementing malware in Tim's grapple gun? Because it's hilarious to see Tim flail mid-air, and you found the perfect spot on his patrol route to trigger the malfunction. You caught him, of course, but you made sure to call him a moron before fixing it as if it wasn't entirely your fault for fabricating the situation.

It's comical, yet also horrifying. You team up when someone gets in your way or, worse, hurt one of the two.

Jason learned that the hard way when he woke up in a warehouse chained to Joker with a shock collar around his neck to prevent him from either of them from leaving the warehouse. One of them was going to die (again), and you simply watched in the corner. The only words you said were,

"For Titan's Tower."

He already felt bad about it before the Joker chaining, but he learned a valuable lesson that day. Don't touch Tim, or he'll regret it.

Dick learned by listening in when Tim started reminiscing about the time you planted a homemade pipe bomb and called the bomb squad on the person. You recalled fondly as Dick looked at both of you with horror,

"He's still in prison on federal charges."

Tim laughed. Laughed. Dick was terrified for not only his life, but what if his cop buddies found out? His twin siblings could go to federal prison! On multiple charges! He had to walk away when you started talking about the time Tim put a secret switch in someone's backpack that blew up their entire house.

"The best part was that I managed to place her fingerprints on the switch!"

May the villains rest in peace if they kidnap one of the twins and not the other. Tim is not above committing war crimes, and neither are you. Who is the public really going to believe? The hero Red Robin amputated Poison Ivy's leg for daring to put mysterious powder on you or that some farmer mistook her leg for a weed and cut it off accidentally?

Only the villains will ever know. They are terrified of the twins and especially terrified of how aggressive Red Robin becomes when the Wayne brat gets kidnapped. You once got sold to someone in Metropolis, and Red Robin still showed up, furious and ready for war. Villains gossip and think you are dating him, which is venomous denied. You have ruined multiple lives when Jason cackled about seeing people shipping you with Red Robin.

"Send me the fanfic."

You demanded in a threatening tone. Not even Tim could qualm your rage. You found the writer and the owner of the website it was written on. You found everything about them and systematically destroyed their lives to the point the website owner sold it, but you kept going until someone finally deleted the website entirely.

"Nobody touches my brother."

You said in an interview when you were officially adopted. You made it sound playful until the interviewer asked,

"Aw, you mean your new brothers?"

You side-eyed Tim, but you bit your tongue when he subtly shook his head. Don't fight the interviewer so soon. Back them into a corner first. So you waited like a bear trap. For just the right time to snap their legs. The trap never did end up happening, however, as there was no more disrespect towards Tim and your relationship as siblings.

"Tim is my best friend and the best part of my life, but I'll give my new brothers a shot at becoming any better."

The interviewer made sure to take lots of photos of you both hanging off one another with matching grins that immortalised your love for each other. Nobody will dare get in the way of the siblings. You both are ready for war at any point of time with scary creativity and now unlimited resources. May the gods have mercy on their souls. The Batfamily was not ready for the devasting duo.

[hahaifolded]

hello!!!!!

I don’t know if this is a stupid or unnecessary ask but how would Kyle and the team react to Soap and Reader’s break up? Would they notice a difference since Soap wouldn’t be so happy and loud anymore? Maybe he would just whine and complain the whole time, and it happened too much that one of them pushed him to confess what happened (I would believe that to be Kyle since we called him and not the captain or such). I might be going off topic and beginning to rant right here, I am so sorry!!!! 🫶🏽

Enjoy this rough, continuation of Cellophane (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x POC!GN Reader

Warnings: MDNI, ANGST (racism), comparatively not as bad as the first part, Johnny still sucks however, mid-writing, abrupt ending Author's Note: You know what, I wasn't going to do a part two but I read this and boom... thoughts! Thank you for the ask, @shitaaba

Has the sun ever felt better on his skin? Gaz doesn’t think so.

What a perfect day! No early meetings or training. Sun is shining, the town isn’t too busy, and Kyle finally has time to hit that coffee shop you and Johnny showed him all those months ago. 

You and Johnny… what a beautiful couple. Well mostly you but Kyle will keep that to himself as he doesn’t need Johnny on his back for “fucking you with his eyes” again. His teammate sure is a lucky man, especially since Kyle isn’t a homewrecker, because if Gaz had his way, you’d be right next to h— 

“Ah!” Kyle quickly grabs at the poor soul that he smacked into. 

“Shit, so sorry. Are you ok… oh, it’s you!” he first apologizes then gleams. What a strange coincidence. Is this manifestation? 

You look up and immediately pull away from his grasp. Your eyes are wide as they wander for a quick getaway. “Don’t even worry about it. If you’ll excuse me,” you rush out as you side-step Kyle. 

Kyle blocks you and throws you a warm smile as an attempt to ease your embarrasment. “Woah, woah, why the rush? It’s been awhile. What, Johnny has you caged up?” Gaz laughs at his own joke. He thought that would for sure make you laugh. It doesn’t.

Your face falls, and for the first time ever, Kyle sees you shrink. Your energy completely dissipates as discomfort overtakes you. 

“Hey, everything okay?” Kyle softens his voice and reaches out, laying a gentle hand on your upper arm in an attempt to lift you up. You slowly step away from it which only worries Kyle more. “What happened? Did Johnny do something?” 

“John and I broke up.” 

-- -- --

“Up for drinks tonight boys? My treat,” announces Price at the end of the team meeting.

“Sure.”

“As long as you pay, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Can’t.”

“Again Johnny? This is the fifth time you’ve bailed on us,” Ghost remarks. 

Soap lets out a deep laugh. “You’re just bitter that I have something sweeter waiting for me at home.” Ghost rolls his eyes while Price laughs. 

“Wanker.” 

Soap, Ghost, and Price all turn towards Kyle. Did he just call Soap a wanker? Why?

“Just a wee joke. Meant no harm,” Soap yields. Gaz just rolls his eyes and continues packing his things. 

Instead of engaging with Gaz, Johnny decides to concede and continue packing. Clearly something is bothering his fellow sergeant but Soap knows it's better to wait until Kyle opens up. And if he’s honest to himself, he really doesn’t have the capacity right now for other people’s problems.  He has enough of his own. 

“Before I forget, ma has been nagging me to bring you guys over for dinner again. Worried that we’re starving or something. Think next week works for all of ya?” 

“Sure.”

“Should I bring anything?”

“Your mom okay with me coming?”

Ghost and Price do a double take as Kyle’s question catches them off guard. Kyle pays them no attention as he stares down Soap who’s smile drops. 

However, as fast as it dropped, it immediately reappeared. “What kind of question is that? Course she knows,” the Scotsman smiles. 

Kyle chuckles in disbelief. “Really? So she knows about me but not your bird?” 

“What?” Soap’s entire demeanor changes. His confident, go-lucky self crumbles, now replaced with shame and discomfort. “What are you on about?”

“Mate, you can’t be serious?” Kyle barks. He takes a step forward towards his counterpart but is stopped by a confused, but attentive captain. Price steps in and asks for an explanation. 

Kyle stares Soap down and bites, “you want to tell them or should I?”  All color drains from Soap's face

“That’s enough you two,” Ghost jumps in, unable to take this anymore. “Whatever problems Johnny is having with his bird is between him and—“

“They broke up two months ago!” Kyle finally exclaims. Ghost’s eyes widened. Price’s jaw drops. That made no sense as just last week, Johnny went on and on about the perfect getaway you two went on. Ghost and Price look to Johnny for answers, but with the way Johnny is standing, head down, shoulders slumped, their questions are answered. 

“Johnny, what happened?” Price tries to comfort the Scotsman. He saw how happy you made the sergeant happy. He even had a heart-to-heart with Johnny when he expressed his desire to marry you. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I’ll tell you why.” And with that, Kyle goes off. He tells the team how Johnny, despite claiming to love you more than life itself, refused to fight for you. ”I bet you’re just like your parents,” spits Kyle. 

“You don’t get it,” counters Johnny. His face twists in despair. 

“What’s not to get? Your parents are fucking racist and you refuse to do anything about it.” Kyle couldn’t believe it. Johnny is his friend, his comrade, his brother in arms; despite everything they’ve gone through, Kyle thought he could trust the Scotsman. And worst of all, he wasn’t the one who got hurt, it was you, sweet, beautiful you got hurt. “You’re pathetic. You never fucking deserved them!” 

“That’s enough,” Price puts his foot down. His face stern. He gestures to Soap and sends him to his office. Soap drops his head and nods in defeat. As Johnny walks away, Price lets out a deep breath and asks Ghost to watch Kyle before heading off himself.

The lieutenant and sergeant stand in silence as Kyle is way too angry to speak and Ghost is just uncomfortable by the entire situation. Did Johnny really lose you because of his parents? Ghost couldn’t believe it. He’s seen firsthand how Johnny furiously defended you during late nights out at the bar when other soldiers got a little too crude with the way they spoke about you. Ghost personally has had to rip the sergeant off one too many times from rude allies. What made Ghost even more uncomfortable was the amount of time he’s spent with Johnny’s family and never once got the feeling that his parents were racist. They’ve always been kind to the Lietenant. He assumed it was because of his rank or even his own past, never for… 

“Kyle?” Kyle cocks his head towards Ghost, eyes still buring with rage. “Has his parents ever…”

“No,” Kyle admits. He exhales deeply, his shoulders easing a bit. “I mean, there's been some weird comments here and there but I just assumed it was cause they’re old, never…” Kyle trails off, clearly affected by everything. 

Ghost just nods. He stays quiet for a bit until another question pops in his head. “Are they okay?” 

Kyle shrugs his shoulders. “They’re alright. Still hurt but they’ll survive” 

Ghost hums. He has a million other questions but decides to stay quiet. As much as he wants to know how Kyle found out or what (but really who) you’re doing these days, Ghost sees that Kyle is just exhausted. So with that, the two men finish packing in silence. With their bags in hand, they both leave the conference room, walking side by side in the hallway. 

Kyle pulls out his phone and lets out a small chuckle. Ghost can’t help but give Gaz a weird look. What’s so funny? 

“You know something, L.T., I don’t even feel bad anymore.” Ghost tilts his head as Kyle shows him something on his phone.

You: Saturday works for me! 

Word Count: 1246

Thanks for reading! - Fold's Page Guide + Masterlist

[borathae]

Boyfriends? | JJK x MYG

“Yoongi doesn’t do labels, while Jungkook loves labels. So one night, he asks Yoongi ‘what are we?’, hoping that the last four years together weren’t just casual for him.”

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x Vampire!Jungkook

Genre: established relationship!AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, slight suggestive themes

Warnings: just some anxious thoughts, this is a post sex cuddles scene, Koo being a little brat, Yoongi being a fond brat tamer, he tickles him hehe, snuggles & kisses, also! mention of blood drinking as part of his training to become a good vampire <3

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on an alternative fictional universe and does not correlate with any real life people. I do not support the shipping of the actual members.

Wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: i love sanguis!yoonkook so much :( omfg this hurt me because i just love them so much and my heart exploded :( istfg this break was so good for me, i have so many new ideas already heheh i can't wait to bring a very lore-y multi chaptered fic very soon hoohoh <3 but for now enjoy this lil yoonkoo fluff <3 also! whenever i write something for them just know that i am channeling hyyh!yoonkook 💔

Yoongi doesn’t define his sexuality. Neither his romantic attraction. He thinks that it is a rather stupid thing to do. He never truly understood the appeal of it nor felt it necessary to do.

“Why should I put a label on myself just so other people are satisfied?”

Because that is what it is for him. Satisfaction of other people. He should put himself into a box just so they can sleep better at night. Well, fuck them. Yoongi is way too old to live for strangers. He knows what he likes and other people can get fucked. They’ll find out who he likes when he allows it.

