#man it is a shame about this festival though but it is what it is. therell be other days. i guess im not really a weekend person hey

[toastsnaffler]

really horribly anxious this morning and can't seem to shake it off :-(

[nouearth]

lessons in kissing.

dick grayson x male reader x peter parker.

summary: dick and peter become your professors in kissing 101 (& more).

wc: 6.2k. genre: smut. warnings: top!peter, top!dick, bottom!reader, handjobs, blowjobs, kissing, cum-swapping, mouth-fucking, threesome, unprotected rough!sex, reader's first time, characters are aged up!

notes: yeah, so um... this might be my dirtiest smut yet. this was also my first time writing a threesome soooo, i hope i did okay? thank you, anon!

request by: anonymous.

“you’re lying! you’ve really never kissed anyone before?”

“dude, like, ever?!” peter gasped, and you turned towards him, slowly nodding while you grew cautious of everyone’s confusion. 

“not even when you were in kindergarten?” you twisted your neck for the nth time at the sound of dick’s voice again, and shame unexpectedly crept onto you the more the two men collected their bafflement together.

your cheeks and neck flamed as they both stared at you, bewildered as if your confession was akin to an unmasking of a superhero—like a family of lemurs, a small one, you’d reckon.

“geez,” your hand clutched onto the can of sparkling water harder before downing it, ridding your insecurity in several hard and fizzy gulps. “if i knew i was going to be interrogated, i wouldn’t have told you guys in confidence.”

“no, it’s just…” a careful exchange was puzzled together by the two men. dick shrugged and peter stammered, following you into the kitchen of his apartment. “i mean, not to make you feel weird or anything, but you’re not ugly.”

“i- pete, was that supposed to be a compliment?” your eyes narrowed at him jokingly, maintaining the coldness of your gaze to break peter into nervous stammers. 

“w-what, no!“ he shook his head and approached you closer, a mixture of awkward laugher filling the feigned tension between the both of you. “wait- no, i mean, yes! it’s a compliment.”

you’ve always found it cute.

“i think what peter means is…” bouncy steps followed you two into the kitchen, more-so to sate his appetite for pizza after losing his tenth consecutive match on a game, but consider his curiosity piqued. a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese didn’t stop him from joining. “you’re handsome, he talks about it all the time.”

“dude...” peter grumbled and instinctively turned his body away out of your sight, sipping at nothing in his cup. the only fizz left was the glare he sent dick; like a sparkler on holiday festivities. 

“oops, my bad,” another bite, and dick took his cup of soda to gulp the grease down. “we find you handsome—though, i’m pretty sure (m/n) knew that since i hit on him when we first met.”

“god,” you laughed it off, picking the pizza box of gloopy cheese to take it in your mouth. “can you imagine? my first kiss being with you? or even peter?”

yes, you can imagine. those thoughts had run rampant since you met them in freshman year of university, expanded upon it even. what would it be like to date dick? how soft were his lips? and the same for peter. sometimes, you’d even think about making out while he was in his spider-man costume, but that fantasy was shamefully bookmarked into a deep abyss of thoughts, only sprouting when you would touch yourself at night.

“why?” peter turned back, almost offended, while dick’s laughter joined you, and you swear you can feel a draft from how quickly he twisted around. “is that weird?”

“kinda?” the conversation made you shift on your feet. it was more intimate than what you were used to, and they knew it too, judging by the way they both stared at you again—hyenas. “i mean, i guess it’s because we’re so close now, so…”

“pft, that never stopped me,“ it was like a magic spell drew that confession out of dick. your fingers would have to be cut to coerce that out of you, but you weren’t dick—shameless and confident, you admired it on good days. 

nonetheless, you and peter both gave dick a questioning look. offended would be a regular person’s first reaction, but from the brief exchange you and peter shared, it was unanimous that curiosity took the lead.

dick’s gaze shifted from you and peter, and when the silence drew out for longer than he would’ve thought, a welcoming draft in the room awaited his rebuttal. “come on- you seriously think i stopped thinking about you guys just because we’re best friends now?

“dude, you think about me?” peter’s eyes widened. it would’ve been hilarious if you weren’t involved. you would’ve passed this off as a banter, no more than that. 

you hated to admit it, but you felt yourself throb at this revelation. blood rushed downwards in light speed and you were barely conscious to the drone of peter and dick’s chatter, but you shook it off, laughing at their banters like you aways did.

the day went on like usual. peter’s collection of video games kept you guys entertained for a few hours. when you felt fatigued from mashing your thumb onto the buttons for the ninth match, a walk downtown sufficed. laughing and bantering were the core of your friendship with dick and peter—like every friendship you’d imagine.

but at its finest, it was their vulnerabilities to you, and yours to them, that kept the foundation strong. they trusted you with every secret of theirs, aided them in a few missions of their own, and your friendship thrived. 

the next few days haven’t been exactly the smoothest. you were quieter than usual, and they both took notice because you’d pick at your food while their voices—questions and comments—were ignored, passersby to the street of hearville.

was it that weird to have never kissed at your age? to never have had sex? to not even have had held hands with another guy? they never made fun of you, but you couldn’t help but let these thoughts run rampant.

no. no, it wasn’t. people have their own pace. mine... just somehow happens slower.

you weren’t insecure, but you still felt weird. you suddenly became moody when you saw dick and peter, like you want to be left alone, push them out of your apartment when they drop a visit, drop their pants and suck them off-

oh.

ohhhhh.

dick and peter.

“teach me.” you suddenly spoke out and the two men looked up from their plate of food, exchanging a look with each other before questioning you, humored because you barely spoke all day. the tv played in the background and you were all sitting on the ground, eating off of peter’s very… very small coffee table.

“ah, i almost forgot what your voice sounded like, (m/n)!” dick laughed, twirling his fork into his pasta before shoving the food into his mouth. 

you made a slight pout, only because they weren’t taking you seriously. though, to be fair, you have been acting weird all week.

“with what?” peter noticed, a little more serious in his inquiry. but food was more of a priority for him, you can see him practically sweating at the thought of leaving his spaghetti cold.

“pete, you can still eat-“ you laughed, taking a bite of your food. 

“oh, thank god.” and peter does the same, chowing down on his spaghetti after a hard day of saving lives.

dick cleaned his palette with a cold gulp of soda, a refreshing hiss when the bubbles trickled down his throat. “so, teach you what exactly?” he continued on. “fighting? oh, dude, are you going to be a vigilante-“

“no, no! does it look like i have the strength to be like batman or something?” 

“well, i’m guessing that’s why you came to us for training?” dick amused himself, and peter chuckled, much to your annoyance. 

“guys, i don’t want to be a vigilante.” you grumbled, beginning to bury your confession deep in the pit of your stomach somewhere. “or a superhero, or a guy in a spider-suit with weird web things.”

“hey, they’re not weird-“

“i want to…” it was calming to watch the way your fork swirled itself into the pasta, metal tongs pierced and capturing a wave of sauce and spaghetti all in one swirl. “learn what it’s like to kiss.”

peter choked on his glass of water.

you continued, hot in the cheeks because you can see peter’s widened eyes even when you look away. “handjobs, blowjobs, everything…”

and a piece of dick’s meatball was caught in his throat.

a low drone accompanied the silence once the tv was muted and while a huge weight lifted off your shoulders and chest, you felt small knowing how vulnerable and weird your request sounded. 

“so, you want us to teach you how to…” dick cleared his throat and you feel like you could hear a smile, but you weren’t sure if that was your mind trying to convince you that everything was fine. “kiss and… other things?”

“yeah,” you continued to avoid your gaze, opting for the wooden floor instead. “i know, it’s weird. you don’t have to say yes or anything, it’s just-“

“is that why you’ve been acting stand-offish lately? peter was worried. he was the type to always blame himself of someone else’s behavior, no matter how much you tried to reassure him. though, you guess, he technically was the reason why you became so moody—part of it, anyway. 

“mhm.” the silence was defeating, you can hear their necks turn to look at each other—of judgement, most likely.

and it was all but confirmed when you can see them hopping back onto their feet and running—running as far from you as possible. “guys, wait, i’m sorry-“

you looked up and watched them dash to peter’s bathroom, immediately chasing after the trail of their steps in bewilderment. “what are you-“

“first step, make sure you have good breath.” dick handed you your toothbrush, his spare one at peter’s already brushing into the foaming spearmint in his mouth.

“atleastluntilhelikeyousenough” peter gargled thick and incoherent, brushing into his jumbled sentence.

“uh-huh, okay… seems a little obvious, but…” you spread the toothpaste on the bristles of your brush and began brushing, a smile forming because you have to brush the front teeth too—but also because of your best friends.

you can always count on them. 

“you ready?” dick naturally became the leader of this impromptu training program. he was the most experienced considering how many women and men you caught him with, and as much as you hated that when you were roommates with him, his expertise was needed in this moment. 

“yes.” you sat in the middle of peter and dick, rubbing your sweaty palms against your shorts. a mere flash of regret ignited inside of your beating heart, but peter rested his hand on top of one of yours, squeezing ever so gently to warm and soothe you—to pacify you.

and your worries were quelled when dick does the same, his smile softer, countering his usual playful attitude. “just stop me whenever you feel uncomfortable.” he made you feel safe.

you looked at peter, and he nodded in agreement, his fingers now intertwined with yours. he had always kept you safe, feeling safe, this was a normal feeling towards him. “same with me.” “i will.” your voice was quiet in the bedroom, a mere soft whisper, but they recognized your will to be more vulnerable with one another, to blossom. and dick appeased it with a kiss.

light and feathery at first to test the water, but once dick heard your breath hitch, he applied more pressure in between your lips, capturing them in a slow waltz that kept you on your toes, yet flat on your feet to contain your excitement—your relief. 

it was awkward at first, to find your footing. your nose would bump into his, teeth as well, but dick chuckled, assuring you this will always happen.

unbeknownst to you, dick’s been wanting to do this since he met you, and he savored every second. “remember what i told you… build it up.” he reminded you because you were getting eager, following his lead but returning his kiss in hard sucks. “nice and slow.” 

peter’s palm on your thigh pressed gently onto your bare skin, mistakenly under the lift of your shorts because he was too in awe of the kiss, but they grounded you from your brief flight to the heavenly clouds nonetheless.

“nice and slow…” dick repeated, and you succumbed to his reminder like a prodigy. “that’s it.” it lasted for a few seconds longer until you pulled away to capture your breath again. your lips tingled still, remembering the taste of spearmint when dick’s breath ghosted on your skin.

“was that okay?” an innocent question, but you swore you stole that exact same tone from a porn you watched the other day.

“a natural,” dick laughed, stroking your hair back and you’ve never see him so affectionate—loving, as he doted on you. “try it on peter. more touching though, if you’re okay with that.”

you nodded and turned your head, meeting peter’s gaze with a flushed smile, your lips slightly swollen from your previous endeavor. “I’m okay with that.”

“me too.” peter smiled, only softening when you leaned in, and it completed hid against you when you captured his smile with a kiss. 

his hand gently placed on the back of your head when you did and he pulled you closer into him, returning the kiss, and spilling his breath into yours, while at the same time, drawing yours out. “rub my chest, i like it when people do that.” peter whispered in between each kiss.

you do as you were told, a gentle hand to peter’s broad chest, and you feel yourself tightening, satisfied with how intimate this all is as you felt the muscles on his chest through the fabric.

in the meantime, dick’s been squeezing at the bulge in his pants, containing his will to completely ravish you simply by watching the way you and peter made out. he’s always been observant, noticing the strong twitching of peter’s own erection, and soon yours when peter slid his tongue into your mouth. 

it was tantalizing—breath-taking— watching intimacy build up and vulnerabilities become unimaginably pliant before him. the pink muscles looped and swirled with one another, spreading and sharing sticky saliva until your mouth and peter’s were practically coated in it, glossed in sheen.

when peter pulled away, your lips were immediately stolen by dick again, kissing you with more strength than before, stubbornly refusing the chance for you to restock on oxygen as he wanted a taste of you too. the air became thicker, harder to breathe, but you basked in the taste, the wetness of dick’s tongue, and allowed yourself to become weak in his arms when he took you in, embraced you closely. “mmf...” you moaned out, breathing harder.

but just like dick, peter wasn’t finished with you, directing his tongue and lips to the back of your neck when you turned away. his ticklish and fleeting kisses pulled you back into peter’s arms, but dick noticed and pulled you forward: a stubborn game of gentle tug of war. 

they wanted you, every piece of you. it was telling as peter sucked into your neck, venomous and poisoning, and when dick began directing your hand under his shirt, allowing you to feel his toned stomach and chest, and eventually his clothed erection, making you squeeze around it with an open palm.

lessons have completely escaped to the back of minds, and all that remained was pure lust.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to.” dick reassured. though, ironically, his hand atop of yours, relieving the ache in his pants continued.

through swollen lips, you managed to mutter, distracted by peter’s bruising sucks to other areas of your neck and skin, whimpering when he bit a little too hard. “i did say teach me everything…” his hands were under your shirt now, warming your bare skin with his palms, excited, but fleeting as they immediately tied to the buttons of your shorts when you gave the okay.