Jungkook defines his sexuality. And his romantic attraction. For most of his life, he felt like he didn’t belong. Into society, into groups, into life. So learning control and finally being able to be part of something again, Jungkook also feels it important to define who he is.

“I can finally be part of a group. I’m so happy.”

Because that’s what he is these days. Happy. A very happy bisexual man who doesn’t care about the gender of his lovers and who falls for personality.

And so it happens that “I hate labels”-Yoongi and “I love my label”-Jungkook are dating. At least Jungkook thinks that they are. They never really defined it – put a label on it so to speak.

But it must be that they are dating. After all, they are sharing a blanket as they are relaxing in front of the fireplace. They each only wear boxers and a tanktop which in itself is such an intimate look to share. The rug under their bodies is soft and heaps of pillows surround them.

Yoongi is using a few of them to keep himself propped up as he writes anecdotes in the book he is reading. Jungkook is lying on his tummy, watching the flames dance. Music is playing. Lofi hip-hop. Sometimes, he feels Yoongi’s fingertips dance down his back. It makes him shiver every time it happens. Jungkook feels exhausted, but he can’t fall asleep.

He flips his head to the other side, looking up at Yoongi.

The latter notices and gives him a glance. He runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, making him shudder in a good way.

“How is your head doing?” he asks.

“Heavy.”

“But no pain?”

He shakes it, “no, just so heavy. Hyung, it’s so heavy a-and I’m so tired.”

“Relax, bub. That’s normal.”

Yoongi is Jungkook’s mentor. Before Yoongi, Jungkook was unable to exist within the human world because he would have ripped through anything that breathed. With Yoongi’s help, he learned how to be normal again and because the road to perfection wasn’t finished yet, they used tonight to train.

“You are ready for the next step in mastering your urges”, Yoongi told him and then monitored Jungkook as he drank from a blood bag filled with human blood.

Up until this point, they merely trained with animal blood. At first Jungkook was very confused, “but I thought that I shouldn’t drink human blood? At all. Never.”

To which Yoongi assured him, “completely staying away from it, will only do the opposite. You need to learn how to handle it, so that if you accidentally drink it, you don’t become violent.”

With Yoongi’s reassurance, Jungkook choked down the blood deliciously and if it wasn’t for the older vampire, he would have lost control.

But he didn’t. Yoongi took his mind off of it in the typical, amazing way Yoongi often takes Jungkook’s mind off the bloodlust. And Jungkook wanted it. It felt so good. Quite frankly, he didn’t want it to stop.

Yoongi pulls his hand back and continues to scribble in his book. Jungkook is thinking. Yoongi calls him bub and bun and Kookie, but does it mean anything? Yoongi allows him to cuddle into him, but does he want the same? Yoongi fucks him, but does the sex even mean anything to him?

It has been two years since the world became peaceful and four years since they met and not once has this relationship been defined. Yoongi doesn’t call Jungkook his boyfriend. He calls him “my boy” or “my Kookie.” But never my boyfriend. What is he is just a good friend to him? What if Yoongi doesn’t want to put a label on them?

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, bub?”

“Are we dating?”

Yoongi lowers the book, “what do you mean?”

“Am I your boyfriend?”

Yoongi widens his eyes, blinking them in confusion.

“Why are you asking that all of a sudden?”

“Just feeling anxious.”

“Jungkookie, hey”, Yoongi softens his voice, “just relax. You’re okay, everything will be okay.”

“Please don’t avoid my question”, Jungkook insists anxiously. Is this it? Four years of intimacy, of building trust and bonding and it never meant the same to Yoongi?

“Of course you’re my boyfriend.”

Jungkook’s chest instantly stops tightening. His body tingles.

“You silly boy, do you seriously think I’m like this with someone I’m not dating?”

“You’re a really kind person.”

Yoongi chuckles, eyes soft in adoration. He pinches Jungkook’s cheek.

“You little bun, that’s not the same.”

“We never made it official.”

“I didn’t think it necessary. I thought it was pretty clear that we are dating once this”, he gestures between them, “became regular.”

“I guess, but I was thinking. About labels and how you hate them and yeah. I got scared that we aren’t official for you.”

“We are.” Yoongi pushes the pillows aside and lies down to face Jungkook. He tugs a strand of hair behind his ear. “If I’m not showing it enough for you, you have to tell me. I’m not good with reading signs or getting hidden messages. You gotta tell me directly what you want.”

“I know.”

“So? Do you want me to show it more?”

“No, you’re showing me that you love me. I think I just needed to hear it tonight.”

“I understand. You can tell me if you need that. You know me, I’m not gonna recite love poems to you on my own.”

Jungkook chuckles, “I know you, hyung. I think it’s cute.”

Yoongi grimaces. “If you say so.”

“I do. You are so cute.”

Yoongi chuckles, “you’re aware that I rearranged your insides just moments prior?”

“I know.” Jungkook closes his eyes and settles into the pillow. “Only cute people can do that.”

Yoongi laughs, “okay, okay you’re being an idiot. I get it”, he says, leaning in to kiss the shell of Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook relaxes his muscles, enjoying the soft tingles rising all over his skin as Yoongi kisses every inch of his upper back. His face next. Jungkook rolls to his back so Yoongi can reach it better. Their eyes meet. Yoongi cups his cheek and kisses him. Jungkook seriously thinks that it feels so much better now that he knows it’s official. Every second, every moment, every touch exists to strengthen their relationship as boyfriends. Seriously, if Jungkook’s heart was still beating, it would race like crazy.

He giggles. Yoongi smiles.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’m happy.”

Yoongi kisses him with a smile before he begins littering his face with kisses.

“I’m happy too, bub.”

“Oh, Yoongi”, Jungkook lets out and unable to control the surge of happiness, he shoots up to take Yoongi into the tightest hug human- and vampirekind has ever seen.

“Okay. This is happening”, Yoongi chuckles, letting it happen without hugging him back. It’s not because he doesn’t want to, but simply because Jungkook is squeezing his arms against his sides.

“I love you so much”, Jungkook giggles, shaking Yoongi from left and right.

“I love you too, but please stop that”, Yoongi laughs, head thrown back and bouncing around.

“No. You’re my stim toy”, Jungkook says and squeezes him tighter, making a cute sound for it.

“Whatever that is”, Yoongi laughs, taking the squeezing until it starts hurting. Then he begins to fight back. Softly of course, finally using his strength to shove Jungkook’s arms open.

“How are you doing that?” Jungkook gasps, trying with all his might to bear hug Yoongi again, but it is useless.

“I’m the strongest, remember?”

Jungkook’s back hits the rug, his wrists get pinned by one hand. Yoongi looks at him as if he wanted to take him to euphoria and back. Just for a second because then pure mischief burns in his eyes. Jungkook feels said mischief very soon as Yoongi begins tickling his sensitive side.

“No! Stop! Hyung please stop”, Jungkook squeals, laughing so loudly it bounces off the walls. He tries to fight his wrists free, kicking his feet helplessly. But it is useless. Yoongi is stronger and he is hellbent on getting Jungkook back for always being a little brat.

“Hyung I’m sorry”, Jungkook laughs, crying tears.

“Not enough”, Yoongi coos, changing sides.

“Ah! Please I’m gonna pee myself, stop! Please”, Jungkook squeals, laughing oh so much that his mouth truly cannot open any further.

“Mhm, alright”, Yoongi rasps and stops. He lets go of his wrists, sliding his hands to the smallest part of his waist to hold him. Somehow in their tickle match, Yoongi slid between Jungkook’s legs. They are thrown over his lap, resting their weight on him.

Jungkook recovers with little gasps and gulps. The first thing he does is wipe the tears from his blushy cheeks then he pouts at Yoongi.

“This was totally not necessary and very mean.”

Yoongi chuckles, “for all the bratting you did this week? It’s a mild punishment.”

Jungkook pouts harder, “I can’t help it. Besides, you’re too sensitive. I’m not even bratting.”

“Careful”, Yoongi squeezes Jungkook’s waist. The latter squeals and writhes.

“Sorry.”

“Better.” Yoongi smiles, bending down. His hands run along Jungkook’s torso until he has to rest them on each side of his head. “You’re so fucking pliable.”

“Hyung…” Jungkook sighs, melting into a puddle.

Like this. Underneath Yoongi and with his head foggy in feel good emotions, Jungkook gets kissed. He wraps his limbs around Yoongi and deepens the kiss. This might be one of the best nights of his life. He is his boyfriend. And now he is making out with him. This is the best night ever.

[kotonoba]

Make Stupid Choices, Win Stupid Prizes (Katakuri/F!Reader)

Summary: Oven convinces Katakuri to try a new "trending" prank on the reader.

a/n: Been writing a lot of angst recently, thought I should lighten up the mood with something lighthearted. I also love this sixteen-something feet of a man.

Warning(s): slightly ooc, fluff, comedy, established relationship

Inspo.

Posted on AO3

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“I don’t think that’s smart, I don’t think she’ll like that very much,” Katakuri fussed over with his siblings. The recently hot and trending topic was to do a ‘current girlfriend vs. next girlfriend,’ and a lot of different responses came; most of them were rather violent. As the second son of Big Mom, everyone expected perfection from him, everyone but you. You knew he still had to be human enough. And human he was to you, aside from being several feet taller than you, and several times stronger than you. You’re more than grateful he hasn’t ‘accidentally’ killed you in his sleep yet. 

“You love her, don’t you?” Oven questioned; Katakuri answered with a nod, but beneath his calm demeanor lay a worried demon. “Come on, I’m sure it’ll be okay, she loves you, and you love her too, I’m sure she’s aware it’s just a joke and would love to play along. Playing is a sign of a healthy relationship!” Oven exclaimed happily, as Katakuri mulled over those details, Oven glanced off to the side at his other siblings, “Right?” There was a light discourse before they nodded and gave him a thumbs up. 

Some time had passed by the time you had gotten home from helping with the shipment and intake of materials for your next big project. You had a big dream and an even bigger ambition to succeed. You returned home to your shared abode with your boyfriend, who seemed more jittery than usual. You were hoping for something more intimate when he had said he wanted to do something with you. What you didn’t expect to see was a small transponder snail looking back at you as you turned to face your boyfriend, who knelt to get to eye level with you, “what’s the snail doing here? Who’s watching?” 

“Just my siblings, I wanted to talk to you about something,” you saw through his calmness, and saw how much he was fiddling with his scarf with his fingers. He was a friendly giant in your eyes, though not everyone agreed with you. He probably only showed you that side of himself because he fancied you. 

“Hm…” you side-eyed it a few times before turning your attention to your boyfriend, “alright, what is it?” 

You watched him closely; it seemed whatever he planned to do was weighing on him too much. As you were about to move to comfort him and relax, you heard him speak. You smile, and watched closely in response, “as many of you are aware, this here,” you watched him leisurely wrap his arm around you, “is my current girlfri–” you’re not aware of what you were thinking. But when you heard the words ‘current’ slip out of his mouth hidden beneath his scarf, you felt a vein pop, and all rationality fled you in the blink of an eye. You’re a normal civilian trained in self-defense originally because your parents worry that you would get kidnapped, and again because your boyfriend says he fears for your safety.

Without a second thought, a burning sensation rushed through your body, gathering at your hands. For a second, you recognized that to be Armament Haki. Still, you didn’t even process how you knew how to use it, you throat-chopped your boyfriend, which caused him to fall back in the middle of his introduction. A stupid one at that; the transponder snail widened its eyes as you turned towards your boyfriend, who was gasping for air. Trying to crawl back to you to calm you down, “you want to say that again, Charlotte Katakuri?” 