“hey, hey,” dick laughed, watching the way peter has grown grandly impatient. “you’re going to scare him, horn dog.” he left a kiss on your lips, a quick one before leaning past you to kiss peter.

you watched in awe at what a kiss was supposed to be like: burning with ease and passion with every stroke of their lips, no hesitation at all—just a moment of time that they’ll remember. you backed into the bed and leaned against the headboard as they kissed at the foot. you don’t remember having your hand down your shorts, but you do, palming yourself to your own private show.

the kiss ran sloppy, drool dripping down either chins, stained with intimacy, and clothes were quickly tossed to the side, with no care in the world.

you followed.

even though you were similar height to peter, he was stronger—they both were. and now, you felt smaller as they climbed onto the bed, towards you, bare and hardened. you watched breathlessly, as their cocks swung heavy with heat. peter’s pre-cum dripped thickly in yearn for something to fuck, while dick’s throbbed for something to fill—a porn scene come to life—and you were left agape, jaw and legs.

“kinda surprised we’ve never done this sooner,” peter said, you weren’t used to his voice so low. kneeling on the bed, by your left hip, he took your hand and kissed the palm, the wrist of it, skimmed his lips over your forearm before guiding It toward his cock, aching for your touch. “though, was hoping i’d have you to myself, but…” gently, your hand was cradled to wrap around his shaft, warm and running with veins, it pulsed. “this works too.”

your chest rose with every spoken word, and peter has never looked hotter. taking control of you like that made your skin crawl, a spell that commanded you to move your hand back and forth, conjuring you to pump him in slow strokes.

contrary to his overall demeanor, his actions were of warmth. caresses to your head, doting on you with honey dripping from his gaze and cotton in touch while you sinned. 

you didn’t know where to look—to fall in love with the way peter gazed at you like a painting in a museum, or to salivate over the way his pre-cum leaked thickly over your hand when you squeeze it out of him, like a bottle of maple syrup.

that became more a problem—a dilemma—when you felt a wetness over your right nipple, then a sting when dick bites to get your attention—selfish and stubborn, like always. “are you sure this wasn’t a tactic to get all three of us in the same room? you seem comfortable.”

he tongued your nub, flicking back and forth to make you squirm, to hear the sound of your moans, to be the reason you have trouble sleeping at night. alongside, his palm ran over your body—chest first, down your stomach, and finally, your erect cock and balls.

you watched, breathless, continuing to stroke peter’s cock and he’d lean over to give you a few kisses here and there. for the most part, he was content like this, watching you squirm while maintaining to do the best to pleasure him.

“no, i swear- it’s just-“ dick played with your balls, squeezing and tugging on the tight sack to loosen them. every man was sensitive down there, you were no exception. “you guys made me feel safe, so…”

“well,” you looked up when peter spoke, his eyes fluttered shut, and you only got them to open when you thumbed the slit of his head, rubbing slick all over his glans, then the length of his cock when you continued stroking. “we are superheroes.”

you all laughed, switching gazes between the both of them, but it was dick’s mouth suddenly wrapping around you that made you concentrate only on him.

“oh, fuck…” warmth surrounded you, inhaled you in one shallow breath, before dick pulled you out of his wet mouth, taunting you with the loss of heat.

“it’s just like kissing,” he said, licking a stripe over the underside of your cock, tonguing his favorite spot: the neck of the glans and the frenulum. dick followed the lines of flesh with precision, leading the very tip of his tongue into the duct of your urethra—once again, tonguing it while his eyes focused on you, devious. “but let curiosity take you further and explore every part of their body.”

“m-mm…” you were sure there was meaning to his words, but they fell on deaf ears. instead, you focused on the ample heat that engulfed you again, moaning.

“every.” dick took you in and pulled you out with a pop.

“fuck-“ you breathed out, curling your toes into the sheets.

“part.” holding your cock up and stroking sloppily, he inhaled your ballsack. sweaty and musty, they must’ve been, but dick devoured the scent, the taste of sins with hungry sucks and licks—ardent and full of fervor.

and at the moment where you most expected to let out a moan, it was shoved down your throat when peter suddenly situated you in between his legs and filled your mouth with his thick cock, smelling of sweat and sex when you inhaled near his trimmed hairs.

“come on,” peter briefly pulled out, tapping the plump tip over your lips. “you learn best when you demonstrate what you’ve been taught.”

peter covered your view of dick, but you weren’t sure if you needed to see him because you felt every maneuver of dick’s tongue, now drowning your cock with his mouth while he continued assaulting your sensitive balls, tugging and squeezing. 

you looked up and peter never looked bigger, more intimidating, but it’s become your new addiction, and you take his cock, holding it thick and take in what you can. it was barely past the tip before you could feel yourself gagging, but with peter’s reassurance, you swallow more of him every time you went down, slicking him up with your spit.

“how’s he doing, pete?” your cock was left cold when dick pulled away to speak, but he made up for it with his hand, stroking his spit with your cock.

“he really is a natural.” peter chuckled, watching you with a scrunched face of pleasure whenever you pulled him deeper into your mouth. almost down your throat now, but he pulled his cock back completely before you can fully take him. “you try.”

“fuck, yes.” dick leaped over and used the spit from your length earlier to lube his own cock, spitting in his palm and stroking when it wasn’t slicked to his likening while peter scooted back to kneeling at your side, stroking himself now.

as your head was positioned in between both their cocks, dick’s was bigger, thicker—a mouth stretcher you’d imagine. but peter’s was longer, veinier, and the only thing they had in common was that their balls hung loose. in porn terms, hung like a horse. 

and on this very day, you considered yourself a lucky man because you have no objection to either, no will to pick and choose.

“look at you,” dick’s voice was rugged, deep, and he pushed his cock past your swollen lips. there was a clear difference in girth. your mouth was stretched wide, and you could only hum a sound of satisfaction, even with the slight sting from the stretch of skin. “who knew you’d be such a cock lover, hm?” 

“he can’t get enough of it, god…” peter was in awe, salivating and stroking quicker at the sight.

two hands kept dick’s cock still in your mouth while you sucked on the bulbous tip like a lollipop. the rest of your hands stroked whatever you couldn’t mange to fit in your mouth. you were apologetic at first, but dick’s smirk told a simple story of his ego, clearly aroused by the size of his own cock as it only grew wider when you struggled downing him, gagging with a whimper.

“come on… (m/n), you can do better than that. you were so good at sucking peter off, kissing us too. what happened?” dick pulled away to stroke himself with your spit, but he quickly buried any excuses into your throat when he pushed himself into your mouth.

“you’re too comfortable now, (m/n). you’re slacking…” peter joined the banter, and when dick pulled out of your mouth, peter’s cock replaced the loss of warmth to your surprise.

holy shit, this is happening.

like a see-saw, the two men alternated in filling your mouth, stuffing saliva further and further down your throat, without allowing a single excuse from you to escape. it’s buried now, deep in the pit of your stomach, and all you can do was be the prodigy that they wished for you to be.

when it was dick’s turn to stretch your mouth, you made sure that peter’s cock wasn’t left abandoned, stroking him with distracted strokes, and vice versa when it was his turn at your throat. you overworked yourself in pleasuring your two best friends, making sure they were satisfied with you, with your mouth as you took more of them without a single plea for a break.

“fuck, there we go…” occasionally, dick would take control by holding the back of your head and fucking inside of your tight mouth. drool leaked down either corners of your mouth while you let him, tears brimming in your eyes when your throat tightened again, a familiar feeling that dick encouraged to hold back. “there’s my star. taking cock like a good student.” 

if there was one thing that these very brief lessons have taught you, you were exactly what they named you: a cock lover. you slurped at whatever—whoever—entered your mouth absentmindedly, spat on cocks that have begun to look more or less the same, because it was dizzying now. your cock was left alone, but it stood tall and proud, throbbing as the two men harassed your face and mouth with their erections. one would gag you while the other had his balls shoved to your face and nose, sliding its wet, dirty slick all over your skin, staining you with lust.

it alternated like this for a while, and you were content, so was dick and peter. but you needed more—something to fill you elsewhere that wasn’t your dirty mouth. and you pleaded with your eyes, looking up at your best friends with delighted tears, a mouthful of cock, and a gaze only a cock loving whore could have—and they recognized it. 

peter was reluctant to pull away, he was so close. but he’s always been selfless. he released his hold on you and it was a struggle to pull you away, but he did with your lips suctioning off with a quiet pop. a thick string of spit that once connected between your lips and peter’s cock laid like webs on your chin, cooling as you watched the two men reposition themselves.

“i’m going to assume we don’t need a lesson in how to finger yourself, hm?” dick whispered against your swollen lips and kissed you again. you were entranced under his tongue, swirling all over yours like ocean waves while you touched yourself to his licks. you twisted and pinched your nipples, tugged on them with the occasional help from dick, then stroked your cock while dick continued from peter’s original trail of bruising kisses to mark his own territory on your body. you were as horny as they were, if not hornier, and you needed them inside of you, in any way possible.

“fuck, i need you guys so bad.” breathless in your moans, your legs squirmed when you felt something wet between your thighs when they were raised, peter’s nice girth sliding in between the plump skin. 

he thrusted himself slow and steady while he worked on your hole, reaching down to prepare you with his lubed digits, one by one. you’ve done this before, they were surely aware, so it wasn’t a unit that was particularly focused.

in between preparation, your mouth remained on dick’s cock again, delivering him your fullest attention with several lathers of your tongue, sucking hard and hollow, deep into your throat. you remember what he taught you and occasionally stuffed your mouth with his balls, sucking on the weight and letting go with a pull because you got off on seeing how they tensed and jiggled when you did.

“i’ll go slow.” peter leaned in with your legs hooked over his shoulders, bending you back, and kissing the tip of your nose when he was close enough to your face. “tell me if you want to stop.”

once you nodded, allowing him the will to deliver on his promise, peter made sure to lube himself up once more before pushing inside of you, slow and steady. he was careful, watching your face as it scrunched when the head slid in—burned when the rest of him filled you to the brim.

it was almost like you couldn’t breathe. it was too much, to be bearing all of this pain alone, but at the same time, you held peter close, wrapped your arms around him to prevent him from leaving you while you buried tiny whimpers into his neck, because you don’t want to stop feeling it, so full and devoured. it was written all over their faces when you glanced at them—they didn’t want to stop either. 

peter and dick decorated your skin in wet kisses, distracting you from the pain while peter began to find a rhythm. although slow, you were beginning to familiarize yourself with this pain. soon after, pleasure, when he struck something inside of you, a certain spot.

“oh- peter, right there, fuck.” your legged tightened around him and the sweat from your thighs rolled back onto your stomach when peter re-adjusted himself to fuck you at a higher angle, folding you onto your back. 

“yeah? right here?” peter thrusted into that spot dead-on, like a dart to a bullseye, and you groaned, your throat aching in pleasure, but dick pacified it with his cock again, filling you up once more. “oh fuck, look at you. all of your holes are filled up, fuck… so fucking tight”

“baby, you’re doing a great job, god…” your heart beat when dick called you that. it was always something he said as a joke when he arrived to your place. honey, darling, you name it, but the fact that it came out so genuine, it made your skin flush red and you could only respond in moans while you sucked him off. “i think he likes it when you fuck him like that, pete.”

for the first time, you felt wanted. 

peter’s thrusts were hard and strong, his balls swung into with every rhythm. you can see the muscles in his thighs flexing whenever he pounded down into your tight hole, your bodies colliding like waves to a rock. it stung whenever his skin slapped into yours, sweaty and musky, but the sinful sounds were well-worth the prize as you basked in them, in the taste of dick’s cock, the sound of peter’s grunts, the flutter of dick’s eyes when you gargled his cock again, deeper, the sweat dripping from peter’s forehead and body—the bedroom hailed of sex. it rocked of brutal creaks and slams as both of your holes were violated and filled to the very brim, all driven by pure lust. 

after some time, they switched spots, tag-teaming so dick can have his turn at your hole. unlike peter, he was rougher, immediately pounding into you because he was sex-crazed about you, couldn’t stop thinking about you since day one of meeting you.

“fuck, better than i’ve ever imagined,” he laughed into your mouth, kissing you sloppily, and pulling away when peter’s cock impatiently wedged himself in between the kiss, and you were back to sucking and jerking off cock again—no complaints. “still so tight, even after peter fucked you so hard…”

“it’s like he was made to be a whore, right?” such vulgar language from your best friends broke the original portrayal you had of them. now, all you could think about was how they wanted to absolutely make a wreck out of you, de-blossom your naive thoughts of what your first time should’ve been like.

it wasn’t what you had imagined. it was supposed to be with one person. a full-time commitment to your relationship. a loving pair holding each other close when they both climax. it was going to be special.

but this… you thought to yourself as you were fucked into the bedsheets with absolutely no mercy, your ass pained and bruised from dick’s muscular hips driving into you every time he came down, harassing you in that familiar spot again.

this was… peter pushed on your bottom lip with two fingers to open your mouth, then spitting in the void, some catching onto your tongue, before shoving his swollen cock inside of you again, aching to touch—to fuck.

dick palmed your cock as you writhed, bent under him, moaned around peter’s long cock. he gathered all of his strength left to tickle you deep, to reach inside of you with his cock, breathless and panting with every thrust that rocked the two of you together—three, when peter fucked into your mouth. 

this was so much fucking better. 

“holy shit-“ under dick’s touch, you came hard in several thick ropes, all over his fist, and then the sweat of your body when he opened his palm. you were a natural shooter, accidentally spraying your face with your own thick semen, and you heard peter and dick moan in unison, in awe.

seeing you dressed in cum like this had them race each other to their climax. dick fucked you harder, his grasp on your hips bruising and white, while peter held onto your head and met your throat with his cock, repeatedly forceful in strength. you gagged around him, and they only benefitted from every sound you made.