The color drained out of Katakuri’s features as he saw what could be his future with his Observation Haki, a future where he sustains more wounds than in his fight with Luffy. “I– ack–” he massages his neck through his scarf, reaching over to the snail to turn off the transpondance, “Oven just– he said it would be fun to try the trend with you, I–” he cleared his throat, a tinge of metallic liquid tainted his tongue, “I didn’t want to–”

“But you did,” you hissed, raising your hand again, Katakuri quickly protectively clasped onto your hand, “was that fun for you?” 

“No, respectfully, I didn’t think it was a smart decision either, but I couldn’t just say no to my siblings.” You knew Katakuri loved his siblings, no matter the hardships they put him through. You let your anger subside a little, watching him kneel back to your height, “I’m sorry for making such a stupid decision, but you sure are strong, maybe my next girl–” you didn’t give him time even to consider finishing that question when you placed him in a head lock this time.

“‘Current’ now ‘next’? You have a death wish, Charlotte Katakuri.” Katakuri’s features paled as your headlock tightened around him. He could easily break through, but he didn’t want to; to him, this was a sign of a healthy relationship. 

You let go of him after a bit of suffocation for him as you head back towards your shared bedroom, “where are you going?” 

“No kisses, no cuddles tonight,” you hissed, moving to close the door behind you.

Katakuri moved to hold onto the door knob, a look of distraught painted his features, so much so that his mouth was left agape after his scarf had fallen to the ground from the shock, “wh-why!?” 

You pried his hands off the door knob, “make stupid choices, win stupid prizes,” you growled, slamming the door behind, locking it after it was closed shut. 

Katakuri had never regretted listening to his siblings as much as today. However, it confirmed that your feelings for him were genuine, but you were stubborn enough to leave him in shock, standing outside the door to your shared bedroom for the entire night without opening it, no matter how he apologized.

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[writingfics-passingtime]

untitled gentle, tender Loki fic [sneak peek]

Loki turns his head at that, something sharp and unreadable in his gaze. But he doesn’t push. He just keeps moving, one slow step at a time, keeping rhythm with the music.

His palm presses firmer against your back, and you let out a breath without meaning to, your lashes fluttering shut for half a second. You press in slightly, shuddering as his hand traces a gentle line up the curve of your spine, then smooths flat again. It’s cold still - that touch - unnaturally cool.

You mutter, explaining your goosebumps, "Your hand is cold."

There’s a pause, and then - heat. A gentle bloom of warmth, sudden and soft, pressing into your skin like a secret. Magic. It spreads through your back, up into your shoulders, until your muscles loosen against him just enough to be noticed.

"You're not supposed to do that," you gently remind him, but there's no reprimand in it. There should be, though. He shouldn't be risking using magic to make you comfortable. Not when it could be traced.

But he just hums under his breath - barely a sound - and you feel it rumble low in his chest.

"Why are you really up here?" he asks, voice close to your ear. "Why away from the adoring crowd?"

You blink once, your mouth suddenly dry. "I meant what I said," you say, quieter than you meant to. "I don’t like crowds. And… these galas. They’re just…"

He fills in the silence for you, voice almost amused. "Insufferably boastful?"

You laugh softly. It's a surprising sound that slips from your chest before you can control it, and for once, you don’t bother pulling it back. "A little," you admit.

His voice takes on that biting lilt. "I admit, it’s impressive. The lengths they’ll go to remind me that I was bested by Earth’s mightiest costume party."

You huff another laugh, but there’s a sincerity that flickers behind it. You find yourself looking at him then, at the sharp line of his jaw, the slope of his cheekbone catching the city light.

"It’s a privilege," you say eventually. "To be welcomed into."

"But?" he presses, and you feel it in the way his body moves with yours. Subtle. Patient. He’s not mocking. Not this time.

You pause, glance out toward the skyline, and Manhattan opens before you like a jewellery box of glittering promise. So much beauty. So much danger. So much potential. You feel like you can see all of it.

"It’s a long way to fall," you admit softly.

You don’t elaborate. Not out loud. But your thoughts flicker like static behind your eyes. You think about the posters. The faces in the crowd cheering your name. The magazines that crowned you the new face of strength. Feminist icon. Trailblazer. Symbol. Hero.

An image stitched together with PR, edited combat reels, polished speeches. A manufactured version of you that lives in camera lenses and cell phone screens, all perfect form and perfect timing.

You’re not sure who they see anymore.

And worse, you’re not sure who you’re supposed to be when the illusion starts to fray.

The thought tightens in your chest.

A breeze sweeps in then, cutting through the quiet. It lifts the hem of your dress just slightly, brushes across your exposed spine, and you shiver.

You glance at Loki and immediately wish you hadn’t. He’s looking at you with that sharp, unreadable gaze again, but softer. Like he sees too much.

You feel foolish all of a sudden. For saying what you did. For being vulnerable in front of him. You straighten, step away, your hand slipping from his shoulder.

"I should get back."

[werezmastarbucks]

10. stuck on a tree

flowers over boys masterlist

in which you lecture Jungkook about cocks

word count: 3289

it's the beautiful nature of your work: you are always in the gardens. trimming, digging, placing the stones, cleaning, gathering, planting. and, while the days are sunny if a little stuffy, people are drawn to the gardens. walking and speaking probably feels stupid in the empty yard where there's nothing to look at. of course the king won't go outside the gate to the street to chat, either. so, he retreats to his gardens, after all he has a crew of staff working on maintaining them tirelessly. soon, you will have to run back to the market to beg Seokjin for a new jar of fat for your hands. the Garden of South is full of trees that give fruits. unlike the tangerines. majority of these are ready to be plucked, so for once, you're enjoying standing up and stretching, sometimes standing on your tippy toes to reach them which is good for the back. however, there's always some rearrangement to do, something to perfect. the plants and flowers, even the trees, even though they are much slower than people, constantly change. your eye catches their leaves nodding to one side so you may tie them up a little because all flowers should be facing the windows. you don't try to trim them too much or stomp out the natural lush of plants as they grow and form curious shapes; you highlight them, and Jiyoung says you are really good at listening to them. flowers especially; you listen to them as they sing to you how they want to grow, and you help them. you assign your own meanings to plants when you don't remember the conventional symbolism. you think that, of course, Yoongi is a tangerine. he needs peeling to get to the good stuff. Jimin is an oriental lily that grows in the Night Garden, pretty, so pretty that you don't want to touch it. Seokjin is a peach, full and warm, because when he brought you peaches the first time you were in the cell, they saved you from vomiting from hunger. Taehyung is a pomegranate, with hard skin but many, many scattering parts inside. Jungkook turns out to be a papaya, southern sunny fruit that matches his robe in colour. Hoseok is a black pine, traditional, dark, vivid and strict, all soaked in elegance. you wish Namjoon made himself known. you crave to assign a growing thing to him. whether it will be a tree or a flower, or a fruit. you want to see him.

consumed by your thoughts, you stall under a persimmon tree. those are exceptionally stubborn when it comes to shaping, and maybe Yoongi should be a persimmon. you don't know. you hear Jimin's melody for voice first, and only then notice him: he walks into the garden. the afternoon is a little cloudy, although here and there the sunspots fall on the ground. maybe it's a promise of colder weather soon. you raise your head and get back to work, your hands up in the branches, adjusting the straps. persimmons, like tangerines, are barely ripe yet. king and Jungkook step next to Jimin and circle the tiny pond with fishes, and the maknae throws a look at them. comments something about the fish that's floating too fast, in his opinion.

you should make your presence known, probably. what if they have a super secret royal conversation not suitable for your pleb ears. then again, you didn't care before and you don't still. you find out you're still humming under your nose when Jimin, the one with the sharpest ear, warns:

"i think there's a wasp in your garden, Yoongi. i hear the buzzing".

he hums in return. you are covered well by the branches and the other trees.

"are the fishes fed, y/n?" Jungkook asks, raising his voice. at the pace they are strolling through the garden, there's still a good distance between you.

"yes", you yell back.

"yes what?"

"yes, your Royal Monkeyness".

it's quiet for a little bit.

you can hear his chuckle floating through the garden. they walk slowly, taking in the sights, and you wonder if Yoongi is quiet because he is looking for something to pick on. his usual black and golden dragon robe is back on him, contrasting with silky hair. you realize that you never gave it a thought, how he even has this blond hair. fine, this is the Daechwita dimension, but within this world, there must be a reason he is pearl-blond. it's not like anybody else in the whole of Joseon has similar hair. his nephew has his very characteristic curly long black hair. even Jimin's hair looks natural, although there's an unmistakeable glint of dark-purple now that the light shines on his head. face covered with the bluish mask, highlighting the eyes.

"we could clear a spot around here, close to water", Jimin suggests, and you feel your ears turning. even cock your head to see what the fuck they are discussing. the gardens at this point, although it's barely been over a month, feel like your domain. "clearing" spots sounds to you like upturning flower beds or, god forbid, rooting up trees.

"i don't think this garden is big enough. Eastern is better".

"but it might be colder".

"however there's a direct exit inside the corridors with the barn".

Jimin hums in agreement. Yoongi sighs.

"why did you have to bring me anything at all, Jungkook?"

"i haven't sent any presents for your birthday, uncle", Jungkook complains.

"but peacocks?!"

your nostrlis flare slightly. you sigh noisily. the three of them are already relatively close.

"imagine the beautiful birds walking around here when you get up in the morning", Jungkook goes on, "maybe we should put them in the Night Garden".

Jimin produces a protesting whine. you say,

"lilies are poisonous for birds. it's bad enough you treat them as a present, you also want to kill the poor things? use your head a little, i beg you".

they all stand there and look at you, Jungkook munches on your words. and you can swear, he moves his lover lip inwards as if his tongue is searching for a piercing to play with.

"delightful", Yoongi concludes. that warrants and enthusiastic glance from his nephew. Jimin simply tilts his head.

"you know, animals should live in the wild", you continue. one stubborn branch doesn't want to get inside a knot of twine, and you work it with both hands.

"these are just cocks", Jungkook retorts.

"cocks have certain intelligence, feel pain and can experience distress", you hammer. "can't believe i need to explain animal rights in this year of our Chr- , in the middle of nineteenth century".

"peacocks", Jimin inserts, "lack souls for the simple reason of their beauty". you click your tongue, irritated by his willing ignorance, unless he's fucking with you.

“how do you know they’re beautiful?”

“i touched many”

"so, you don't have a soul, either?" maknae replies jokingly. you would've said the same thing if he hadn't outpaced you.

"but you're right", he turns to his uncle. you can see them with your peripheral vision, relaxed, Jimin turning his head to listen to the sounds, and Yoongi stares in front of him. "knowing you, i should've got you a pet cheetah".

"and named him Jason Statham", you advise. Jungkook raises his eyebrows.

"what, you think i can only quote bts songs?" you shake the coil of twine in your hand, finally having tamed the persimmon. "i am a music fan, i'll have you know. i like a lot of different stuff".

"she always speaks so much?"

Jimin sighs, seeing that the king keeps silent.

"you have no idea. when i had to follow her, my head was buzzing at nights".

Jungkook lowers his voice, turns completely to Yoongi and you hear, as you pick up the basket to move it under the cherry tree:

"can i have her as my personal servant while i am here?"

Yoongi chuckles, low:

"no".

your head snaps towards them.

"maknae, you can't handle me".

Yoongi continues, his gaze firm on you, again because he knows that long enough, and you will start fidgeting.

"but you are right about the hands. look how neatly the trees appear this season. and the flowers are still blooming at the beginning of harvest. Jimin, are you seeing it?"

"very funny".

"you should be the royal florist".

your eyes narrow. his stare is a challenge.

"why are you so nice to me?"

he is in such a good mood around his nephew that he grins, squinting one scarred eye:

"scared? it's about to get worse. come to the palace tomorrow morning".

you clutch the basket to yourself, suspicious. Yoongi seemingly loses interest in this conversation, satisfied with the chill order he'd just dropped, and he turns around. Jungkook and Jimin have nothing else to do but follow him back.

"isn't it curious", counselor purrs, his mask turning half-way, "how she constantly names the century we live in?" Yoongi's long earring clicks in response.

next morning, perhaps because you are nervous about what is on king's mind, you oversleep slightly, and Min-ssi oma's stick finds you on your futon. it's not completely late, but usually you prefer to get up before she grasps her treacherous weapon.

you dress up, checking how clean your hanbok is. arms ache because yesterday was the washing day and you are still the courier girl for the washing basket. those who pissed you off, had their dresses dry in the stables again, and are now wandering around, sleepy, confused, around the garden.

you look at yourself in the metal mirror, your face distorted and a bit blurry like you suddenly have a -7 vision. in the palace, mirrors are better and his royal highness definitely knows what he looks like in details. shit, even the swords are better to look into, than these medieval mirrors. a lot of things still feel medieval here, it's another fifty or something years until the fall of Joseon dynasty if you remember correctly; as you assimilate further, surprisingly many facts come up in your head. all thanks to ot7 obsession. speak about how useless it is to be a fan girl.

your hand reaches for the small jar of the crushed berry paste, forgotten by one of the maids here, still open. some of them even do their makeup on a usual working day, hoping to catch a cute royal guard's eye. now you convince yourself that you plunge your finger inside because it's the palace after all. should look formal and all. can't have Hoseok side eye you because you stand out from other staff. uh huh. you pinch and rub your cheeks with the red finger, then add a little to your lips. you make it barely noticeable and leave the mirror without a second look. huh. why do you even have to do it. what is he, the President of America or something.

Jiyoung notices you when you try to sneak away. she always does, her eagle eye trained on you, for everybody's sake. it narrows now, her voice at normal volume because she doesn't know how delicate the matter is. you don't either.

"where do you think you're going?"

"i need uh..." your finger points in the indefinite direction. it's a bad day to decide to yap less. now four, five, and then six faces are turned to you, looking up.

"you need uh?"

"i need to be somewhere".

"yes, in the Western Garden, fertilizing".

her hands are on her hips.

"you don't get to skip like yesterday".

"hey, i did all the persimmon trees yesterday".

"fine, but today it's work as well".

"oh dear", Yu points her finger at you, "oh dear! her cheeks are red. you have been summoned, haven't you?"

the girls step closer to you, staring you in the face.

"it's the Monkey Prince, isn't it? he is known to take anyone, just about anyone..."

your face wrinkles in indignation.

"i have been promoted, okay? i need to go to the palace and... i guess..."

"sure, you have", they giggle, "that's fine. lucky, lucky".

"eugh", your body shudders, "don't even say that. stop. the baby. no. just..." your hands wave in the air.

"you should put ribbons in your hair if you're going to the palace", Jiyoung gives up, laughing. "come here, i will help you".

it takes her a couple of minutes to weave two silky-lilac ribbons into your braids, and even though they belong to her, they match your face.

"if i see Taetae, i will give him your best".

she hums, trying to stay unaffected, but her cheeks take on a little bit of blood, and she looks fantastic. she closes her eyes, nodding, just like her brother does.

"try not to get yourself into the white dungeon".

your head snaps back to her, horrified mouth opens.

"white? what the hell do they do there?"

Jiyoung covers her mouth with her hand and leans back onto the wooden column, trying not to laugh out.

"sorry. sorry. i had to mess with you".

you sigh with relief, move your head around, as the tips of ribbons bounce on your shoulders.

"you look... admissable", she beams.

you turn around, your eye catching the ribbons flying behind, following your head.

"i look like an idiot. y/n-chan? yes? what do you like? mint fucking chocolate".

Jiyoung lets herself go and roars with laughter, looking at what must be a very alien, very barbaric little dance to her. you realize you're stalling, so you take a breath.

"come on, y/n. it's just little meow meow", you grumble, "you've seen him already. nothing special. just don't lose your cool. fighting".

the storks fly over your head in the bright-blue autumn sky. they drift harmoniosuly aloft, red legs visible from the ground. it smells like spices: the smell comes from the market, opening in the morning. you pass by the gate and keep your back straight, humming a melody as usual. it gets easier as you approach the main doors and climb the stairs to the palace. you actually feel cool doing that. yes, if you were to climb these stairs in the very middle every day like king does, you'd also walk like a gangster. upon entering the hall, you meet a guard's terrified eyes:

"why are you taking the royal entrance?" he whispers. you feel annoyance creep up on you immediately.

"how else am i supposed to enter?"

he looks around and shakes his head quickly.

"move, move. your entrance is at the back".

"should've put up a sign or something".

your steps fall softly on the clean wooden floor as you throw your head back to look around. there are so many rooms in this labyrinth-like place; and you've only been in the back corridors and a couple of places in this month. so there's no chance there's even an approximate map of the palace in your head. especially considering the natural topographical stupidity of someone from the modernity. you picture your loyal and pretty IPhone in your palm and sigh, but think going on without it for a while is very good for your mental health.

it must have taken immense talent to built and decorate this palace: every inch of the wall is encrusted with intricate carvings and gilded, or there's a painting, or a murial, and the blues and greens are so vivid that it catches your eye and startles your mind. the images dedicated to the king's conquests, or whatever he does, maybe the defense of his kingdom; blue mountains covered with black pines like those in the garden. imagery of exotic and fierce animals that have his eyes. there's even a huge, muscular tiger on the tapestry hung in the center of the huge hall, that has a scar over his right eye. handsome. you twirl around yourself to look at every little detail, realizing how fundamental it is, that some two hundred years later people like you will stand on the same spot, seeing the copies of these tapestries, admiring the same carvings, having the same thoughts as you. you have no idea where to go next, because this part of the palace is totally unexplored for you. for now, the hall takes all your attention, and your sloth doesn't go unpunished.

General is again like a shadow; you never hear his steps, like he floats above the ground. ever in his black aura, his eyes still cold, although there's no hatred in them anymore which makes it better.

"you are late and in the wrong section of the palace".

he looks at the entrance, blinks once.

"don't tell me you took the royal steps to come here".

you do a bow, putting one foot behind yourself, covering your face with an arm in the round motion. Hoseok doesn't get the reference, naturally.

"do you need an exorcism?"

you drop the act, seeing that nothing impresses him.

"not very i'm your hope of you".

you make the last attempt at softening Hoseok up, pick up the ribbon on your shoulder and make it jump, but he only gets moodier. he motions with his head.

"you are expected in the throne room at first", he's clearly not happy about it. but doesn't say things like 'how did you even get this far'. of course you suspect there's more to Yoongi's decision to put you right here, than just his admiration of the flowers still blooming. it can't be just that his nephew gave him the idea, and he found it genius. Hoseok is on it whatever the reason is, but it's useless trying to get anything out of him. however, annoying him, as he takes you down the royal corridors, gives you a needed release from the morning nervousness.

"how do i look at least?"

he is silent.

"am i about to cause a wreck?"

"are you?" his voice booms in front of you. you try to catch up with his light but quick steps, all the while spinning your head to see as much of the palace as you can.

"i mean i am probably the worst candidate for the royal florist".

"i wholeheartedly agree".

"you are so mean", you sigh, exasperated, losing energy.

"and you, loud".

he takes you through what looks like an armoury quickly, and you don't get to stare for too long. then, through the small door in the side, to the throne room, now empty. you take a few seconds to look around at first, to check for someone's non-obvious presence, then let your eyes get used to the dimmed light.

"is it always so shaded here?"

"almost", this is the first normal thing Hoseok tells you. "flowers wilted".

"that might be the reason", you look into his face with a helping smile, but his eyes are wandering around the room. he looks a little hesitant, then produces:

"do i need to tell you, do not touch anything. focus on work".

the said work takes your mind pretty quickly. you walk over to the nearest wall with the dried display. the state of the light in here is such that you didn't even notice flowers when you were here before.

"the previous florist did a really lousy job", you conclude, "chrysanthemums? for Yoongi? in autumn?"

General nods.

"the previous florist has been executed".

your head turns to him, amalgamating with the shadows. only his pale face contrasts. your mouth is slightly ajar.

"he reported, happily. you are the arsonist jack in the box, aren't you? blade always thisty for blood?"

his glossy eyes measure you carefully for a moment, then he leaves. good convo.

taglist: @cerulean1riz , @kiki-zb , @mar-lo-pap , @ashyiiy , @enfppuff , @coolpeanutskeletonpersona

[wxsteriawishes]

the lads men finding you again in this life. . . but you're already with someone else (angst version) what who said that

post-writing clarity: written while listening to the Dear Hongrang OST, very much set the mood. i recommend! most songs are instrumental.

go back to masterlist

content: mentions of death, mentions of toxic behavior/abuse, use of indecent language/swearing, use of pet names (pips)

caleb

bonus points: imagine zayne is "the other guy" in caleb's story

he'd immediately try sabotaging the two of you. over and over again, using his status and evol to his benefit and that asshole's detriment. he'd play the perfect older brother, you'd come crying to him each time something went wrong. each time an issue popped up. caleb wouldn't let him enter the house, wouldn't let him explain or apologize. he'd let the miscommunications fester. when you find out how much caleb had been meddling, you're furious, you're outraged -- you feel betrayed. he had already lied about his death, now this?initially, he's firm and stubborn. he won't let go of you. "can't you see how much better i could treat you?" maybe if you were single, he'd let you be. but you acted as if you were in love with that other guy, like you might marry him. spend your whole life with him? he can't have that, now, can he? no, that wouldn't do. he locks you up, hides you away from the rest of the world. you didn't even get to say goodbye, you had screamed at him once. he didn't care. you missed your lover, you never quite had the courage to confess. he could tell anyway. he didn't relent. "i know you, pips! he'll never know you like i do." you don't know for sure what happened to your partner ex. you get hints. caleb tells you he took care of him. you didn't have to guess at what that meant. the important part was that you'd never be able to see him again. it broke you apart. you stopped speaking, ate less, never laughed. your smiles were only half-hearted. you had trouble sleeping. it takes a while, but he eventually takes a step back. he sees you fading away, missing the man you used to be with, the one you really loved. you're just a shell of the bright, loving, confident woman you used to be. you don't even look at him anymore. he'd broken your trust. he was too intense, too possessive, too much. he lets you go. you don't look back. instead of your partner's loving arms, you come home to a tombstone and a death certificate. even though you eventually forgive caleb, you can't find it within yourself to love him back the way he's always loved you. he's killed (backstabbed) by one of his colleagues a few years later, eternally distracted by thoughts of you. people think he died without a lover. but he loved you to his grave, even when you didn't love him back. even when you had another in your own heart.

rafayel

bonus points: imagine sylus is "the other guy" in rafayel's story

he ignores you. initially, he wants to shout at you. he wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake until you remember him again, remember what you did to him, what the two of you had. he sees your eyes scanning the crowd and missing him. you didn't recognize him, you weren't even looking for him. he watches your lover lean down and plant a kiss on your lips, startling you. rafayel watches you blush and turns to leave. fine. if you were happy without him, who was he to object? the second time you meet, it's at one of rafayel's art exhibitions. he's mingling with the other guests. he's charming, captivating, unforgettable, everything a world-renowned artist like him should be. he's startled when you suddenly appear behind him. you introduce yourself and he turns around with his usual flirtatious gaze. he meets your sparkling eyes and, for a moment, he can't speak. why were you here? maybe you had finally remembered something-- but you only ask him for a favor. he pretends to be skeptical, when he was truly curious. he thought you might ask about lemuria. or at the very least, just be a fan of his work, wanting to meet him. but when he hears your favor. . . he laughs. hard. it sounds bitter, even to him. oh, you were audacious. who did you think you were? he wanted to say no, to just walk away, so badly. he was one of the best, for god's sake. he could afford to be an asshole this far in his career. but that would be cruel and unfair to you. you did not remember him, for whatever reason, and he couldn't expect anything from you. and, perhaps, he also just couldn't refuse you, no matter how hard he tried. like he was under your spell. thomas was right behind you. please say yes, his eyes seemed to be screaming at rafayel. so he does. only a few months later, he's dressed in soft pastels, blending in with the venue. he's sitting in the very front, a little off to the side, brush in hand. he paints. the life, the weather, the people. part of him feels like he's wasting his pigment on this. he's finally done when he hears you, "i do," voice full of emotion. rafayel watches the ring get pushed on your finger. he looks away. packs up his stuff, waits at the back, leaves before the afterparties. drowns himself in his work. years pass and people notice something had changed in his work. like something was missing. his fame and wealth skyrocketed. he had everything he could want. and most of all, he was happy. he didn't need you.