“fuck, i’m going to-“ you watched peter’s abs flexed, tightened as his stomach pooled with pleasure, and you can hear the holy bells ring when he pulled out of your mouth, jerking his wet and slimy cock off until he came undone in thick spurts, all over your pretty face. not a single shot was missed, painting you in white like a canvas with every last drop.

you were still high off of your own orgasm, and you turned your head to watch dick fuck himself into you, clearly wonder-strucked by the scene before him. you were covered in cum all over. they beckoned him to join, the many loads on your body. they were begging now, a mantra of pleas pulled him closer to you, and he can smell the sex off of you, inhaled peter’s musk as well, and again—those holy bells rang.

with the speed of lightning, dick pulled himself out of your abused hole and climbed over to kneel over your chest, fucking into his fist while simultaneously jerking his cock off over your face. to your cum-covered body, to peter kissing his spunk off your cheek and chin then your lips, to the taste of your own cum when you swiped a load off your chest and fed it into dick’s mouth. he suckled, bittersweet salt spread over his tongue, and he was ravished by the taste of you. 

dick then pushed his hips out and aimed his cock over your lips, still connected to peter’s for a messy kiss, stroking until the only reason he tore his gaze away was because his lids fell heavy, ceased his sight to roll his eyes back, and came with a shudder. thick ropes of cum inked on your face and peter’s, but most of it fell to your connected lips. 

“fuck, that’s hot…” dick muttered, rolling his shoulders back while he milked himself to you and peter making out, cum-stained and all. you moaned at the taste, saltier than yours and peter’s, and peter does the same while scraping a load of warm cum from the corner of your cheek and into his mouth before kissing you again, swapping the gloopy residue with a sloppy exchange of tongues.

he was envious, watching how the sticky load caught onto your lips then peter’s when he squeezed himself dry. before you and peter could take all of his cum for yourself, he leaned down to join peter for a kiss, stealing the mound of cum that peter has expertly hidden on his tongue. dick didn’t know who he was tasting anymore. but whether it was you, peter, or himself, it was delectable, and he wanted to share the delightful taste with you. he spat the mixture of cum and spit inside of your mouth before webbing his lips to yours, sealing it with one final breathless kiss.

“so, are lessons still on for next week or?” peter lay by your side, and dick joined the other, still dizzied from his high as telling by his shut eyes and drawn out pants. 

“i mean… i’m still up for it if you guys are?” you said, leaning over to press a kiss to peter’s cheek. you took his smile as an answer and looked to dick for his.

“mm... yeah.” dick sleepily opened his eyes, his locks stuck to his sweaty forehead while he buried himself under the blanket. you felt his arms wrap around your waist once he got comfortable, muttering a kiss to your shoulder before dozing off. 

“we’re good teachers, pete.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[llamagoddessofficial]

Bro you actually got me wanting to marry farm sans 😭 he's so out of my league though. What a man. I like that the whole community wants them to get together too, sans is one of their boys, they gotta have his back and hype him up a little!! I just know there's a monster in town who's offered to plan the wedding for sans, and old ladies love gossiping and playing matchmaker if left to their own devices

"dangit. you found my hiding place before i did."

You jumped, glancing up and over your shoulder, distracted from staring out into the dark. But you relaxed once you saw who it was.

"Ah, sorry." You didn't actually want to move. You immediately felt better for Sans being there, even despite the events that had just transpired, some of your wound-up stress leaking away. "I can go find a new place to cower from socialising,"

"nah, this is fine." Sans sat down on the step, right beside you, letting out a relaxed sigh. He held out a glass of monster champagne to you - you (obviously) accepted. "s'more than enough room for two."

He was right. The beautiful little veranda was spacious enough for a whole party of people. It just so happened that the party had retreated indoors, now that night had fallen. From your spot sat on the edge of the veranda, you could faintly see the lights of the rest of the village, the muffled murmur of the dinner party going on in the house behind you not quite enough to mask the sound of the wind rustling the grass.

You fiddled with the glass. Sans' knee was almost touching yours. He smelled warm, comforting.

"Nice party." You mumbled.

Sans leant back slightly. "yeah. dinner is always good when felinus is hosting."

"Don't tell anyone I said this, but it's much nicer than Theodore's."

"i know he's a dolphin. but still don't get why he only served seafood."

...

You looked at him, and those pretty green eyelights focused onto you.

"So... are you also running away from the matchmaking?"

Sans' smile dropped - then he let out a somewhat pained noise, leaning forward and putting his skull in his hands. You couldn't help but giggle.

"m'so sorry," he groaned. The tension in the air had eased now that you'd finally broached the subject.

"It's fine. Really." You nudged him with your elbow. "It's just old ladies having a laugh. It's probably the most entertainment they've had in a long time."

He rubbed his face. "i know, i know. i just... stars, they're so pushy. it's mortifying watchin' them corner you like that."

You recalled the slight jump of fear you'd had when a cohort of delighted elderly bunnies had seemingly materialised out of thin air in the party to determinedly tell you it was such a shame a 'delightful human like you' was single. They then heavily reiterated how single Sans was, how much he clearly liked you, and what a 'lovely young man' he was.

"They can be strong-willed. That's for sure."

Sans sat up, but seemingly couldn't look at you. "i don't want you to feel some typa way about me because of them."

"... Some way?"

"i know yer anxious to fit into the community." He picked at the fraying sleeves of his knitted blue sweatshirt. "i don't want you to feel... like you have to date me, if you want to be accepted. you can date who you want. or not date. or whatever. i dunno,"

Oh. Your heart fluttered in your chest a little. "I don't feel like that at all."

He eventually looked at you, sheepish. "you sure?"

"Yeah." You waved your hand, eager to cheer him up. "They can be a bit pushy, sure. But it's all in good fun, right? It's not like they're chasing us into a church with shotguns. The worst they've done is very obviously set us up as dance partners at the festival."

A wave of relief seemed to pass over him. "or get us walkin' opposite ways 'round the market so we'll bump into each other."

"Besides." You smiled. "If they like me enough to try to set me up with someone they know, must mean I'm 'in'. So I'm all sorted on the community infiltration front."

He softened even more, nudging your knee with his. "that's true. they love ya. they'll like ya whether or not they've harassed you into datin' me."

"Not like I'd need to be harassed into that anyway."

...

Sans seemed to realise what you'd said before you did. His eyelights, in an instant, were double their usual size

...

"... what'd you say?" He was staring at you.

...

... You could feel the heat creeping over your face, neck and ears. Your mouth had instantly glued itself shut. You didn't answer his question - you just stared at your untouched champagne glass.

...

"SANS! HUMAN!"

Both of you jumped, this time, you felt the cold champagne splash out of the glass and onto your hand as you dropped it entirely. When the two of you turned around, Papyrus seemed just as startled by your reactions as you were to him; he was stood just outside the door, car keys in his hand.

"P-Papyrus!" "bro,"

Papyrus, immediately, gave you and Sans a shifty look. But he quickly covered it up again.

"WE SHOULD HEAD OUT NOW, HUMAN, IF WE WANT TO DROP YOU HOME BEFORE MIDNIGHT."

You and Sans quickly stood, bolt upright, at the same time.

"You-"

"i'll go say goodbye to everyone. you two get the car backed out."

"Sure. Sure,"

Before you could say anything else to him, Sans had hurried past his brother, back into the house. Papyrus watched him head inside with visible confusion written across his face.

...

"... HUMAN," Papyrus glanced at you. "WHAT DID MY BROTHER SAY TO YOU?"

"Uh, I'll..." You fiddled with your hair. "I'll, m, I'll tell you in the car."

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[daydreaming-in-letters]

I recently came across your blog and I enjoy your fics immensely, so this is a first for me.

This interview of Hozier killed me in the best possible way, so curious to see what you would do with Andrew driving. Also if it would have a NFWMB vibe, I wouldn't be mad. But do whatever you want with it :)

My dear, I cannot thank you enough for this request. This interview has been playing on repeat these past few days. I just...I can't get it out of my head. Seeing this man behind the wheel does things to me. And believe it or not, I had already been planning to write this. I had even compiled a tiny mood board to go with it. The NFWMB vibe was a challenge though, I'll have to admit. But I think I managed (kind of?). Hope you like it. 💚

warnings: language, maybe; one tiny insinuation to smut, blink and you'll miss it; otherwise pure fluff

It was not terribly hot, not for a summer’s day anyway, still the sun stung as it burned down on you from the highest point of its ellipsis. You checked your watch, then scanned your surroundings if there was a shady spot to be found. There was not, at least not anywhere close by, and he had told you to wait for him right here. He had been very specific about that.

That had been about ten minutes ago, and you were almost beginning to wonder if he would come back for you after all, when you spotted him in the distance, fashionably late as always. He circled around a corner, hair flying in the wind, and you could not help but laugh at the peculiar sight in front of you. Like a giraffe in a toy car, you thought, as he came closer. Still he seemed so pleased with himself, on his lips a smile so bright it put the sun to shame, and which, no doubt, reached all the way up to his beautiful eyes. You had never loathed a pair of sunglasses more for hiding them from you.

“What is that?” you burst out laughing when he came to a stop right next to you.

“A golf cart.”

“I can see that.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him. “I meant, what are you doing in that thing?”

“It’s ours for the next two hours. Come on, get in, loser.”

He did not have to tell you twice. Two hours alone with your man sounded like heaven, even if he would potentially kill you both with that thing. And so you squeezed in next to him, not forgetting to nudge his arm.

“That’s for calling me a loser.”

He could not help but laugh upon your pouty face, still he leaned in to press an apologetic kiss to your cheek.

“Worth it,” he mumbled against your skin, making you shake your head in fake annoyance to hide that beaming smile that wanted to break loose. He was just too sweet for his own good.

“So, where are we going?” 

To have a picnic, you assumed, judging from the blanket and basket that were safely stowed away on the back seat.

“You’ll see,” he grinned, obviously enjoying being all mysterious about it. There was a snappy reply already forming on your tongue, but you almost choked on it the moment his large hand found the bare skin of your thigh. He just let it rest there, still it was enough to send a shiver up and down your spine, and for a second you thanked the fates that you had opted for those denim shorts this morning. 

It took you a moment to reach the exit of the vast festival grounds, also because he was going unusually slow. It was unmistakable that he was itching to go faster, and as soon as you had left the main road, you were proven right. 

“Let’s open that baby up,” he bellowed excitedly, slapping the wheel as he did, while his other hand squeezed the pliable flesh of your thigh. You felt dizzy for a moment, your thoughts spiralling upon his reckless antics, but as soon as his foot pushed down the pedal, they were washed away in an instant. You squealed as the two of you zoomed through the deserted landscape. Who would have known these vehicles could go that fast?

“Mr Hozier-Byrne, you are such a menace,” you hollered, breaking into another squeal as the cart went into a turn at full speed.

“True,” he admitted unashamedly. And as soon as the vehicle was reaching a straight again, he leant in. He took his sweet time to taste the skin of your neck, totally forgetting about the road once his lips had found you. You let him, it would have been a sacrilege to tell him to stop, so instead you reached for the wheel, gently correcting the course while he devoured you. “But I’m your menace,” he continued as soon as his head resurfaced, “So you better deal with it.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I certainly will.”

The audacity this man had. After almost crashing the cart because he could not help himself from having a taste of you, he now chose to counter your statement with a wink. “Can’t wait."

When he finally slowed down again, the sound of the festival had faded completely, not even the deep, rolling echo of the bass was following you anymore. There was only a welcome silence, and some happy birds chirping their joyful songs into the blue afternoon sky. He stopped underneath a large tree by a small track that split a flowery meadow in two.

In seconds he had rounded the cart, basket and blanket in one hand, he held out the other to you.

You took it without hesitation, and as always, your fingers immediately entwined with his, woven firmly together, inseparable. And neither of you did let go, not as long you strolled through the meadow anyway, the palm of your free hand floating along the high grass, enjoying the tickling sensation. 

After a while you took up camp in the shade of a tree, a blackthorn, you realised, and quietly smiled to yourself. Sated and wanting for nothing but each other’s company, you had leaned your back against the stem. Andy’s head lay safely in your lap. You loved when he did that, entrusting himself to you completely. And you knew he loved it too, to give himself over to you while he let the world be what it was for a moment, eyes closed, hair gliding through your fingers, braiding a few strands, leaving some flowers here and there. He had started to hum a while ago, unconsciously so, you believed. It was one of your favourite sounds in the world, along with his boisterous laughter, and the sweet, mewling sounds he made when you satisfied him. 

Another time, you thought, and smiled in anticipation. Not now though. Now was the time to be soft, to shed the hard shell you usually carried. It was the only way you knew to protect yourself from a world you hardly recognised at times. But with him, you did not need to. 

Ever since you had met him, Andy had never left any doubt that he loved you, all of you, the strength, the weakness, the anxiety and kindness, your joy and your sadness, every little fragment that made you you. He saw it all, and he loved you despite all that, no, because you were all of that. A love that was reciprocated to the fullest.

[xiao-come-home]

Giggling, kicking my feet, spinning in circles over Boothill...

Just imagine, S/O in a creative field, and they've been preparing for an event where they get to show off their work..

Except, they've been doing it in secret because they don't feel confident and they're unsure if people would stop by for them..