sylus

bonus points: imagine xavier is "the other guy" in sylus' story

he stalks you. he'd never call it that though. he was simply keeping an eye on you, to make sure you were safe. he has cameras set near your apartment building. when you go out, he usually sends luke and kieran, not willing to trust any of his mindless lackeys to ensure your safety. he has mephisto on the job when you're on a mission and you're trying to lay low. that's how he finds out you're with someone, another hunter. someone he had seen you spending time with at home and at work. instead of backing away, he keeps an even closer eye on you. what exactly had you two done? how far had you let him go? he kept catching his evol out of control, ready to strangle the man who dared touch you. he wouldn't believe you were in love with another. not when his soul was tied to yours. when you go on a sort of solo mission to find the leader of Onychinus, he sees his chance. he tries to get you to remember, he tries to resonate with you, he tries near everything he can think of. nothing works. no, he's only made things worse. you leave to go back to linkon city and he felt himself going insane. how had you forgotten everything? when it was you that tied your fate to his and cursed him. you, who doomed him to only be yours, when you couldn't even remember who he was to you now. on his better days, he has hope. he trusts that you'll make your way back to him. but on his worse days, he pays you a visit. he appears in your vicinity, scares the living hell out of you, and he wants to demand answers. but you hated him. you could only see him as the murderer of your foster grandmother and brother. he disgusted you, how could you love him with that fear, that betrayal in your eyes? one time, he appeared in your room while you were in his arms, the two of you in your bed. he went crazy. he lunged, aiming to kill. he almost did, but he caught sight of your eyes again. horror. pleading. tears. you call him a monster. his gaze dropped to his hands, strangling an innocent throat, black and crimson tendrils of smoke clouding his vision. you were in the corner of the room, looking like you wanted to disappear. sylus' grip loosened. he wanted to disappear. he stands up. takes a step back. he vanishes from the room. you never see him again.

xavier

bonus points: rafayel is "the other guy" in xavier's story

he'd introduce himself. he'd make his presence known each time he walked past your desk at work, past your door at home. he'd bring you home-baked muffins, to welcome you to the neighborhood. you're shocked by the acidic taste in the dough, but his aloof nature is charming. he leaves quite the impression on you. you become friends -- going on missions together, hanging out at his place on the weekends sometimes, having a drink together after a particularly intense fight. he's happy. he's friendly, he's sweet, he's respectful. he's such a gentleman, and honestly, a little bit of a flirt. he knows you don't remember anything. but he doesn't mind. it was more than perfect like this. he didn't have enough time to be nitpicking over the finer details. then you decide you want him to meet your fiancé. he had recently come back from a five-month-long world tour, you were saying, and you just had to introduce him to xavier. of course. xavier never did ask if you were single. he thought his feelings were obvious. he thought you two were on the same page. he forgot you didn't remember the things he did. you didn't catch the little inside jokes he made in reference to your past. and now, he was about to come face-to-face with your lover. fine, he'll be the judge of it. and when they met in person, xavier was livid. it would've been easier if he were horrible. but he wasn't. your fiancé was the whole package: deathly handsome, world-famous, wealthier than one could imagine, and most of all, he had left quite the impression on you too. only he had gotten to you first. xavier didn't ever smile at him, never spoke directly to him, always seething beneath the surface. the worst part was he was so good to you. he was so kind to you. xavier couldn't ignore that, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise. you invited xavier to your wedding. he still tried to make you see him as the better choice. he could fight, he could protect you, he would never forsake you. but you couldn't turn your head from your husband, your heart couldn't stop loving the passionate, flirtatious, loving man you were already tied to. he could feel how distant you were getting already. he could feel the friendship hanging on by a thread. he had a choice: he could try and save it, savor what little interactions he had with you, or go off the grid again. he never got to make the choice. his body was so tired and he already had such little time. he should've noticed the signs, without your love and comfort, all alone again, the stress, the solitude, it was all getting to him. then, one night, you found yourself dressed in black, hand-in-hand with your husband. you were told it was painless, in the middle of the night. you were grateful. you never knew how deep his feelings went for you.

zayne

bonus points: imagine caleb is "the other guy" in zayne's story

he'd keep his distance. at first, he couldn't believe it. it was you. you were the girl in his dreams. the woman formed from fragments of his mind. it had been years since you two had last spoke. but that was before the nightmares started, when he began to think there was something wrong with him. but like a fairytale come to life, he saw you. your eyes, your smile, your everything -- you were divine. his drink was untouched as he stared out the window, into the town square. he needed to speak to you. he thought he was crazy, having nightmares of killing a wife he never even met. but there you stood, laughing as you were grabbed by the waist, kissed until you ran out of breath. his heart dropped. you looked so happy. all hopes of talking to you vanished. he wouldn't cross that line. he got up and left the café immediately. it wasn't his place, to try to speak of such an intimate matter to a taken woman. how could he ruin that for you? he wouldn't. but, maybe. . . he'd make sure to be assigned to you as your primary physician. he'd get to know you in a professional setting, in a respectful manner. just for his own sake. when you had problems with your boyfriend, he'd comfort you. give you advice, sometimes as a doctor, sometimes as a friend. he kept his eye on you to make sure you were never hurt. he couldn't help himself, he couldn't completely stay away. how could he? but he never pushed it. he never flirted with you. even when he might've felt like you were attracted to him too. you had been in your relationship for years, why would you risk that for him? he never explicitly expressed his feelings to you, never wanting you to feel pressured to return them. there were boundaries he wouldn't cross. you weren't his, for god's sake, no matter how much he'd wished otherwise. but he kept telling himself if things didn't work out between you and that guy, he'd try his own luck. two years later, he was attending your wedding. he watched you exchange your vows, eyes sparkling, skin glowing, like you were made of gems. he was so happy for you. he moved towns. kept having nightmares of your lifeless body, dying at his scarred hands.

[igglemouse]

Week 2 ~ Across The Pitch (3.1) ~ Tuesday

My audition victory should have been the brightness of my day, it should have sent me dancing and screaming with joy this morning, but instead I wake with a call from mama and the criticism she has for me.

Checking in, she calls it, but I think we all know its more than that. Mama's love is love expressed through disappointment and most of her morning call is exactly that, a lecture with no purpose other tan to seemingly ruin whatever day I had planned.

"I just don't understand it mija, this whole acting thing. I've always thought you'd grow past it," she tells me, a conversation she's had a thousand times with me, with very little difference.

"And do what, mama? What's so wrong with acting?"

"Must we get into this again?" She acts as if she should be the exhausted one and not me, but at least the conversation shifts into something more normal. The worries of a mother who has a daughter living in another city, if I've done this, if I've done that, that kind of thing. At least its not being scolded for my life decisions.

I'd honestly would rather face these mystical and probably magical gnomes than continue conversating with mama and I have some spring cleaning to do as well. It helps clear my mind and move on from the other parent that helped raised me. She's just...I don't know, she thinks I'm on some path to evil or something. Mama is very very religious and while I understand, truly I do, I'm a believer too personally, but I feel like she is sometimes more against me than for me?

Ah, like I said, I don't want to dwell too much on it. I'll clean, feed little Bruno, and then move on with my day. There's a lot good going on for me!

My little garden also calls to me, promising its own kind of peace along with the aid of the nearly perfect weather. I tend to my flowers with care for just the reason that they deserve it. Nothing more than that.

With it being so nice outside I figured it was also the perfect time to wash clothes and there is some peace to be had there as well. Finally, my thoughts drift from mama to Marco and the moment that we almost shared along with the moment we did share. A rooftop, a hot tub, and the beautiful city of DSV below us, what could have been...what still could be.

The fantasy of that gave me more warmth than the sun...

As far as my diet I've been pretty disciplined. Strawberry kiwi salad has become a go to of mines since it is both nutritous and pretty tasty. The fact is, appearances matter in this industry. You can argue that they shouldn't, that talent is what wins out, but it doesn't. It's unfair, the demands of the business, but they are demands all the same, and so eating healthy and staying in shape is a must.

Maintaining my look is part of maintaining my craft.

Bruno meanwhile has nothing to maintain other than his joy and the energy he brings. Must be nice being a dog, such a carefree life, I would think, such simplicity! Eat, sleep, love, and play, then repeat! I do, for a moment, envy that, but I've read that pressure is a privilege and so I do not mean to back down from it!

And I am ready to handle whatever the industry throws at me and my next assignment is a pharmaceutical commercial. I'll be playing the role of a funny doctor, at least for a few seconds, as that is all that these commercials allow.

Comedy is new to me, I must admit, but it is definitely a skill that could lead to many memorable roles and so to sharpen up on it I try to write my own jokes and just study it a bit. Learning what I can is all that I can do.

A cold front sweeps through the city as evening comes, unexpectedly since it had been so nice and warm earlier in the day. That's fine, at least it came without rain because otherwise my clothes would be wet and soggy and what a disaster that would have been?

And while my day started with a scolding from mama it is my brother who brings some redemption to my family with just how excited he is to be so close to chasing his own dream. He's moved to Windenburg, I think I've mentioned? Far from home but also like me chasing fame. I think he's pretty close to it, the team he plays for has rented him a pretty nice house, by the sounds of it, and it feels like his life too is just starting.

It's funny, the women in my family, my sister and mother, are both unhinged in their own kind of way while the men, my brother and father, have been solid as a rock for me. Oh Watcher, maybe I'm unhinged in my own kind of what but I don't realize it? Let's hope not!

As my day comes to the end Bruno demands just a little more attention. It's bath time, which happens a lot for him since he seems very dedicated to gathering dirt and tracking it all through my little home. I don't mind it, he's only being himself, which is all he can be.

Sometimes, you just have to embrace the mess in life!

Index ~ Next

[wrappedinpinklace]

Mismatched, Chapter One.

(Author’s note!! Hiii everyone, this is the first official chapter of Mismatched!!! My brand new Damian Wayne x Fem reader fic, i hope yall enjoy, xoxo angel <3 I got it wrote the other day and just got done editing it, so I thought I’d go ahead and post it!!)

If you asked anyone, they’d say Potions was a delicate art. A precise one. Meant for people with steady hands and logical minds.

So naturally, you were terrible at it.

“I think… it was the blue one?” you said, squinting at the table of identical vials with a lopsided smile.

Your lab partner looked at you like you’d just suggested licking a Hippogriff.

“That’s not the blue one, that’s the bubbling one!” they hissed, but it was too late. You’d already tipped it into the cauldron with a cheerful hum.

The concoction hissed ominously, bloated like it had swallowed a dragon, then—

BOOM!

A small explosion of glittery purple smoke engulfed your table, like a volcano project gone wrong or in this case right? The classroom went silent for half a heartbeat before someone snorted in the back. A few students clutched their notes protectively as a fine layer of soot settled across the room.

From the front of the class, Professor Nygma’s eyes narrowed behind his emerald-green spectacles. “Miss L/N, are you attempting to invent chaos, or is it simply your natural state?”