So cue S/O's surprise when they suddenly bump into Boothill at said event—maybe even burst into (happy) tears if he praises their work.. I just know this man's the sweetest for his S/O ;;;-;;;

YUEESS anyway this got kinda long but take it 🫡

You knew the day was coming - the day so, so important in your career that could possibly shift everyone's opinion about you and your hard work. Day after day, more preparations were made, and people who assisted you kept patting your shoulder as you walked by, already congratulating you.

Yet, amongst all of the joy - your hesitation was certainly present. No one close to you knew about the event - not even the closest people, not even Boothill himself, who was your significant other. Even though so many already praised you - just what meaning does it hold if no one actually shows up to the event itself?

The lack of confidence and worrying were the only ones that bothered you to no end - which, Boothill noticed immediately as it was not your usual behavior. Not only were you constantly busy and away from home when he finally got back, but you were constantly stressed out. He tried not to pressure the matter as you were unwilling to talk, but that's Boothill we're talking about - which means - time for Boothill to snoop around and find out himself.

Today is the day. The day you anticipated so much, but also dreaded to finally have it happen. You hop onto the stage, and gasp at the amount of people below. You can't count the amount of eyes that gaze at you, and people seem to be genuinely impressed at your work - applauding loudly, causing you to tear up on stage.

That's a shame you haven't noticed the familiar cyborg who's been watching you the whole time, smiling widely to himself.

Once the official part is over and the festivities begin, people swarm around you to ask you more about your work or actual interviews, but you gently excuse yourself for now under the excuse of being tired. Surprisingly, the crowd goes away, but they'll surely be back...

You breathe in and out, shaking your head from all the attention, but suddenly, you bump hard against something and your hands automatically cover your poor nose; the pain makes you cry under your nose a tiny "oww," just what the hell is that pole here? Was there one before?!

"Ouch! 'm sorry sweetheart! Thought ya would finally notice me, but not that kinda way..." Boothill's voice reaches your ears and you open your eyes in the span of seconds, "I can't believe ya didn't tell me about all of this! A god dang event just for you, and those little motherfudgers that barely let me in, let alone get closer to ya—"

Boothill takes your hands off your face in his, pressing a soft kiss on your nose, "I didn't know my sweet pea was so smart," his voice gets softer and quieter, eyes gazing into yours, "I'm so proud of ya. I really wish you've told me about this, so we could be properly celebratin' this together."

You no longer could fight your tears and let them run down your cheeks, "I'm sorry, I didn't— I didn't think anyone would even show up," you sobbed, "I didn't even know if I could get through this if—" your sentence gets cut off by Boothill's fingers pushing your chin up and staring at you with ungodly amounts of love in his eyes.

"Silly you," he wiped off the tears with his hand, "of course they'd come. They did. So many people are here just for you, admirin' yer work and almost fightin' to say a word to ya. I know ya often doubt yourself, but, as you can see," Boothill looks behind you and see people fawning over your projects, "there's no need for it. You deserve all of this, sweetheart, even if I can't understand a single fudgin' word. You put yer entire heart into this - I see it, love."

Boothill's words only make you cry harder, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly - but this time, your tears are those of joy.

After calming down, you sit nearby with Boothill next to you. Sparing him a glance, you confusingly mention the new hat he's wearing, "Ha! Took ya long enough to see! It worked as intended - ya didn't know it was me back there, in the crowd!" He exclaimed proudly, sending you a smug grin.

[superluver]

how about fake dating with satoru gone wrong 👀 (they fall for each other)

Do you see what you do to me? G.S.

Pairing: Gojo Satorux Fem!Reader

wc: 3271 | cw: gojo has dimples, CURSING, fluff, angst if you squint, overthinking, Gojo is TOUCHYY, FEM!READER, cuddling, Gojo being a gentlemen?!, SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE

Description: Gojo is attending a month long ceremony, and as a single head, the higher-ups would do anything to pair him up with a powerful sorceress. Gojo invites you to go with him, as his lover.

Im sorry, who ever requested this if this isnt what you were looking for you can request me again and i'll fix it, @teaaleefs thank you again for helping w the story

“You want me to what?” You gape at the man who is kneeling on the ground before you. His eyes bandaged with a pouty lip to make up for the lack of eye contact.

“Please, (Y/N)?!” He begs, grabbing on your pant leg, tugging at you relentlessly. “DAMN IT GOJO,”

“Satoru,” he corrects, but your eyes are ablaze with anger. “You’re gonna tear up my pants again! This is my last pair—!”

He ignores your complaint, continuing to tug hard at the cloth. Your arms are holding down on the stretched fabric, and you pray it’s enough.

Gojo has a tendency to pull on your leg— literally— every time he wants you to do something for him.

“Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease,”

You groan in annoyance, eyebrows furrowed as your arms pull away from your pants. Instead, your hands slam onto the arm rests of your chair. “FINE— Yes, fine I will help you! Just let go—”

Rip

The two of you stare at the damage he had caused, your face emotionless.

“Oopsie?”

“Gojo, get out before I change my mind.”

He stands up quickly, saluting you before walking off. “Roger.”

You slump back into your seat with a sigh, rubbing the corners of your eyes.

What did you just get yourself into?

It’s a major event, a gala if you will, for the 3 Big Clans. Festivities for a consecutive month. And Gojo— Satoru, Satoru has no doubt that the higher ups are going to try and set him up with a powerful sorceress.

That’s where you come in.

For this entire month, you will be treated as the Gojo clan head’s lover. And it’s a big responsibility at that. Not only must you demonstrate your ability and your worthiness, the higher ups may begin to throw jobs at you left and right in order to see you falter.

It’s shameful to see the lady of the house falter at a trivial matter.

On the day of, the two of you were wearing extremely formal wear. Kimono’s in plain colors of blue and white; matching. Unconsciously you squeeze his hand for some form of comfort, protection, even.

You feel his gaze on you, your eyes meeting his crystal colored ones. His gaze is conceited, eyebrows raised, shit-eating grin… that fucker was annoying.

“G—Satoru,” you call out his name, casting him a seemingly polite closed eyed smile, your lips pressed together. It was clear you were agitated— if anyone knew better that is.

And there was only one person who knew better, and that person would be Go— SATORU. Please! Get used to his name.

“Hm?” He hums almost snarkily. His eyes are still on you, but not on your face anymore.

Just you.

Taking in the ornaments adorning you, his eyes wandered over you. Over the kanzashi in your hair, the diamonds dangling from the ends of it.

As well as the strong, yet elegant, steps you took in your zori sandals. All that before finally settling on your fierce gaze. But you didn’t know that he was, well— checking you out.

His gaze seemed gentler, softer than it normally is, but to you it seemed like he was nitpicking you with his eyes; tearing you apart with every individual scan he made of your body.

And at that moment, you had never felt so bare in your life. The most cloth you had ever worn, wrapped around your body, yet he still had the talent to make it feel as though you wore none.

“You look beautiful,” he muttered under his breath, snapping you out of your trance. You stare at him, confused with his words.

He’s smiling at you and you can see a dimple— which you never knew he had— cratering his cheek.

‘How adorable,’

“Thank you,” you mumbled in reply, feeling a little shy at the sudden compliment.

His eyes still linger on you, burning your skin.

“ENTERING, GOJO CLAN.” Someone shouts followed by a loud drum.

Satoru, being Satoru, snorted loudly as the doors opened. He was never one for old fashioned traditions. You clenched his hand, and to your surprise he squeezed back, smiling brightly at you as the large doors creaked open.

It was assumed Gojo would go alone like he did every year. So imagine the surprise on the elder’s and higher-ups' faces when you showed up, holding the young Gojo’s hand.

Your head was strongly held up, eyes blinking softly. Every time he glanced at you, he was reminded of a fairy from a story his nanny would tell him as a child.

“You’re staring, Gojo.” You say through clenched teeth, smiling at the elders.

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles back at you as he heads to the Gojo head’s seat. Normally, there would be two seats, one for the Lady and the Head. But, since Gojo always attended alone, they had left one seat.

Your face grew warm with embarrassment, having realized you would need to stand up at the table. You knew he would be the one sitting down so,

“Oh no, this won’t do.” He waves you over, hands on your shoulder as he guides you to his seat, pushing you down. The elder’s gape at his actions.

The lady sitting at the head’s seat? It’s uncalled for!

His hand slides down your arm, grabbing ahold of your hand. He pulls it up, placing a lingering kiss to your palm, his blue uncovered eyes staring back at you. “Anything for my lady,” he confesses, and you begin to stammer.

“G-go—”

“Satoru,” he whispers back, your palm still covering his mouth.

Eyes half-lidded, anyone would think he was in love with you.

Then, you feel wet. Your hand… was wet?

HE LICKED YOU?!

You feel the need to scream, but in order to keep your image you tug your hand back, wiping it on his own kimono rather than your own. He laughs in response, trying to dodge your currently slobbery hand.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, hand still extended trying to wipe it.

Finally, you get it on him, wiping your hand off of his drool.

“Ahem!”

Your head turns creakily to the voice that commanded your attention. A very wrinkly man, fist to his mouth.

You sweat, adjusting yourself in the very comfortable seat. Satoru has your hand in his own, his thumb rubbing circles on the backside of your palm.

You truly seemed like a couple in other people’s eyes. Satoru, a normally childish person, allowing his lover his seat. Something he probably would never do for anyone.

The old man reads some scriptures from the beginning of time, and you find yourself dozing off, blinking slowly.

Suddenly, his mouth nears your ear, bringing you to shiver at his hot breath hitting your neck and ear. “Don’t fall asleep now,” he teases.

You flutter your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow with pressed lips.

He smiles, and you smile back this time. With infinity being off, you never knew he could be so warm.

When you look at him, he seems like he’d be cold. Body temperature lower than the norm, but it’s surprisingly quite the opposite.

His hands are warm, radiating with heat. You wonder if even on the coldest days he would stay warm.

“I should be telling you that,” you whisper back, smirking at him. He, with raised eyebrows, steps closer to you before seating himself on the minimal space left on his your chair. When he realizes that the two of you won’t fit, he lifts you up, placing you on his lap. His arms wrap around you, securing you so you don’t run off. You squirm in his hold, but he tightens his grip.

His voice goes an octave lower, and into your ear he whispers. “I wouldn't do that if I were you..”

It was almost like a groan the way he said it, and it took two and two to put it together.

You stiffen, almost becoming statue-like as he chuckles into your shoulder, batting his long white eyelashes at you.

“You’re sick.” You spat.

“Just playing the part, sweetheart— hey! That rhymed!”

The elder finishes the scriptures, and that’s when it's time for sorcerers all alike to converse and meet heads of different clans. Though, for being a small percent of the population, there sure were a lot of people here.

“Okay sweetcheeks, time to get up.” He laughs loudly, lifting you up with him as he stands. His arms still wrapped around your waist, forearms in your armpits holding you up. Your feet grazing the ground.

“Let me go!” You swing and wriggle in his grasp, and he laughs manically, setting you down.

“Remember,” he tells you while you brush yourself off, straightening your kimono with an annoyed expression. “I’m Satoru to you— come up with a nickname if worst comes to worst.”

“Got it.” You say with clenched teeth, walking off towards the crowd of people. Satoru trailing closely behind, which gathers unnecessary attention.

“Why are you following me?!” You whisper-shout, and he grabs your wrist, tapping his finger on his cheek motioning for something. He stands with a minor slouch, as if he is leaning for something.. for you.

“What?” You ask, and he says nothing, continuing to tap on his cheek.

Your eyes go wide when you realize what he wants.

A kiss.

Unable to fight or deny out in the open you bite your tongue, pressing your plush lips to his pale cheek. He smirks, pulling your face closer, his pointy nose hitting yours. You can smell the dessert on his breath.

“One more?”

With a roll of your eyes, you bring your free hand up to his face and flick his forehead. While he’s busy rubbing his head in agony, you yank your wrist back, stomping off and away from the man.

“(Y/N)!!!” He calls your name, which sounds distant as you immerse tourself in the crowd of people.

Many woman and younger men stare at you bashfully, few tilting their head with respect as you step through. Their faces reddened at the scene of the strongest sorcerer bowing down to a measly woman.

The thought threw the higher-ups into a fit.

They had to get rid of you.

“How did you guys meet?” A woman asks you, a warm tea cup in your hand. You’re sipping it slowly, eyes scanning the room as you remenise back to the time when you first encountered Gojo Satoru.

“I met Gojo at the Jujutsu Tech,” you confess, and the woman stares at you with a raised eyebrow. “Gojo? Wouldn’t you call him as his first name.”

Caught red handed, and it hadn’t even been a day.

“O-oh! Yeah, Satoru. It’s a long story, of course I call him Satoru.”

She squints at you, then going into a face of shock. She’s not looking at you anymlre, now at the person who looms behind you. “Havin’ a party without me?” He jokes, swinging an arm around your shoulder.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he waves her up, almost commanding her to move closer. The woman does as she’s told, hesitantly moving her head closer.

“I like when she calls me that in bed.”

You gape, she gasps, he grins.

Her face is cherry red, now unable to look you or Gojo in the eye. And with a bow, she steps away.

“Wow,” he breathes out, taking your cup from you and placing it on the table, continuing as he does this action. “Couldn’t even hold out for a day.”

“I'm sorry, old habits die hard.”

“Wow, are you like 50?”

You deadpan, slapping his chest with the palm of your hand.

“We’re gonna have to have one on one training.” He whispers into your ear, then blowing air into the canal. You slap a hand over it, glaring at him. He doesn’t seem to care, casting you his childish grin.

You feel your heart flutter, eyes widening at him. Those dimples again.

Your hand trails up his face, thumbs pressing into the dents in his cheeks. “You’ve got some cute dimples there big shot.” It was meant to be teasing, but you couldn’t help but truthfully mean what you said. They made him so much more attractive.

Everyone knows Satoru Gojo is an attractive man. Hell, even Utahime confessed he was good-looking.

It’s just a fact.

“Why thank you,” he smirks, tapping his head onto yours. “You seem tired, let's get you to bed, yeah?”

With a hand on the small of your back, he leads you out of the gathering. Everything felt too natural with him, and you find yourself doubting.

‘He’s probably been with many women..’

For the first time this night, you find your head hanging low, lips pouty.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Whatever do you mean?” You snakily reply.

“You’re all… pouty.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet his eyes, though you say nothing as you stare at him. “I’m just tired,” And that wasn’t a lie. It was a partial truth!

He blinks at you, squinting before shrugging.

“Well, if you say so.”

He said that in a knowing tone, as though he knew you were lying. He probably did, cursed energy had a tendency to vibrate and move in uncertain ways when someone is nervous, and with his six eyes, he’s practically a walking lie detector.

He takes you to the hotel you would be staying at, walking to the room only to find there was only one bed.

“Ah.”

“Gojo, why is there only one bed?” You ask groggily, pointing at the large king size bed.

He shrugs, almost clueless and as confused as you, he responds, “I have no clue. Maybe there was a mix up?” (He does very much does have a clue, he was the one that reserved the single bed).

“No, I guess it's alright. It is a pretty big bed, just dont touch me.” You tell him sharply, waving your finger at him.

He pouts, crossing his arms. “I can't make any promises, sweetheart.”

You click your tongue, grabbing your pajamas and undergarments and storming off to the bathroom.

He watches you silently enter the bathroom, and when you come out a while later.

Hair damp, a towel around your neck catching the moisture. Your lips parted, eyes closed... a satisfied expression.

He finds himself staring at you, and YOU catch him.

“Gojo? The shower is ready.” You tell him, placing the towel in a bin the room service provided. He blinks before he scrambles off the bed, dashing into the bathroom.

“Hm, I feel like im forgetting—”

A loud, high pitched scream erupts from Satoru. Soon after the bathroom door slams open, Satoru holding up your underwear with it hooked around his finger.

“You, uh— probably want this back.”

If you could die right now, you would.

Quickly, you snatch it away. Face as warm as you feel. Unable to meet his uncovered eyes, you stare down, “Y-yeah, thanks.”

He’s still standing in front of you, and you finally glance up. Blue hues stare into your own. He makes the prettiest eyes boring compared to his own.

“You should go shower,” you tell him, and he nods slowly, turning to enter the bathroom once more.

You dispose of the dirty clothes, placing them in the bin before making yourself comfortable on the right side of the bed.

“Oh no. I’m on the right, you’re the left.” He tells you once he comes back, pointing at you and the empty side of the bed.

You already started dozing off, you don’t open your eyes. Instead, you sink further into your pillow, “Too bad,” You mutter.

He grumbles, glancing left and right before sighing. You expect him to give up from the tone of that sigh, but what you DONT expect is for him to jump on you, full weight on your body.

“GOJO!” You screech, squirming away and trying to push him off.

“No.” Is the only word that comes out of his mouth.

“Offffff…! Off, off, off, off, offf!” You groan, pushing and hitting him with your palms.

He smiles into the sheets and you, his arms wrapping around you.

“Good night..”

“SATORU!” You scream, rolling away from his grip to the left, leaving him to the right. He sighs, slipping into the sheets before reaching his arms out once more, dragging you over to him.

Your back pressed on his chest, his arms wrappung around you. “Satoru, what are you doing?"

“Sleeping.”

You sigh, grumbling but not moving away. You liked this.. Not like you would ever admit it though.

His nose is buried in your hair, so much so that he can smell your shampoo. It’s nostalgic from your highschool days, when he first saw you pass by him, that same smell was much stronger than now.

It was like getting a whiff of roses, so refreshing the smell was. The smell would linger for long, and there would be days where he would pause in the hallway, taking deep inhales of your scent.

Now, it’s died down. Very faint, but still there. He doesn't even remember strengthening his hold around your waist, his head sinking further into your hair, spooning you.

Your body was swallowed in his much larger one, it was almost funny how much of a giant he was.

Like he was meant to be someone big in this world.

You’re a nobody, only given an opportunity to spend your days with this man before again going your separate ways.

So you'll take this in as much as you can. Allowing yourself to relax in the grip of the strongest, because he wasn't yours. However you can't say that you aren't his; your heart has been his for a long time.

You wonder if he can feel the thumping of your heart. It's worrisome. A tell-tale sign you’re nervous.

You can only sigh, not remembering when or how, but you begin to finally doze off.

Gojo, on the other hand, is not fully awake but awake enough to be aware of his surroundings. His lips end up curving slightly. Much to your dismay, he can in fact hear the erratic pumping of your heart.

He has to hold back his laugh, ‘you’re nervous,’ he thinks, his eyes half-lidded slits. Blue hues peering at the side of your face through your hair.

You don’t even know what you do to him. The way he keeps this façade, but in reality, his heart’s pounding through his chest and ready to burst. It’s giving him away too.

‘Can you really not feel it?’ He wonders, eyes shutting once more.

Since highschool, ever since you passed by him with that smell of flowers on a spring day, you’ve had him wrapped around your finger.

He’s yours, and he’s trying to let you know that he’s always been yours.

“I love you,” he whispers, before succumbing to his own exhaustion.

Little did he know, you weren’t all that asleep.

In the dark, your eyes went wide, and breathing halted. If you started breathing, you think you would gove away the fact that you weren't truly asleep.

Your face grew warm, and through that look of shock, a smile settled on your lips. Your hands finding his own— which are wrapped around your waist— you squeeze them.

It was your way of letting him know, ‘Me too, I love you too,’ without using your words.

And finally, your slumber comes too. Another couple days of acting as Gojo’s lover, might as well make the most of it.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Malleus, Deuce: Like Mother, Like Son

BRO'S STILL MAKING THE "ARE YOU LOST BBY GHORL" FACE … Malleus’s birthday hits different knowing what I know now 💀 ALSO THE FACT THAT DEUCE SAID "THAT" ABOUT MALEFICENT VS THE HUMANS IS... (trying to keep this wording vague so as to not spoil people who haven’t gotten there yet)

It’s nice to see Malleus and Deuce in the vignettes, I feel like they don’t get to interact that much (which is a shame because I think their dynamic is cute). They had a chapter together in the manga anthology too! I’m glad they could hang out some more.

A Tale as Old as Time.

The princess and her prince were picture perfect in the painting.

The woman, with golden curls that tumbled down her back. Her cerulean gown spilled to the polished floors like a fabric waterfall, the tiara in her hair catching the soft evening light. She gazed up at her lover's warm, twinkling eyes, and smiled.

The man, brunette, locks falling loosely across his forehead. He was handsome in a red tunic with a high black collar, a crimson cape billowing out behind him with each step he took. His gaze was locked with the princess's, his one and only.

Onlookers gathered in a ring around the two, spellbound by how they danced, bodies twinning like threads bound together. It was something precious they dared not disturb, even their breaths clutched like pearls to prevent their escape.

This was happily ever after, a dream come true.

It should have been.

Yet Malleus frowned. His brows drew together and his mouth pursed, a brewing storm settling over his face.

“Draconia-senpai?” Deuce called to him anxiously. “I-Is something wrong? You look a little scary…”

The first year glanced at the portrait of the royal couple. He jumped. “D-Don’t tell me, did this painting piss you off?! Er, I mean... Did it offend you?"

“No, nothing of the sort,” Malleus replied. He rested an index finger against his chin. “It sparked memories of my own days in court. As the crown prince to the Briar Valley, it goes without saying that I've attended a number of occasions similar to what is depicted here."

"Oh, for real? That makes sense, you being royalty and all. What were those events like?"

"Most are rather solemn affairs. Grandmother, the senators, and other politicians gather to discuss diplomacy, trade, and national policies. For certain occasions, there are traditional rituals that must first be performed. A royal birth, for example, must be blessed before the festivities can commence. If it is a knighting, then all the royal guard shall be present and a speech of one's accomplishments read."

Deuce blinked a few times, as though shedding sleepiness. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of a prince's duties. He dropped the smartest sounding response he could: "That sounds tough."

Malleus lips slightly lifted. "I do not mind it. There is pride to be had in conducting such work."

I don't have a reason to doubt what he's saying, but... Deuce clenched his fists at his sides. If Draconia-senpai really feels that way, why does he still seem so pained?

The fairy drew out a sigh, as if dissatisfied with the silence. "... Ah, but how strange. When I look upon this painting, I see many people present... yet the princess touched by diurnal fae and her prince take no notice of them. They have eyes only for each other."

His words were velvet-lined, soft on the ears. Beneath them, a pang of longing rose like a fine mist at daybreak.

"What must it feel like to be so beloved?" Malleus wondered. "To have someone who considers you the most special being in all the world?"

Vines twisted in his gut, thorns prickling his insides. Frustration and molten discontent pooled. For all the power that he wielded, he failed to attain such a basic thing.

Love.

"Do you understand such a feeling, Spade?" The inquiry was pure acid.

"H-Huh, me?!" Deuce startled, not prepared for the demand in Malleus's voice. "Well... uh, I guess my mom calls me her big, strong man. Does that count?"

Malleus's brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I don't follow. Is it customary for children of man to refer to their offspring as 'big, strong men'?"

"I think that's just my mom's thing." He shrugged. "I'm the only man in the house, so I try to help her out if I can. She jokes about it when I do."

Malleus made a face. It was difficult to discern the emotion he wore.

"Moms, right?" Deuce gave a nervous laugh. "They can be embarrassing, but they care about us a lot."

"I never knew my mother."

"... Oh." A rock dropped in Deuce's stomach. He hurried for an apology as dread rippled through him. "Shit, my bad! I didn't mean to..."

Malleus held up a hand in an elegant dismissal. "Be at ease. I harbor no anger."

There was no point, he told himself, in rage expressed for a woman he had no bond with. Her face, her voice--they were all a mystery to him. She was but a stranger adrift in an abyss.

Still, a part of him sparked at the thought of her, of someone he had yet to meet--would never meet. The thrill of fates closely intertwined, the tenderness of a parent's love.

Malleus went quiet, lowering his hand.

"Grandmother and Lilia have done their utmost to mentor me in her stead." He sounded hollow, insistent. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Deuce.

The Heartslabyul student swallowed. He placed a firm hand on Malleus's arm and squeezed. "... It's not enough, is it?"

He received no answer.

“Your mom is thinking of you, wherever she is.”

Malleus pulled away, presenting his back to Deuce. "Dead fae do not tell tales," he said simply.

“That doesn’t mean she loved you any less,” Deuce stubbornly protested. “Right up until her last breath… she must have been so happy to have you, thinking about what kind of person you’d grow up to be.”

Dreaming of the day when she can, at last, meet you.

Blink, and his eyes were wet. Blink again, and his vision blurred. Heartbeat hot and quick, galloping upon coals.

Did my mother truly…?

“She’d be damn proud of you too.” Deuce flashed a wicked grin. “Believe me.”

“… Hah.” Malleus chuckled dryly.

The longer he considered it, the more appealing the idea became.

A woman in his likeness—or was he made in hers? Papery kisses, fond embraces, words of affirmation. Fire that burned strongly, warding off the darkness.

Wouldn’t that be something?

"I love you, Malleus," whispered that she-phantom. Sweet nothings that sated his starved soul. "Forever and always. My dear son, my pride and joy."

The carefully constructed stone fortress around his heart faltered. His desire burned like a falling star.

He took a breath, and fell from the heavens with his wish.

“Thank you, Spade.”

Just for this moment, let me walk once upon a dream.

A single tear slipped down Malleus’s cheek.

And what a wonderful dream it was.