You gave him your best sheepish grin. “I’m aiming for improvement, sir. Just… the scenic route.”

He didn’t look impressed.

After ten minutes of Nygma’s theatrical scolding (involving several riddles, naturally), you were left to gather your things. Books half-charred, quill snapped in half, ink bottle mysteriously gone missing…Again.

As you scrambled to stuff it all into your bag, you pivoted too fast, tripped over your own feet, and smacked directly into a solid chest.

Everything, books, parchment, dignity, went flying.

“Ohmygosh! I’m so so sorry!” you squeaked, immediately dropping to the floor to collect your scattered belongings.

Above you, someone exhaled sharply.

“You should watch where you’re going next time,” came a voice like cold steel. Crisp, controlled.

You glanced up.

Green eyes. Sharp jaw. Slytherin robes crisp and perfect.

Damian Wayne.

You’d bumped into him once before—in the corridor outside the Owlery—where he barely acknowledged your existence beyond a glance that probably registered your entire personality as a waste of his time.

Now, he looked down at you with the air of someone thoroughly unimpressed.

You blinked up at him. “Sorry. Again. I have a… condition. It’s called perpetually clumsy with a tendency to cause minor disasters.”

He blinked once, slowly.

His instinct was to walk away—he didn’t do chaos. Or sunshine. Or sparkles. But his father raised him with manners, unfortunately.

So instead of turning on his heel, he bent down and began handing you a book.

Silently.

You gaped. “Wow. Didn’t think Slytherins helped Hufflepuffs. Isn’t that against House rules or something?”

“Don’t mistake obligation for kindness,” Damian replied flatly, shoving the last of your papers into your hands.

You beamed up at him anyway. “Too late.”

He sighed.

And that was the first time Damian Wayne hated someone a little bit less than usual.

_________

The afternoon sun poured like honey over the Hogwarts courtyard, warm and golden. You walked alongside your friends, half-listening as they gossiped about some dramatic third-year duel in the Astronomy Tower. Your mind, however, drifted like it always did—half-curious, half-distracted—until something (or rather, someone) caught your eye across the courtyard.

Sitting alone on a bench beneath the archway, sketchbook in hand and scowl firmly in place, was none other than Damian Wayne.

Oh. Oh, yes. That was your cue.

“Be right back!” you chirped, already veering off before your friends could stop you.

One of them called out, “Seriously? Again?” But you barely heard it over your own excitement.

You trotted across the courtyard, practically bouncing on your feet, and plopped down beside him like you’d been invited—which, obviously, you hadn’t.

“Hi!” you said brightly, ignoring the way his shoulders visibly tensed. “Whatcha doing? Oh wait, sketching, duh. Do you always sketch outside? I think better outside too! Although I’m more of a daydreamer than a drawer. But still. It’s the vibe, y’know?”

Damian slowly looked up from his sketchpad, the corner of his mouth twitching—whether from annoyance or disbelief, you weren’t sure. “Do you always talk like you’ve had five sugar quills and a lightning charm to the head?”

You grinned. “Nope! This is me on a normal day.”

“I can’t decide if that’s impressive or concerning,” he muttered.

You leaned a bit closer, peeking at his sketchbook (which he tilted ever so slightly away from you, as if by reflex). “Is that a Thestral?” you asked, genuinely intrigued.

He narrowed his eyes. “You can see Thestrals?”

You blinked. “Yeah. I mean… I saw someone die once. It was… a long time ago.”

The moment shifted—just briefly. The air between you quieted. Damian glanced at you, really looked, as if reassessing everything he’d previously assumed.

But then you brightened again, flashing a smile like the sun breaking through clouds.

“Anyway, that’s a really good drawing! You’re super talented. Like, weirdly talented. Is that a Wayne thing? Or a Slytherin thing? Or maybe it’s just a you thing.”

He stared.

You stared back, completely unbothered by the silence.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he asked dryly.

“Not unless you really want me to,” you said with a sweet shrug. “I can be quiet! …Ish.”

He groaned softly, muttering something in what might’ve been Arabic.

And yet… he didn’t move.

He could’ve walked away. Could’ve told you off. Could’ve done any number of things to reclaim his solitude.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned a page in his sketchbook and resumed drawing, saying nothing.

You swung your legs beneath the bench and tilted your head toward the sky. “You know,” you said, as if it were just occurring to you, “we might not be friends yet, but I think we’re on our way.”

Damian’s pencil paused for half a second.

Then continued moving.

_____________

You were not the type to live by a schedule.

Your mornings were dictated by which socks you found first, your classes a whirlwind of enthusiastic effort and mild disasters, and your evenings an unpredictable mix of last-minute study sessions, baking experiments gone wrong, and rooftop stargazing with your closest friends.

In short: you were a Hufflepuff through and through—spontaneous, heartfelt, and full of way too many emotions to keep track of.

Your dorm room in the Hufflepuff basement was cozy chaos. A jumble of colorful blankets, half-written letters to pen pals you forgot to finish, and a windowsill full of plants you talked to like friends. Somehow, everything had a place… even if no one else could figure out what that place was.

You had two constants in your life, though.

Duke Thomas: clever, grounded, effortlessly cool. The kind of Hufflepuff who had his life together and still made time to help first-years find their missing frogs. He kept you mostly out of trouble.

And Jon Kent: sunshine personified. A Hufflepuff by heart if not by sheer gravitational pull. He was loyal, kind, a little clumsy in the best way, and just chaotic enough to understand your rhythm.

Both boys were lounging with you on the grassy slope just outside the greenhouses during your free period, the three of you soaking up the spring sun and passing a packet of chocolate frogs around.

“I think this one blinked at me,” Duke said, eyeing his frog suspiciously.

“It probably knows you’ve got trust issues,” you teased.

Duke raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t?”

“Please,” you said with a dramatic wave of your hand. “I trust everyone until they give me a reason not to. Life is too short to assume everyone’s out to hex your eyebrows off.”

Jon chuckled, flopping onto his back and squinting at the sky. “So. Who is it this week?”

You blinked innocently. “Who is what?”

Duke gave you a knowing look. “The crush. You always have a new one. Last week it was that Gryffindor seeker—”

“Because he winked at me during lunch!”

“He had something in his eye,” Jon added, smiling.

You stuck your tongue out at them both. “Well, this week’s different. This one’s serious.”

“Oh no,” Duke muttered.

You leaned in, as if sharing a top-secret confession. “It’s Damian Wayne.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jon and Duke exchanged a look. The look. The universal “we are about to witness something unhinged” look.

“Seriously?” Jon asked, sitting up. “Damian?”

“He’s…” you paused, heart skipping. “Mysterious. And kind of grumpy. But he has these really pretty eyes and he helped me pick up my books and he draws Thestrals in his free time.”

“Did he talk to you?” Duke asked carefully.

“Technically, yes. He told me I talk like I’ve had five sugar quills and that I shouldn’t mistake obligation for kindness.”

Duke winced. “Oof. Romantic.”

You flopped backward into the grass with a dreamy sigh. “He’s just misunderstood.”

“Or he might actually hate people,” Jon said gently. “Like. Genuinely. You’ve seen him in the Great Hall, right? He eats like everyone’s beneath him.”

“I think it’s just his face,” you defended. “He probably doesn’t mean to look that mean. Maybe he was cursed at birth. Or maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Or maybe—”

“He’s going to bite your head off if you keep showing up next to him like you’re best friends,” Duke said bluntly.

You shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Then I’ll knit him a scarf as an apology.”

Jon sighed, though he was smiling. “You’re going to get your heart broken.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, “but at least it’ll be interesting.”

_________________

You weren’t looking for Damian.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you strolled past the courtyard archway for the third time in ten minutes, pretending to look deeply interested in the pattern of the ivy climbing the stone walls.

It was just coincidence, really. That he was there again. Sitting on the edge of the fountain this time, sketchbook closed beside him, surrounded by a small circle of Slytherins.

You slowed.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bother him today. He looked different when he was with them—sharper, less human. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes weren’t. They flicked over everyone like they were targets instead of people.

Still… the sight of him tugged at your chest.

Your feet betrayed you.

“Hi!” you called, waving as you approached, too bright for the cold circle you were walking into. “Fancy seeing you again, Damian!”

He didn’t respond right away. Just glanced at you—an unreadable expression flickering across his face.

One of the Slytherins turned toward you, a girl with sleek black hair and a smirk that could cut glass. “Do we know you?”

You blinked. “Oh! Not officially. I’m [Y/N]. Hufflepuff. I sit two tables down in Potions? The one who accidentally made her cauldron explode with glitter?”

“Ah,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “So you’re the reason I had to scrub purple goo off my robes.”

You winced. “Yeah… sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” another Slytherin boy said lazily. “At least it gave us something to laugh about. You were practically singing apologies while covered in soot.”

The group laughed. Not kindly.

You laughed too, awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess I do tend to… make an entrance.”

Damian didn’t laugh.

He didn’t say anything.

His silence felt like ice water down your back.

You tried again, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Anyway, I just wanted to say hi. Not to interrupt or anything.”

“You’ve done that already,” the black-haired girl said, smiling like a blade.

The others snickered.

You faltered.

And for a split second, you considered turning around. Just smiling and walking away like none of it ever happened. Maybe Duke and Jon were right. Maybe this was too much.

Then Damian moved.

He stood.

Slowly. Deliberately.

And he fixed his friends with a gaze so sharp the laughter stopped.

“She’s not talking to you,” he said flatly.

The silence was immediate.

Your breath caught.

He looked at you then, his eyes unreadable but not unkind. “You’re interrupting,” he said—quiet, almost impassive. But then, after a beat: “…but only a little.”

You smiled. Soft. A little shaken, but grateful. “Well, I can work with that.”

One of the boys muttered under his breath, “You’ve got to be kidding—”

Damian cut him off with a glance.

“I’ll see you around,” you said gently, catching the hint. “Wouldn’t want to break up the Slytherin bonding session.”

You gave them all a polite nod, turned on your heel, and walked away—your heart hammering somewhere in your throat.

Behind you, one of the girls whispered, “What is with her?”

And if you’d looked back, you would’ve seen Damian still watching you. Quiet. Thoughtful. Jaw tight.

But of course… you didn’t look back.

Not this time.

__________________

Damian didn’t usually allow people to waste his time.

Time was precious. To be spent training, studying, perfecting—not enduring the simpering voices of classmates who spoke in circles and smiled too wide when they said his name.

He’d learned early on that here, at Hogwarts, his father’s name carried just as much weight as it did in Gotham. It came with expectations, assumptions, fake friends with sharper teeth than most monsters in the Forbidden Forest.

So he kept his circle small. Selective. Tolerable.

Which made her existence… perplexing.

He had noticed her long before she ever noticed him. You were impossible not to notice—like a spell gone slightly wrong but still full of charm. Loud. Bright. Always laughing at something. Your robes perpetually wrinkled. Your notes a disaster. Your magic unpredictable.

You were chaotic.

And yet… authentic.

You didn’t watch him the way others did. Didn’t seek proximity like it was a privilege or whisper behind your hand about Bruce Wayne’s son like you expected secrets to fall into your lap.

You approached him like he was just there.

It was either idiocy or audacity.

He still hadn’t decided which.

He stood now in the courtyard, arms loosely folded as his friends lingered around the fountain. He didn’t trust most of them—he barely liked them—but they served a purpose. Smart. Dangerous enough. Predictable.

Unlike you.

“Was she serious?” Sasha asked, still smirking from your interruption. “Hufflepuffs don’t usually wander into snake dens unless they’ve lost something.”

“I think she just likes the sound of her own voice,” Rhys chimed in. “She talks like someone set her on fire and didn’t put her out properly.”

A few chuckled.

Damian didn’t.

“She’s not hurting anyone,” he said evenly.

That drew attention.