[clovermarigold]

That DAMN Sweater

Reader x Sova (Sasha)

Slight NSFW implications

Reader is down bad

Requests open!

~~~~~~~~~~

You thought you had won. After a particularly... frisky night, you had left with the upper hand. A whiney and slightly sour Sasha left to his own devices while you left for work. That was yesterday and you had expected it to be over. In favor of the holiday get together Brim was hosting. Due to conflicting schedules you agreed to would be easier to arrive separately.

You were So sure everything was fine. The two of you had done your usual morning routine with nothing out of the ordinary; shower, Coffee, a run for Sasha, an extra 15 minutes of sleep for you, and physically having to force yourselves for over 20 minutes to leave the house.

Everything was so normal; you were so sure he was over it. That was until you got to the party, and there he was. In that DAMN sweater. Leant over the kitchen island casually talking to Raze. He looked over at you for a moment, giving a knowing smile before looking back to Raze.

This bastard. He knew damn well what that sweater did to you. It hugged his chest just a bit too tight, the shade made his hair look brighter, and dear god did his eyes pop. To make things worse he paired it with black pants....

You were there the day his Babushka gave him that sweater. At first you thought it was so sweet, you had always wished your grandmother could make clothes for you. She was so proud too, having finally made her first turtleneck. Unfortunately, it would happen that being a combat operative tends to build your figure. The sweater being filled out just a bit too much.

It wasn't a bad fit, nothing too noticeable unless you were looking for it. And boy, were you looking for it.

It was confusing to say the least, most people found their partners more attractive the less clothes they have on. Like a bikini, lingerie, or nothing at all. But no. Your kryptonite was a blue, full coverage, not revealing in the slightest, made with the love of a grandmother, turtleneck sweater.

So here you were, sitting uncomfortably on a bar stool forcing yourself to talk to breach so you wouldn't throw yourself at him and ruin Brim's new bathroom.

"Is everything ok, friend?" he put his hand on your shoulder, having picked up on your shoulder. "huh? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just one to many drinks I guess" you forced a laugh gesturing to your glass. Breach gave you a look that poorly disguised confusion before walking off.

Looking down you cringed at the realization your cup was filled with water. This man was making you seem crazy, speaking of which, "I think you scared him off".

You turned to look at Sasha who was holding a plate with a wide smile. "I am going to kill you when we get home" you threaten, trying your best to be intimidating while still keeping your voice low.

"What? Not in the festive spirit?" you swiped the plate out of his hand harshly, ignoring him as you shoveled his food into your mouth, "Don't choke". "You're evil" you shake your head, keeping him out of your sight.

"Hardly" he pulled his plate back from you, setting it down on a counter. "Sasha, I'm going to tell you this once. Get away from me, unless you want to get us both suspended".

"Careful, милая. This is a work function" that was it, you have had it with his bullshit. Careful not to break any threads you grabbed him by the turtleneck and dragged him towards the bathroom.

You would clean up afterwards. You still felt bad about it though, he was so proud of the new tiles he had installed.

"The sweater stays on".

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

The grip this man has on me right now puts gorillas to shame

[darkdevasofdestruction]

She Hates Yellow ~ Sandor Clegane x Stark!Reader

What a festive day this was - Most of the Stark children thought, dressing in their best clothes, and the girls having their hair done all pretty. Their parents were nervous for what was to come, and though few knew the truth behind the King and the whole retinue, including the Royal Family coming all the way up North, via the King's Road, Y/N was more than aware. Catelyn Stark found it atrocious - Entrusting Y/N, their oldest child, with such vital secrets... Who knew what could happen?

However, Ned was more lax in his parenting choices, and with his first child especially, his beloved little girl, he personally saw to her training and knew they were so much alike in their thinking and their high justice values. He was happy that he didn't take after him in looks, however - Her hair was long and beautiful, a striking scarlet shade of red that outshined both Cat and he'd even dare say Sansa as well, whose hair shone like copper in the light. Y/N's was unique, a dark red that almost looked like the blood moon on a crimson night.

He valued how silent she was, but when she spoke, only wisdom was heard. Though she did not care for the obvious lady mannerisms, she insisted that she picks about every skill that she could learn, saying that it may come of use, in some way. Ned sometimes wondered if he's so biased because she is his firstborn, or because she was special. For him, she was. For Catelyn, Bran was the favourite child, without a doubt. He felt awful, admitting to having a favourite child, but her and Arya reminded him so much of Lyanna that he couldn't help but cherish them so deeply and indulge in whatever passions they had.

Perhaps, this overprotective love comes for guilt - His little girl had married a Lord, only to immediately take her away from there, as soon as he found out how awfully he treated her. He did not believe in divorce - It was great shame - But also would not stand for having his child mistreated by some stranger.

A parent's greatest joy was the child's happiness - And a father feels most fulfilled when his son becomes a respectable and strong man, and his daughter finds safe haven in the arms of her husband and warmth in the harth of her new family.

When the retinue arrived, Y/N stood tall and proud to her father's side, keeping her noble and regal aura - He couldn't tell where he got this from, but she's always had an inapproachable, intimidating expression on her face, so it was no surprise that she kept most to herself - However, he, of all people, knew how kind and golden her heart was, and how she would do anything to keep her family safe and happy. Evidence on how she was always the peace maker between the siblings, mainly Arya and Sansa, and would take care of all of them equally well.

"Who is that one, daddy?" Lord Stark heard Y/N asking, nodding her head towards the one with the dog-like helmet.  "Looks like Ser Sandor Clegane. He is known as The Hound. He was assigned as Prince Joffrey's sworn shield. They say he is amongst the most powerful knights, although, I believe he didn't take his vows." her father explained to her. "That means the prince is lucky. A man who loves dogs is a man who is trustworthy... But why would anyone choose yellow as their House's flag? Awful." the young lady jest, and upon looking up, she noticed her father trying not to smile. "Thank you." he knew that his daughter had made a joke in poor taste, hoping to ease his nerves.

The King dismounted his horse and hastily marched their way - He looked Ned up and down and greeted him with an insult. The Stark Lord retaliated not with his words, but with his looks alone, before the two old best friends shared an embrace. He looked over each of the children and he complimented them for their strength, their beauty, their potential and what not. Robert Baratheon looked down at the easily confident look on Y/N's face and he let out an amused exhale. "This one, Ned - She has the potential to be a good Queen. I wonder, however, why is it that you said she was like Lyanna, when she looks like a Tully?" though he father was ready to speak, she cut him off before even a word could be uttered.

"Though I have the appearance of a Tully, and the love and loyalty for mine family to match any trout, my justice sense and mine words are true. I was born on a horse's back and have the wolf's blood surging through my veins. Apart from my father, you shall never meet a more just and fair Stark than me." her eyes never left the King's, yet her little speech seemed to earn a hard laughter, and she felt her shoulder being patted. "Aye, I get it, alright. Ned, this one is more like yourself than you are!" though after this supposedly joyful event, the King asked his old friend to take him to the crypt, no doubt to visit Lyanna's grave. With this, Catelyn had to entertain the Queen, and it fell to Y/N to take care of the children. Of course, the boys wanted to have a sparring match.

"Are you not exhausted, Your Grace?" Y/N looked over at Joffrey and his little brother, Tommen. "Of course not. If it is sparring, I can defeat any opponent, at any given time." the Prince stole a charming look at young Sansa, who smiled and looked down bashfully. Y/N wanted to rip his sleazy head right off, with her own two hands. "Very well." the girl nodded and went to the Sers of Winterfell to prepare the training grounds.

With Tommen being easily defeated by Bran, who sent the boy toppling over and struggling to get up, like a tortoise on its shell, Robb was able to defeat the elder Prince, who got angry and suggested using real swords and fight like knights. The one behind him, The Hound, whose helmet was now down, was perfectly alright with such an idea, wanting not only to abide to his Prince's wish, but to further anger the Young Wolf. Of course, the Sers of Winterfell knew better than to accidentally harm the Heir to the Throne and refused to allow Robb to fight with a real sword. The poor Young Wolf was so angry after being humiliated by the laughing blond Prince, that it could have almost been hilarious.

"My younger brother, Robb, is a strong young man, and the possibility of accidentally laying harm upon the Prince would lead to endless consequences to our House. However, if Your Grace would so desire, I believe we can arrive to a compromise. As your Dog so rightfully said -" the girl stole a piercing look to the disfigured towering man before the much smaller lad. "Wars are not won with sparring swords. Thankfully, we are not a war, and hopefully, our Houses will never have to maliciously fight one another. Thus, my compromise is - The next match shalt be fought with real swords, however, your next opponent, shall be me. That way, even if there is accidental harm, it will not have as much strength as if Robb were to swing his sword." but the young Lion's eyes bulged, perplex at the woman before him - What could this wench know about sword fight anyway? She looked attractive, yes, as was more a woman than Sansa, who was his own age - But that did not mean he would not harm her, even intentionally. Alas that would not be gallant of him, and his mother might scold him. What to do, what to do. "You could not possibly be afraid of a maiden's weak grip on a sword, would you, Your Grace?" she could see the Hound struggling to keep his mouth from forming an amused snarl, making him look even uglier.

"Of course I am not afraid - Only of harming a beautiful lady's skin, perchance. Very well, I suppose such a training could suffice, if you so insist. However, a lord stays true to his convictions and every fight is real - I will not be able to allow myself to go easy on you, even with you being a woman." the Hound offered him his sword, which he gripped with pride.

"I appreciate your convictions, Your Grace. I already feel safer, knowing that someone so fair and just would one day be the ruler of the Realms. Take thy stance, Your Grace." with the same stoic expression on her face, the woman garbed in that beautiful yet elegant with its own simplicity light blue dress moved aside her fur coat and revealed her longsword that reached her chest, if placed onto the ground. The handle was shining gold, and it had a large ruby embellished on it, and on top, a perfect mix of metals that made it look like fire. A Valyrian Steel sword like no other - The only sword forged specifically for a woman - Strong and slender. Gifted to her by her Uncle Benjen, who found it beyond The Wall - It was Dark Sister.

Y/N found it easy to parry off the Prince's blows, and even easier to find the edge of the blade to his neck, thus ending their match and earning the honour for House Stark - Though, she also earned enough scolding and blaming from the Young Lion - But it did not matter. This madness was stopped by their fathers who, once they left the crypt, went to check on their unruly children. "What happened here?" the King asked, seeing the sour look on his eldest child's face, and the non-chalant way in which Y/N cleaned her sword and sheathed it back to her hip.

"His Grace wanted to show his prowess - prove how much he's learnt in his swordsmanship journey. I was too afraid of allowing two young and promising young warriors fight each other with real swords, thus, I was to be the mediator and fight him. A young Prince must learn proper fighting techniques, but we must also focus on proper safety precautious." the young maiden spoke, bowing to the King as she spoke - Somehow, the way she did not mention any winner, pleased the Young Lion, who agreed with her - And escaped from a scolding as well.

"Harsh as steel, cold as ice. You Starks are something else. Let us go, the feast is underway." all children seemed to have forgotten any animosity, and they hurried behind their fathers like little ducklings - Everyone was ready for the feast.

Sitting at the table with the royal children, Y/N dearly wanted to escape - It was so loud and obnoxious, everyone was being so overly annoying, and she dearly wanted to know - How in the world could people tolerate children? Heavens forbid, she did not want to see any children, she truly hated them. Her family was enough to deal with, she needn't anything more than that.

With the lemon cake fiasco, Catelyn had Y/N put both Sansa and Arya to sleep, and Jeyne Poole followed her best friend - with the Lannister maid putting Myrcella to bed as well, she was now the only girl at the table - And heavens forbid, it was dreadful with so many battling egos with unbased ground.  

She rose from the table and went outside, to take a breath of fresh air - But the people outside were far merrier and louder than the ones inside, so she went even farther away, into the Godswood, followed by her red wolf, Meleys. Somehow, even though she never believed in Gods, she always felt more at peace in the warmth of the white and red, old forest.

But that peace did not last forever, as Meleys started snarling, consequence of a stranger approaching. With a lethargic laziness, Y/N turned her head to look at the newcomer, and she saw The Hound, towering over her like a mountain troll over a dwarf. "Surely, you are not here to pray." she offered a mock smirk.

"Only fools pray." he barked harshly. "I have been tasked with bringing you back to your room." "By whom?" the maiden raised her eyebrow in curiosity. "My parents stopped looking for me when they realised how often I went to find my peace in the forest."

"Unfortunately for you, missy, your mother wants you to pacify your siblings." this time, it was him making fun of the obvious distress voiced by an almost exasperated groan.

"Can they not just sleep away their disagreements?" she asked, not bothering to get up from the snow on the ground, and even throwing a dismissive hand in the air, to signify the insignificance of their battling childishness.

"Sometimes siblings are more of a bother than its worth, little fox." the man's nickname seemed to pique her interest.

"You would know all about siblings, would you not?" she asked, only to raise to her feet. "And what about me, except for my stature whilst standing next to you, reminds you of a little fox?" the girl asked, pacifying her wolf into calming down.

"Your silver tongue. Do you lie as well as you sweet talk?" the man barked an ugly laugh.

"I am proficient in neither - In fact, I do not like politicians. Mind you, if I was good, I would have been able to say that your Flag looks beautiful - And look convincing. However, as you can see, highlighted better by the moonlight - I cannot." she retorted easily to the man's words.

"A wolf hates dogs? Is it because they are supposed to be tame?" but the girl smirked at him wickedly.

"Yellow is the worst colour known to mankind." her reply made the man look down at her, bewildered by the response.

"The... Colour?" the man grumbled lowly, watching her nod silently. "That is the stupidest argument I ever heard."

"But it did amuse you, and it proved my point. Correct?" the girl's voice seemed triumphant, it was almost endearing, the man thought.

"You are one nasty little fox. And you should know - Nasty little foxes don't last long in King's Landing if they keep that attitude. They will get their tongue cut and their fur made into a damn fine pelt." the man's threat was a warning as well. 

"I can accept that, only if you are the one warming yourself with my very fluffy, warm and perfume-embedded fur. Alas, I can imagine you'd miss this vixen tongue you claim that I have." she shrugged simply. Sandor was taken with her deeply. He wanted to hear more of a snark - Or, perhaps, even better - He should arrange a battle of wits between her and The Imp. That, along with some good ale, should prove to be a fine evening. Great, now he wanted to get rid of that little princeling and go back to being shit-faced drunk in some tavern.

"Don't say those words to those fancy shit lords, little fox. They won't know the difference between jest and truth." the man warned once again, as he heard the girl's playful hum.

"I save it only for the more interesting ones." would it be frowned upon, grabbing her and having her against the tree, right then and there? "Would you count yourself as one... Ser?"

"You'd be wrong to call me any of that stupid shit." the man's growl was akin to a dog's snarling.

"Woof." she let out an empty laugh, taunting him, before hurrying and walking ahead. She dictated when the conversation is over, and for now, it was.

Though they did not interact again, for the few remaining days in Winterfell, they had to see each other daily on the road. The Hound, busy as he was, could always feel the teasing gaze on the back of his head - Yet if he turned, he wouldn't even catch the glimpse of her. When he did find her, however, she was engaged in what looked like rather amusing conversations with none other than the notorious Imp, who made the girl laugh - Girl, who, in turn, made him guffaw even harder. How? He could not tell. Smart people conversations, maybe. He cared for none of those. It's not like he cared, after all. No matter how intriguing or tempting having even a night spent with Lady Y/N, he knew it could never be. She was the Lady of Winterfell, a noble Stark, and she was probably betrothed to begin with. She was old enough for stupid shit like that.

Even so, none of those trivialities could stop him from recalling the alluring conversations shared. Laconic as she was, the sweet-poisoned way in which she spoke - No wonder she could charm even the Imp, who was renowned for his orator skills. He may be a drunk whore just like him, but what he lacked in warrior skills, he had smarts - It was the only perk he had.

The only thing he could do, at least, was to silently watch over her and offer her the protection she may or may not need - After all, who else but he knew best how atrocious the Lannisters truly were? Who else, but him, could know first hand the sadism that Prince Joffrey hid behind that Prince Charming facade which he put on because of his mother. He wasn't the Fair Knight from the sweet stories little maidens always fawned over. He was a monster. And once these wolf pups find out the truth, they may already be the lions' next meal.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder - Old as she may be compared to her siblings, was she also a victim to those love stories? Was she also hopelessly fawning over the Gallant knight Florian and jealously wishing to be in Jonquil's place? Was she also dreaming for miracles, like her little sister Sansa, who was walking willingly into the Lion's den, like a stupid little love sick doe.

And so it happened, when The Hound was dismissed, so that the Crown Prince could have a walk with his young maiden Lady Sansa, whilst Arya called her friend Mycah, the Butcher's boy, with whom she was sparring and playing around with wooden swords; their elder sister Y/N was supervising them from afar, but she was not alone, for the Imp was sitting by her side, a cup of wine in his hand.

The two were engaged in quite the conversation, counting the most interesting rumours about Old Valyria and what caused its doom - Meleys was sitting peacefully next to Tyrion, allowing him to pet her head, content that she could see her owner well, and protect her if needed. "I could never imagine that I would ever, in this life, have the privilege of seeing a direwolf, let alone pet one so docile. Might I say, even the stories don't do them justice. Though I have been able to admire yours the most, all the others were just as beautiful." the Dwarf spoke, looking down at the pup who flicked her ears lazily.

"Count your blessings, Lord Tyrion. Meleys is, after all, the most beautiful of them all. But don't tell Sansa I said that, she would get upset." the girl chuckled lightly, extending her hand to scratch her lovely companion under her chin. 

"May I ask why did you choose that name for her?" the man asked. "Heard by a capricious Lord, they might accuse you of treason."

"I know." she nodded solemnly. "But Meleys was known as the Red Queen. She was, in her prime, the fastest dragon during the Dance of the Dragons, and in light, she shone bright scarlet and coppery. What other name could honour my sweet pup's beauty... As well as mine own?" the girl smirked cunningly. "Besides... Lady Rhaenys Targaryen was known as the Queen who never was - Yet she still maintained her regal grace and wisdom about her. She did not need a title to define her greatness, just as I, as well, do not need any status, wealth, nor fame to define mine worth." Y/N continued to explain. "Moreover... Arya named her wolf Nymeria - I don't need to explain why she chose such a name, do I?" she hid her amusement by sipping more wine.

"I see - I should have known. My Lady, you are rather inspired. I wish more people thought like you - Alas, people's worth is merely defined by beauty, wealth, fame and status alone. Good people are trampled over and used to their last drop." the man sighed, daring, for even one second, to dream of a better life, when his nickname wouldn't be 'The Imp' alone.

"Then you better surround yourself with worthy, trusted people, My Lord. Everyone else is a liar. Most often, even our own selves." though, as soon as she uttered that, Arya's desperate shriek made the three jolt up and run that-a-way. 

"Arya, what happened?!" Y/N asked, her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to kill whoever dared touch her sweet sister. Instead, they saw a worried Sansa in the back, and Joffrey, with his sword out, cutting the cheek of poor Mycah. 

"Nephew, what is the meaning of this?" Tyrion asked - But he earned no reply, for Arya, due to her impulsivity and fear of having her friend tortured even more, took the stick she was sparring with and hit the Prince, allowing the Butcher's boy to run away. In his angry frenzy, the blond lion started swinging his sword around aimlessly, cursing the young girl and chasing her around, until Arya tripped and fell on the ground. "JOFFREY, STOP!" Tyrion yelled at the Prince, who pointed his sword to the girl's neck. 

"I WILL GUT YOU LIKE A FISH - CUNT!" seeing how blinded the Prince was, Y/N was ready to tackle Joffrey to the ground, only to have Nymeria leap from behind a bush and she bit his sword hand, making him fall to the ground, dropping the weapon.

"What a mess." Y/N cursed under her breath, as Meleys started growling at Nymeria, who was shorter than her, and she lead her away. Arya quickly swooped up Joffrey's sword and she pointed it at the frightened, bleeding Prince grovelling on the ground pathetically.

"No - Please, no-- Please, don't." the two-faced Prince begged. The young Stark looked at her elder sister, who nodded solemnly at her - Thus, she threw the sword in the river and ran away with her wolf.

"O, Lord Tyrion, I smell a lot of trouble to come." Lady Y/N muttered, looking with horror at the humiliated Prince. Sansa crouched desperately to his side, attempting to comfort and emphatise with him.

"O, my prince, my poor prince - Look what they've done to you. I'll go back to the inn and bring help." but as she reached her hand out to caress his cheek, the boy snarled at the fair maiden. "Don't touch me."

"I very much agree, My Lady." the Lord sighed as he went to his nephew and dragged him up, before taking him back to the camp.

The Stark children were thus brought, along with their father, in front of the King, who was sat on a throne, and the Queen was glaring them up, next to her very much offended son, with the bandaged wrist. Robert Baratheon had a stern look on his face, as he assessed all three of Ned's offsprings, before sharing a short look with his oldest best friend. His first mistake was to ask Sansa to speak, as she was there, having a stroll with Joffrey.

Alas, the two young girls started physically fighting, which made Y/N yell at them sternly to stop. "ENOUGH!" what Ned often couldn't do, Y/N could. Ned could never hit his children - It hurt him too much to even scold them, let alone hit them. But Y/N was their sister. Y/N was stern, and she knew just how harsh she had to be, to make a statement. Y/N roughly grabbed the shoulders of the two girls, pulling them apart, before slapping their cheeks. "You do not quarrel like children before the king. Now stay quiet unless you are spoken to." Sansa knew Y/N better than Arya, she thought, seeing that she was older and spent more time with her. That is why, Sansa knew very well, that she could count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times Y/N truly got angry enough and had to brutally separate two siblings after a fight. Unfortunately, it was usually between herself and Arya - She never seemed to have such a problem with the boys... Unless Theon did something remarkably stupid.

"Your Grace, I and my father deeply apologise for their unseeming behaviour. As their elder sister, and the one tasked with watching over them, please, punish me however you see fit." the Stark girl knelt before the King humbly. She knew very well that, not only Robert Baratheon favoured her for allegedly reminding him of his late beloved Lyanna, thus, she hoped she could try and manipulate him into seeing the truth behind the lies. That... And she had Tyrion's alibi, and hopefully, it would work in her favour.

"She's as wild as that animal of hers, she needs to be punished." Cersei glared at young Arya - But the King raised his tone at her, reproaching the Queen.

"What would you have me do, whip her through the streets?!" he sneered at her. "Damn it. Children FIGHT! It's over." the man rolled his eyes, annoyed by having to pacify such a ridiculous situation. Being King was a drag, and being a father was equally terrible.

"Joffrey will bare those scars for the rest of his life." Cersei glared at her husband.

"You let that little girl disarm you?" the King looked with disappointment at his son. In the back, his younger brother, Renly, was laughing his heart out, mocking the Prince for his incompetence. "Take him out of here." the King waved his hand dismissively. "You. Tell me what happened. Get up." with a not so harsh voice, the King motioned for Y/N to get up and speak.

"Although we do not know the entire story, Your Grace, I and Lord Tyrion were there to watch over Arya and her friend, the Butcher's boy, who were sparring with wooden sticks by the river." the girl began her story.

"Lord Tyrion, ey? Then he is also a witness for this mess?" the King asked, having the Imp walk over.

"Yes, Your Grace." the little man nodded. "I and Lady Y/N were engaged into a deep conversation, a little away from the two little ones playing, before we heard Lady Arya screaming. Once we arrived, we saw Prince Joffrey cutting the Butcher's boy with his sword. Lady Arya used her stick to hit the Prince, allowing the boy to escape, but Joffrey started swinging at her. When his sword was pointing at her, her wolf went to attack the Prince, and disarmed him. The way I see it, the wolf merely acted in any way a dog does - Defending its owner." the look of hatred and scorn on the Queen's face was enough to show how displeased she was with the unwanted testimony.

"So you really let a young girl disarm you. With a wooden stick. Enough. I don't want to hear any more of this. Ned, you discipline your child, and I will do the same with mine." the King got up from his throne, as if to end the conversation.

"What about the direwolf?" Cersei snarled awfully through her teeth. "What of the beast that savaged your son?"

"We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace." one of the knights spoke.

"So be it." the King wanted to let the matter go away and drink his problems away.

"You have two other wolves." Cersei spoke, wanting revenge.

Hearing such vengeful malevolence, Y/N threw herself at Robert Baratheon's feet at once. "Your Grace, I beg of you, do not kill our wolves. They have been as close to us, as our own siblings, since we rescued them, as pups. If it is the act of self-defense the matter, then, by all means, I am willing to have mine own wolf savage me the same as Nymeria did to Prince Joffrey. And if the Queen, Her Grace, wants to see no more wolf, then I will chase them away - We are still close to Winterfell. They can find their way home, to their kin. We were wrong to bring our companions with us - A direwolf's home is the North - It's the forest - Not a highly populated city. I beg of you, your Grace. Have mercy on us, for we love them as much as we love each other." Y/N knelt desperately before the King, pleading and bowing all the way to the ground. She could not imagine ever forgiving herself, or anyone else, should Meleys, Lady or Nymeria be killed. For her family, she would even humiliate herself to such degree.

"Y/N, raise up and look at me - " the King helped the young lady up, speaking in a softer voice. Though she did not have the features of Lyanna Stark, her deep devotion for her family and courage to stand up not on her behalf, but for her kin - She truly was her Aunt's niece. "You are a lady. It is one for a man to have scars, and another for an unmarried lady. You are aware of the implications, aren't you?" he tried to scare her off, but her gleaming eyes and the ambition, passion and love in her beautiful orbs melted his last remaining resolve.

"I will order my wolf to even rip my arm off, if it would please Her Grace and atone for our misbehaving - As long as the wolves live. I cannot imagine our soul kin dying, nor do I wish for my sweet, young sisters to encounter such grief at an early age." the King groaned loudly and shook his head. Watching the tears of conviction and bravery well up in those crystal eyes of hers, innocent and pure, only drew flashbacks of Lyanna before his vision. He was done with all this. He needed those bloody drinks, and he needed his best friend urgently.

"Fine, fine. Chase off the wolves. I don't want to see them anymore." the King put his hand on Ned's shoulder and dragged him away from the tent - It was already late evening, and he was getting tired of being a King. 

"Sister, won't you let Lady Stark go already? It was no one's fault that the accident happened." Tyrion tried to pacify his sister, but it only made things worse.

"I don't need any words from your filthy liar tongue, Tyrion." her eyes almost bulged with hatred. "I will have someone punished for what happened to my son!" her voice boomed loudly - But another entered the tent. It was The Hound.

"The butcher's boy has been caught and killed, Your Grace." he spoke, but it did not please the Queen.

"Then, if it will offer any consolation for Her Grace, I will do as I have promised." Sandor was confused as to what the young lady was saying, or why she went on the ground, waiting obediently, as if she was lowering her collar to accept beheading.

"Clegane - Bring the red wolf over. Keep a tight hold on it. We don't want more accidents, do we?" the sneer she spit made the Hound simply conform to her words, albeit, not without his gaze lingering onto the red head who knelt with a stone face.

"Y/N, what are you doing? Are you insane? You are a lady! What will your Lord husband say when he sees those scars?!" Sansa cried out, sobbing, with Arya holding onto her.

"Luckily, I have no Lord husband, and even if I did, he should live with the idea that a Prince is not to be brought to harm by any means, under no circumstance - Those who do must face the consequences of their own actions." both Sansa's and Arya's blood froze in their veins - Those words weren't only to please the Queen, but to warn them. Y/N's eyes were fixated on them, and they held no emotion. Both girls would have preferred to get a beating or a scolding - But this... This was excruciatingly painful.