Sasha’s brow lifted. “Are you defending her?”

“I’m saying your commentary is unnecessary.” He didn’t raise his voice—he didn’t have to. The sharp edge in his tone was enough. “If she wanted your opinion, she would’ve asked.”

The silence was swift. Heavy.

He stared out over the courtyard, jaw tight.

He didn’t know why he said it.

He didn’t care about you.

You were a nuisance. An interruption. A walking, talking storm of messy good intentions and clumsy charm. You didn’t even know the proper name for half the plants you carried around in your satchel like stray kittens.

But you were… genuine.

And for someone who lived among liars and legacies, that made you dangerous in an entirely different way.

He wasn’t intrigued because he liked you. He didn’t.

He was intrigued because you were unaffected. Because when you looked at him, you didn’t see legacy. Or expectation. Or threat.

You just saw him.

And that, perhaps, was the most disarming thing of all.

He glanced down at his sketchbook later that evening, safely tucked away in the corner of the Slytherin common room where no one dared bother him. He’d flipped to a fresh page without thinking.

Then sketched.

Not a Thestral. Not a battlefield scene.

But a figure with messy robes and leaves tangled in her hair.

Laughing.

Like she’d cast Lumos directly into his skull and left him blinking.

He stared at it for a long moment before closing the book and locking it with a muttered spell.

This meant nothing.

He didn’t like her.

He barely knew her.

And he intended to keep it that way.

…Probably.

[merrybloomwrites]

When the Wolves Come Out (Chapter 10)

Story Summary: When Y/N gets hired to play drums for One Direction, the last thing she expects is to find herself as part of their pack. Especially since it seems that they don’t want her there. Only time will tell if they’ll accept her, or if the omega will have to deal with rejection from the others.

Chapter Summary: After a perfect week, you and the boys reenter reality.

Word Count: 1.8k

CW/tags: omega verse, omega reader, alpha Harry, alpha Zayn, alpha Louis, beta Niall, beta Liam, poly, omega drop, name calling, unwanted advance

Previous Chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine

AN: once again went into this chapter without much of a plan and let it lead me. I was interested by where it ended up

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

Waking up surrounded by the pack has you feeling so happy and content, ready to be starting another day. But unfortunately today isn’t as free as yesterday was.

While there’s no show tonight, you’re all expected at the venue for a preliminary sound check and rehearsal. You’re not sure why you need to rehearse, when you’ve all been doing the show for months, but apparently they think one week off means you’ve all forgotten everything.

Of course, nothing goes smoothly. The tech is giving you all a lot of problems, and just getting everything set up takes twice as long as it should. Even during the run through of the show, new problems keep popping up.

Luckily, none of the problems are due to any band members, but rather the sound system at the venue. Apparently they'd updated it recently and haven’t worked out all of the kinks.

So while it’s an incredibly long day, much longer than planned, at least none of you are the reason for the problems. In fact, you still have a pretty good day since you get to hang out with the boys each time you have to stop and let the techs work out the issues.

But all those problems mean that it’s late when you get back to the hotel. All anyone wants to do is shower and get into bed. So you all split up into your individual rooms. But sure enough, one by one, you all flock back to Louis’ room and fall asleep tangled up just like the night before.

When you wake up you see that Niall is already out of bed, so the two of you decide to go grab some breakfast. You take it back to his room to eat without waking any of the others, and are shortly joined by Liam, leaving the three alphas to fend for themselves.

It’s nice to spend time with just the betas, especially when Niall says, “I can’t believe I thought that you joining the pack would be a bad thing.”

It's somewhat unexpected, and you’re not sure how to reply, but luckily he continues, “We just got so used to how things were between the five of us. And I thought that if an omega joined the pack, then the alphas would just forget about me and Liam. Like they finally had the omega that they always wanted or something. What a crazy, dumb thought.”

“I’ll admit, I thought that too at first,” Liam says. “But we couldn't have been more wrong. You didn’t cause problems or split us up.”

“You complete us,” Niall concludes.

This declaration has you suddenly feeling quite emotional, but you still need to ask, “I do?”

They must hear the waver in your voice, because they both reach out to put a hand on your shoulder in comfort.

“You do,” Liam confirms. “I genuinely hate to admit that Simon was right, but he always said we wouldn’t be a full pack without an omega. We thought that was ridiculous. But then we met you. And it’s not just that you’re any random omega. It’s you. You’re who we needed without even knowing it. You are the missing piece.”

You’re left speechless, choosing to bring them in for a hug, hoping the gesture will say what you can’t. After last week you knew that the betas had accepted you, but it’s always nice to hear it stated so clearly. You know it was hard for them to change their ways, to know that the alpha’s attention would be more divided, but that hasn’t stopped them from caring for you. And you know that when it comes down to it, they’ll love and protect you, just like the rest of the pack.

Soon a message from Louis pops up in the group chat, wondering where the three of you are, and within minutes you’re joined by the alphas.

It’s a show day, which means getting to the venue by early afternoon. Once there you separate from the boys, going to your own dressing room. As the only Omega and only girl, you’d been given your own space. Which you liked at first, but now you don’t enjoy being apart from the others. It’s too quiet, and honestly kind of lonely.

You know that the boys are doing a meet and greet, so you go to take a peak at what’s going on. They sit along the table, taking pictures with fans and signing things that are put in front of them. It's hard to hear what anyone is saying, but you catch a few people inquiring about you. Wondering who you are to them.

Each time the question arises, the boys flounder for a moment and look at Louis to handle the situation. You know they’re not hesitating due to shame, but rather due to wanting to protect you. But the truth is that the pictures are out there. It’s clear that you’re a part of the pack, and Louis replies with this.

He handles it well, claiming that you’d joined the band, and soon they had all come to the conclusion that they wanted you to join the pack as well. It’s not exactly the full truth, but it is the best media trained answer he could give.

You go back to the dressing room to finish getting ready, leaving the rest of the world behind to fully focus on your performance.

It’s a busy week of shows and travel, and by the end of the tenth show in the tenth different city, you’re feeling pretty tired. As much as you love doing what you do, it takes a toll on your body, and on your omega.

You just want to get back to the bus and climb into your bunk, maybe with some clothes scented by your alphas. But when you walk into the hallway you’re startled by someone standing just outside your door.

Your first instinct is to ignore him, just duck your head and keep walking. But he doesn’t give you that option.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says. “I’m Gavin.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” is your polite answer. You have no idea who this man is, or how he got backstage, but your instincts are telling you he’s no good.

“Nice to meet you too,” he replies. “I’ve seen videos of you playing, but can I just say that I am impressed. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.”

“I was wondering if you would want to hang out? Maybe spend the night together?”

God, he can’t even come up with a good pickup line. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so worried about being suspiciously alone with him. Seriously, why is now the time that the hallway is deserted?

“Sorry, we’re traveling tonight. Need to get back on the bus or I’ll get left behind.”

“I can be quick.” Which ew, not something to brag about. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. I promise not to knot you.”

“No, I really, I have to leave now.” Your pulse is racing as he cages you against the wall, trapping you in this situation.

“I know when an omega needs some love. I can take care of you, have some fun, leave you feeling satisfied.” He clearly isn’t taking no for an answer, and you don’t know what to do. You’re truly starting to panic when finally, you hear footsteps approaching.

You’d be happy to see anyone right now, but to your great relief, all three of your alphas round the corner.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Harry questions while Zayn shouts, “Get the fuck away from her!”

Thankfully Gavin listens to them, and you make your escape directly into Louis’ arms. You tuck your face into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent while Zayn and Harry get security over to deal with the situation.

“It’s over now,” Louis then murmurs. “You’re safe. Let’s get to the bus and get you in bed, alright? We'll keep you safe, he won’t get you.” Reassured by his words, and by his arm around your waist, you let him lead the way outside.

Normally, you make it to the bus before the boys do, and therefore go unnoticed, able to stay under the radar. But due to the incident inside, you’re now being seen with most of the band. Plus, some of the security who would normally be escorting you all is inside dealing with the Gavin situation.

So instead of sneaking onto the bus like usual, you’re now the center of attention. And the attention isn’t exactly positive. There’s a lot of shouting from the fans on the side of the barrier, and it’s confusing at first. But then you hear the comments being aimed at you, most of them not positive.

Any derogatory name they can use, they do. Whore, slut, skant, easy omega. Seems like the fans think you’re just using the boys for sex. Which you know isn’t true, and the boys know isn’t true. But it still hurts that the fans think that.

If you weren’t already stressed out you’d realize that they’re probably just jealous. But you’re exhausted from the past week of shows and travel, and then from getting cornered by a strange alpha.

“Damnit,” you hear Louis curse under his breath. “Don’t listen to them, okay?”

Zayn and Harry join in, surrounding you and blocking the fans. They try to talk over the shouting and yelling that’s aimed at you. But you can’t hear them. In fact, even the crowd starts to fade away.

“Omega, stay with us,” Zayn says. “Just get to the bus, then you can drop.”

Oh shit. Dropping again? You never used to drop and now it keeps happening. Have you gotten soft? Weak? Maybe everyone’s right, maybe omegas can’t do this kind of work.

Self doubt adds to the overwhelming emotions, and black dots begin to block your vision.

“Fuck, she’s not making it in. Harry, block us, Zayn get the door,” Louis instructs as he lifts you into his arms. You hold on as tight as you can, your nose seeking out his scent gland instinctively.

“We’ve got you,” Harry says. “You’re safe with us. We won’t let them hurt you.”

The boys continue to talk calmly, and even in your fuzzy stage you can tell when you’ve entered the bus. Any residual noise fades away and you can smell the familiar mix of scents that belongs only to your pack.

You’re semi-alert until you reach the back of the bus where there’s a lounge with one large bed. Louis passes you to Zayn who’s waiting there, and soon you’re surrounded by all five of them. Safe in their hold, you succumb to the drop.

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AN: Thanks for reading!

As I wrote this chapter I thought of another turn this story is going to make. This chapter was supposed to be longer but I need to plan out the next few scenes to make sure I don’t write myself into a corner

taglist: @luxiorchive

[paranoiastudio]

Dark prince

pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen х f!reader

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, oral, pet name, sex video, daddy kink

word count: 3,0k

English is not my first language, sorry about mistakes

The Dark Prince. You knew about him, of course, among the other men on the porn site he seemed different. He never shows his face, almost all the videos on the channel are filmed in the "solo" genre, and even his few partners never appeared in his videos twice.

So what should you think when you received a message from him with an offer to shoot a video together?

You yourself had fun on camera alone: ​​you didn't have a boyfriend, and having sex with strangers in the studio was too much for you. Just a temporary job that helps you, a student, stay afloat.

Why did you agree? Why didn't you refuse or just ignore him? Probably, thoughts of his beautiful, pale and tattooed body influenced your opinion and you agreed to meet and work together.

Your "colleague" paid for your flight (of course, he is from the capital), a room in an expensive hotel and agreed to the day and time when you yourself would be ready.

- Hi. - You look up timidly and almost choke at his appearance. Everything you imagined, everything you fantasized about was not even close to true.

That long blond hair, those eyes. He was tall and thin, although you could see the relief of his muscles through his thin white shirt. It seemed he had recently taken a shower, droplets of water were visible on his bare, almost smooth chest.

- Hello. - His voice is confident, he is clearly not as nervous as you are. Against his background, you seem even shorter and the man glances at the soft pink dress you chose today.

- Hi… - Thoughts are swarming in your head, you feel yourself getting shamelessly wet, the thought that that very perfect dick is nearby intoxicated you like never before.

- Hi. - He grins and lets you into his room. You haven't seen such a room in his videos, it looked much more lived-in, as if he was here all the time. - How are you?

- Everything is fine. - The view outside the window was mesmerizing. - And you… Sorry, I don't know your name, I…

- Do you want to know my name? - You nod, afraid to anger him with this request, after all, you've only known each other for a short time. - My name is Aemond.

- Aemond. - You repeat, as if trying his name on your tongue. - Am I not allowed to use it?

- You shouldn't. - He chuckles quietly again. - I don't advertise it.

- Then why did you tell me? Do you know my name?

- Yes. I saw… The diploma on the wall. - Aymond takes a bottle of cola from the minibar and hands it to you. - Here. Don't be afraid, I don't bite… Unless you ask for it.

- The diploma?

- Yes, above your bed, next to the big flower. - Aymond thought about it. - Graduated with honors, huh?

A shiver runs down your spine. If he noticed, someone else might have too. How could you be so careless? The horror must have shown on your face, because Aemond starts talking again, and this time his tone is much softer.

- I don't think anyone else would have noticed. It's just that I… I used to watch that video of you in a bunny costume quite often, remember?

Of course you remember, you bought that costume before Halloween, made a video of it, and returned it to the store that same day. It was the first time you filmed yourself playing with your butt, and it's one of your most popular videos.

- I'll hide it. - You sit down next to Aemond and take the drink from his hands. The bottle was cold and sweaty, and Aemond's hand was so warm when your fingers touched the neck of the bottle.

- Too bad, I really like it. What do you think?

- I've watched your videos, and quite often, to be honest. You're beautiful.

- Not more beautiful than you, princess. - You've heard compliments before, but Aemond's words sent a shiver through you, a pleasant thrill from the realization that he actually thinks you're beautiful.

- And… What would you like to do? - You hadn't discussed it beforehand, and only now do you realize that it would be much easier to discuss it over text.

- I've been thinking about something for a long time… But you don't make videos with your boyfriend, and I don't know what you like.

- I don't have a boyfriend, but I get what you mean. - You take another sip from the bottle. - I guess I don't want my face to be seen… Anal, I don't think… Blowjob?

Aemond watches you flutter your long eyelashes innocently, fiddling with the hem of your short dress. You seem so innocent and somehow magically managed to convey it through the screen. That's why he chose you…

A large hand lands on your knee and squeezes the soft flesh, moving higher and higher. Aemond was so tall and big that you thought he could close you off from the world.

- I would be glad if you let me. - That look; you were ready to kneel right there and whisper "yes, daddy, please." - But first, your pleasure.

Aemond works quickly and precisely. He has already set up the light next to the bed, set up the camera. He also insisted that you stay in this dress.

Everything seems so normal when the camera starts recording. Everything feels right when Aemond squeezes your breast and kisses you so deeply and hungrily that you almost choke from the onslaught.

You fall on the bed on your back, Aemond turns you around so that the view of your wet pussy is the main one on the screen. His touches were confident and precise, it felt like he already knows you, knows how to touch you.

- Such a cute pink thing. - Aemond fidgets with the bow on the hem of the dress and lifts it to the waist, pushing aside the thin strip of underwear. - I'll take care of you, baby.

A hot mouth falls on your dripping pussy and you squirm, such caresses were unusual for you, because all the guys you met, more often than not, were too selfish for this.

- Oh god… - You press your hand to your mouth, but you moan louder when Aemond wraps his lips around your clit. - Please!

- I'm just getting started, baby. - Aemond holds your legs wide apart and begins another assault, intending to make you cum on his tongue. The thought that you must taste divine has been haunting him for months.

His nimble tongue penetrates you again and again, Aemond's thumb circling your clit, already swollen from kisses. You take two fingers at once without any problem, and you both moan as you feel how hard you clench.

A finger, then a second, penetrates, stretching your plush walls and causing only more whimpers. You were shamefully wet, soaking wet as soon as you saw him, but this… Is it possible to pass out from this? When your pussy is being licked by a man like Aemond, yeah, definitely.

- Let go, baby, let me taste you. - That growl-like cry pushes you over the edge and you break when Aemond's other hand squeezes your thigh, bruising it.

You've never been loud in bed, but no one has ever given you this much pleasure. Aemond doesn't let go of you for a second, devouring your orgasm with a hunger worthy of a starving man. His fingers slide in and out with a wet squelching sound that turns you on even more. You're like an animal in mating season, unable to think about anything but him and the way his cock is pressing into you through your jeans.

- Please, wait… - Your plump, wet, pulsating pussy was so sensitive, but the man kept licking you. - Daddy, please…

Aemond immediately looks up at you and you see the effect your words had. He seemed to get even more aroused, your whimpering and the fact that you continued to squeeze around Aemond's fingers did not help his calm either.

The man catches your palm and gently bites the thin skin of your hand, slippery fingers still moving inside and you no longer try to bring your legs together, knowing that it will not help against him.

- What do you want, baby?

- Fuck me, daddy. - You throw your leg over his strong shoulder and do not meet any resistance.

- Oh, baby… - Aemond buries his face in your chest. - Your dress is so beautiful.

You giggle, understanding why he asked to stay dressed. But what you do not know is Aemond's desire to undress you himself. It is like opening a gift that you have so long and desperately desired …

Aemond pulls the fabric of the dress, exposing your chest: hard pink nipples cannot help but attract his attention, the blond immediately circles one of them with his tongue, rolls it in his mouth and releases it with a loud "pop" made by his chiseled lips.

The man helps you sit up comfortably on the bed and you immediately open your mouth, wanting to feel his heavy taste on your tongue. With one hand you grab Aemond's strong thigh and with the other you pull the fabric of the dress even lower, something like a skirt hangs at the waist, you feel the juices of arousal flowing down the inside of your thighs.

Aemond pulls the zipper and you see him: as beautiful as you remember from all his videos, the head red and dripping, wanting to receive what you will gladly give him as many times as he says.

You swallow him as deep as you can and almost choke on the amount of saliva, this man turns you into an animal. You drool and move your head more actively, making the most indecent sounds. Aemond's long fingers bury themselves in your hair, gently massaging your scalp and pulling the soft strands so that they do not bother you and do not cover your face.

The sight of you sucking his cock, wrapping your beautiful lips around the shaft, the way you look into his eyes while licking the underside of his cock, excited him like nothing else.

- That look, baby. - His voice trembles slightly and breaks into a moan. - You look at me so innocently.

- Am I doing well, daddy? - A thread of saliva has formed between your mouth and Aemond's cock and you feel how the grip in your hair is getting stronger. - I'm trying, but you're big…

He really is bigger than all the cocks you've ever handled. Even on video, you've used small or medium-sized toys. But it was impossible to swallow Aemond whole, you squeeze his balls and suck on the head, continuing to circle it with your tongue.

- Such a good girl. - Aemond literally growls, catching the pace and moving more confidently. - You'll let daddy fuck that magic throat, right?

Your hand involuntarily reaches between your legs, the pulsation is so strong that it hurts. There's a pull in your groin and you touch yourself, smearing the lube and looking for at least some release.

Aemond penetrates deeper, sees how you inhale through your nose and continues to fuck you in the mouth, wiping away your tears with his thumb. You feel the stretch, it becomes difficult to breathe, but you exhale through your nose and choke on the cock, continuing to play with your pussy.

- I was distracted for a minute… - Aemond's voice is hoarse, his cock twitches in your mouth and he pulls away. - I didn't tell you to touch yourself, right?

- Daddy… - It's so hard to take your hand away, especially when he's looking at you, his gaze does not bode well. This man will ruin you.

He throws you down on the bed, face down, ass up in the air, Aemond pulls off your dress and you're left with only your shoes, with little white bows. A heavy slap lands on your ass and you gasp from the burning sensation on your skin.

- No one but me can touch this pussy. - Aemond's other hand grabs you from below. His palm is big enough to cover your entire cunt. - Do you understand?

- Yes, daddy… - You lift your ass higher, still hoping that he will stop teasing and just fuck you the way you want.

- Repeat. - A tone that will not tolerate an argument, impossible to disobey.

- No one but you can touch… this pussy… Please! - Tears flow from your eyes, because Aemond's nimble fingers have been touching you all this time where it was wet and hot. For him, because of him…

- And now we will reinforce this lesson. - You feel how he rubs against you, collecting your secretions and lubricating his cock. You smile slightly, noting that he cares about your comfort.

This thought leaves you as soon as Aemond fills you with one strong movement, right now he did not tease you and just took everything in one movement.

The sticky walls adjust to its shape, as if you memorize its outline. It is so heavy and hot, the angle allowed the Dark Prince to penetrate so deeply, at first you only roll your eyes, your ears seem to be blocked.

Somewhere in the distance you hear a groan, it is your own voice, so high… The man hits your round ass again to bring you to your senses and immediately begins to move.

You scream and wiggle your hips, feel like you are going to die now. But it's not death, it's an orgasm that hits you suddenly and hard, you feel yourself sucking Aemond into you, he moans long and hard, but doesn't stop fucking you, his balls slapping against you, he moved so fast, as if he was really hammering a lesson into you about whose you are now…

Still shaking, you suddenly feel light and find yourself on your back, Aemond, slightly flushed, with disheveled hair, looks at you, moving his cock with his big hand. You spread your legs and take him into your arms.

Aemond holds your legs, setting a precise rhythm and plunging into you with almost hypnotic awe. He catches your face by the chin, you hold his gaze, he doesn't break away from you for a second.

- Are you going to give daddy another one, baby? - He leans down and showers your breasts with light kisses. - Squeeze me one more time and I'll give you what you need?

- Cum on my tits? - Aemond kisses you and changes the angle slightly, your ass literally hanging off the bed, Aemond above you, fucking you like it's the last time. What a beautiful view on camera, you suppose. The thought of it drives you on and you leave kisses and bites on Aemond's thin neck. Your pussy clenches, he feels that you're almost there…

- Come on, princess. You take me so well… - His voice breaks, he's close.

Aemond rubs your clit with his thumb and kisses you again. Not a single moan escapes, he'll swallow them all, not letting you go until you're ready.

He's still hard inside you when he slides out and sits on your right side. You immediately open your mouth and smile invitingly, your hands automatically reach for your chest, you pinch your nipples and wriggle.

It only takes a minute for Aemond to cum, sperm lands on your chest and stomach, moans and tries not to close his eyes, continuing to slide his gaze over you.

You lick a few drops and smile at him. Aemond leans down and kisses your forehead.

- Can I get a close-up? - You just nod and stay on the bed.

The man takes the camera from the tripod and comes to you. Your face is out of frame, he focuses on your tits and the cum dripping down you. You play with your breasts a little when Aemond changes the angle and your pulsating pussy is right in the frame, the man catches your gaze and smiles, receiving another nod.

He runs his finger along the entrance, pinches the clit with two fingers, you giggle, but spread your legs wider. He penetrates again with his fingers, pulling out a couple more wet slaps; pulling out his fingers, he slaps your pubis and ends the recording.

You are still lying on the bed when he brings a warm towel and washes off the traces of your passion. Silently, you let him do it, using the opportunity to examine him up close once more. Aemond does everything good and carefully, he is too experienced.

The sudden urge to touch him overcame common sense and your palm ended up on Aemond's cheek. He looked up and you stared at each other for a few seconds, you were the first to reach out to him and innocently, quickly and lightly, touched his lips.

- I felt good… - You don't know why you're even saying this.

- Me too. - He smiled and leaned into your touch. - Do you want to take a shower? And then we can… go to lunch if you want.

You agreed, you spent a couple more hours together, Aemond promised to send you the final version of the video before publishing it, so that you could check everything and approve it.

As promised, you hid the video that Aemond had mentioned, but sent it to him, writing in the message "since you like it so much, you can be the only one who has it xx"

That same day, Aemond sent you video and you were pleasantly surprised. Everything looks really good, and this is your first sex video with another person.

As soon as you finished watching, another message came from Aemond.

“How about we always make videos together? And I would also be happy to take you on a date”