Clegane brought the large red wolf - And thankfully, most people ran from the tent. "Meleys, issa jorrāelagon." Tyrion realised it was High Valyrian she was speaking with. Most noble children were taught that language when they were children, albeit, few actually want to bother with it. No wonder the one naming her wolf over a creature that only responds to Valyrian-spoken orders would fluently speak the language of old. "Māzigon kesīr." the wolf tugged at the leash and went to sit besides her owner. Looking at the two, he realised how much they looked alike. Same hair, same eyes - And the invisible bond between those two was so evident, that it almost made his little heart break.

Sandor looked down as he felt a small, gentle hand over his - And he allowed the leash into her hand. Y/N's other arm was extended. Unlike the Imp, the Hound couldn't understand her broken words - yet the emotion behind them was enough. "Angogon." but the wolf looked at her owner and whimpered. "Meleys. Angogon." Tyrion knew that the girl was ordering her beloved wolf to bite her, and the animal was confused and afraid - How could she hurt the person she loved the most? The one she's supposed to protect?

Y/N sighed. "Arya, come over." Arya knew Y/N's secret - Y/N was a warg. In fact, she claimed all the siblings were wargs, and she tried to teach and help them actively bond with their wolves, yet it did not work as well as expected. Still, Arya went behind Y/N and held her shoulders, in case she lost composure and her body fell to the side. It only happened twice, but better safe than sorry. Y/N looked down, her hair covering her face - And now, she could see her own self, through her wolf's very eyes.

The graveyard silence of the tent was broken by the snarling sound of the wolf biting her owner's arm, chewing at it - Her snout was bloody, as well the arm and the ground. Blood stained the sleeve of the ripped dress. The wound would have hurt much worse if Y/N wasn't warged, but she stepped back and then sat down, as the wolf, before she went back into her own consciousness. She bit her lip hard, now feeling the full searing agony electrocuting her entire arm. She felt the iron on her tongue, but did not as much as whimper - Yet she could feel wetness wash her cheeks. Her body was reacting on its own to the agonizing pain afflicting her arm. "Avy jorrāelan, Meleys. Avy jorrāelan. Ao issi nykeā sȳz hāedar." Tyrion looked down, unable to see Y/N patting and praising her remorseful wolf, confused as she was - He could not bare to see the blood falling even still on the ground - The sweet declarations of love towards her companion were bittersweet enough as they were. Sometimes - In fact, very often - He truly hated how merciless his family was. 

"Dismissed." Cersei growled, dragging her son out of the tent. 

"You may raise, Lady Y/N." the girl nodded simply, trying to mask the trembling of her figure as she stood up. She must not have been aware at first, but from the anguish her body felt after the gnawing, the leash had fallen from her grasp. Were it not for Clegane holding tightly onto it, who knows what a worried wolf would have done to protect her master.

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion." her voice was soft and barely audible, and her arm was trembling, yet she wasn't clutching on it. Instead, her good hand went to take ahold of the leash - But Clegane wasn't letting go. He was looking down at the little fox, unsure of what to do. He wasn't there to know the fate of the wolves, yet he desperately wanted to just let her go. Was this her own doing, or did the Queen order it? A normal lady would despair at having the tiniest flaw on her body, let alone her whole forearm mutilated in such a way. That won't perfectly heal, no matter what revolutionary, miracle medicine the Maesters give her. Lady Y/N looked absolutely pitiful, Sandor thought; she looked so small and broken, so vulnerable and afraid... This little fox cub was going to end up as food if she continues to offer up her fur to save her siblings - And dear as she may be for him, there is little a stupid guard dog can do to protect a fox kit from a whole pack of rabid, starving lions.

"You may release her." he did not let go, even feeling that small hand over his, trying to dig the leather leash from his strong grip. Somehow, even without seeing her face, covered by the curtain of carmine velvet hair, he could feel the rising rage bubbling in her heart. "LET HER GO, MUTT!" her head snapped up, and she snatched the leash, stepping away from him - The hard glare on her face shocked Clegane. From the mischievous little vixen, to a broken, bitter noble lady. Blood for blood, a wound for a wound. She protected her siblings in her detriment, but to what extent can her life stretch out and save everyone? He dearly hoped he wouldn't find out the answer - Those tears were enough to make him forget how to speak or even think straight. He hadn't realised how awful he felt, watching the broken porcelain doll before him - Nor how protective he suddenly felt over her.

"Let her go, Clegane. The wolves are her responsibility now." Sandor needn't be told twice, as he watched the girl get out of the tent. He stared down at the Imp, and marched out as well. From the corner of his eye, he saw, in the distance, the three Stark sisters and their father, surrounded by the three wolves. They looked like a proper family. Pity it had to be broken.

In life, there are only two types of families - Those who are dysfunctional to the core from the very beginning, his own life being the best example - And those perfect, loving families, much like the Starks, who end up torn apart by the ruthless cruelty of the former category. Bitter as he may be, Sandor Clegane wished not to harm any of those innocent fools, especially these little ladies who have been so perfectly safe from any worry and danger, and think life to be truly beautiful and worth living. Somehow, his heart was alit with a burning need of protecting their innocence - The innocence taken away from himself and his sister, the hope that was robbed from him all these years ago - All because of his own brother.

Far into the forest, Y/N, with a heavy heart and a pained arm, warged into her wolf again, and lead her two wolf sisters away from there. Better away than dead. Hopefully, they will find a pack to lead, or go back home. Either way, it was fine. But Y/N was done with her sisters for a while. Though she could not condemn them - Joffrey was a jerk, and his mother, even more so - Things were going to be trouble. "Daddy - Is there no way to return back to Winterfell?" Y/N asked, almost as if she was resigned with her imminent death.

"No, my dear... Unfortunately... No." Ned sighed and hugged his eldest daughter, kissing the top of her head. Neither of them imagined it would be one of their last tender father-daughter moments. "Let's get that wound looked after." but she stepped away.

"I'll wrap it myself. Please take care of these two. They need you more." Ned watched Y/N turn and walk away, before turning his sight to his youngest daughters, still shaken up. Not only was she afraid for them, due to their childish outbursts and lack of understanding of proper high court etiquette and political manners - He was even more afraid that Y/N would end up taking all the blame on herself, to protect her two foolish sisters. She changed so much after that marriage... She became so self-sacrificing that it pained him, as a father, for indirectly causing this shift; From an impishly playful and haughty little lady, to the wise woman with the bitter and nostalgic smile of an old crone weathered by countless winters.

Y/N went back to the river, away from the nosy people. The river was part of her inner peace, after all. Half a Tully of Riverrun, on the side of her mother, she always felt comfort in the sound of the rapid water breaking over the stones. When she wasn't seeking the calm of the Godswood, she would listen to the lullaby of the rivers running wild.

Oh, how she missed her mother - Her heart ached, looking towards the clean water, lost in thought. How they would go by the river and play barefoot in the water, or make flower crowns for the family together; How they would embroider pretty dresses, or recite old poems that Cat was taught by her own mother, and even her grandmother. She would tell her stories about her little misadventures and mischief with her sister, Lysa, who was now the Lady of the Eyrie, a castle high up into the mountains that made you feel as if you were floating up onto the fluffy clouds. And on the rarest occasions, Y/N would listen, with the widest grin on her face, about her romantic moments with her father. He may be a little clumsy when it comes to love and the hearts of women, but he was always gallant and attentive with her mother; They truly loved each other. Y/N didn't need the ballads and stories of beautiful maidens and brave knights falling in love flawlessly, at first sight - She wanted a caring and tender love story like that of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully; Flawed as it may be, at least it was real. She needn't the most charming or gallant man, nor a poet or a scribe - But a man who would protect her and treat her with such care, as if she was a frail little snowdrop amidst the snow.

Her reverie day-dreaming was broken, as the loud clanking of heavy armor approached her. Though it was now dark outside, as the night he found her in the Woods in Winterfell, the Hound's towering form appeared in front of her. "Hello, dog. Are you here to seek the apology that you rightfully deserve? Or, mayhaps either of the offended Graces wanted more revenge on the, to quote, 'stupid cunt', who humiliated the little, defenseless princeling?" that sharp bitterness would have been amusing, were it not for the implication. However, Sandor remained silent for a while. He went on one knee and took the girl's injured arm - Carefully as a crystal doll, and he washed it away, before wrapping it up. His touch was gentle as no one would expect, but the wound still burnt in agony, causing the maiden to instinctively attempt to remove her arm from the on-going pain with a soft whimper.

He did not apologise for causing her pain, but she needn't an apology for it anyway. Instead, it was her who apologised. "I hate you for killing an innocent boy." she said, out of the blue. "But a dog is a dog. Fiercely loyal until the very end. It was not for you to disobey." she continued. "Forgive me for insulting you. You did not deserve an insult - Lest of all, for doing your job." the man stared her in the eye, conflicted at what to say. Then, he saw the stray tear, possibly escaped because of the wound, and he took a rag from his pocket, wiping it away as gently as he could.

"No need to apologise to me, girl." he grumbled lowly. "You more than paid for whatever happened." she said nothing - But the way she looked at him was amusing - She wanted to strike him down where he stood. "I know what you're thinking. Don't. Say one wrong word and you might get your head put on a spike."

"Of course. I cannot trust a dog which is not loyal to me. Nor can I trust a wolf that is greener than me. And you wonder why I dislike speaking." the maiden scoffed, removing her arm from his hold once he finished wrapping it up. "Thank you - Ser." she emphasised the last word, knowing it would irritate him.

"I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows." the man spit on the ground.

"I know. That's why I taunted you." she retorted easily. "If you don't accept my apology, then that's fine. You hold 'Dog' as a compliment, rather than an insult. Smart. The connotation, however - Differs on who it is that calls you that. It might serve as a term of endearment for some."

"I like dogs better than knights... A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And the hound will look you straight in the face." perhaps it was a way of intimidating the girl, but Sandor leaned closer to the younger girl, his eyes dead set on her.

But she did not back down - Instead, she leaned forward, and she smirked like an enticing vixen. She was so close to his face - So close that he could feel her breath on his face; And those plump lips of hers, soft and beautiful, were tempting him so bad. "Before or after I'm dead?" Sandor wanted to reach his hands out and grab her face, smashing his lips against her own - Pink and wet, like a rose petal bathing in the morning dew. It was almost like she was begging him to kiss her.

"You have a death wish, little fox?" the man growled lowly, almost resembling a dog.

"No more than you do."

Their stay in King's Landing, albeit luxurious, and with enough maids to care for them, was awful. No matter what, the only reason they were still fine, was because their father was still alive, and with the uncanny influence as the Hand of the King. She could not imagine how stressed he was feeling every day he woke up and realised the corruption and injustice crawling through every corner of this God forsaken place.

Though she couldn't spend time with Clegane, being the Prince's sworn shield and constantly by his side - Tyrion was another story altogether. The witty little imp was great to spend the time with, so at least, whenever she was drinking and laughing with him, she felt as close to the word 'safe' as she could possibly feel in the capital city of Westeros. But Tyrion's word meant nothing, in front of the Queen or the Prince, so from how much could he protect her, before she gets her head on a spike, as the dog said?

The very first great festivity to be held in King's Landing was Joffrey's Name's Day Tourney - Many knights from all over Westeros have gathered forth, joining the jousting competition. Though from Winterfell, no knight was able to get too far down the brackets, they still fought valiantly, and were praised. Ser Loras Tyrell, Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Gregor Clegane, Sandor's very own elder brother, went farthest into the competition. The charming lion even defeated Barristan the Bold, as their father called him - What a great and true knight the old one is!

Alas, during the semi-finals, Ser Loras was to fight The Mountain. The Knight of the Flowers went to gift Sansa a rose before doing a pretty courtesy in front of the King, who allowed the beginning of the match. Loras was riding a white, pristine clean, beautiful mare, and he was dressed in shining silver-like armor, making his radiating, prince-like handsomeness even more highlighted. Sansa's face was as red as the rose she was gifted, looking at the dashing young boy, old as Robb and Jon. On the other end of the court, dressed in all black, on a black stallion, The Mountain, towering over all, was fixing that ugly, yellow shield, with a single black dog painted on it.

It was a scary match, Y/N though, gripping instinctively the hilt of Dark Sister - It was a bad habit she had to break, whenever she was nervous. She was a lady, and she couldn't go around with a sword so leisurely anymore - Not in King's Landing. This was, at least, an exception, especially as she hid it with her cloak so well. At a tourney, everyone had a weapon! "Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him." Sansa, afraid for the beautiful boy, clinged to both her father's and her sister's arms, her gaze fixed on the knight. A bit more, and she might have been forgetting how to breathe. "He's going to die!"

"Ser Loras rides well." Ned reassured his sweet girl.

"Daddy, if you were there, you could have defeated them all." Y/N grinned childishly at her two family members. Unfortunately, neither of them were paying attention.

As the trumpet sang, the two knight galloped towards one another - And to everyone's erupting glee, the feared Mountain toppled over from his horse, down on the ground, bringing down the fragile wooden fence with him. Y/N jolted to her feet - She smelt trouble - She looked back, and saw the Hound. He felt her gaze, and looked straight back. Though perfectly stoic, Y/N could almost feel even his nervousness. Sandor might be a dog, but Gregor as a whole damn mountain - Bigger, stronger, and far scarier. The man could see the anxiety surging through her veins - Was she afraid for the charming knight? Did she fall in love with him and his beauty, like all the other maidens watching? Still - Her gorgeous eyes were pooling with terror.

In an instant, she looked back at the court. "Daddy, the Mountain is going to kill Loras Tyrell." she found herself uttering in an eerie tone. Gregor picked up his sword and beheaded his own poor horse, while Loras was doing courtesies. It wasn't surprising for his brother, but the action startled even the otherwise level-headed Y/N, the dog noted. Everyone gasped, watching the huge man strike the knight from his horse, and even try to slash him, while he was on the ground - Luckily, he blocked it with a shield. That was no knight behaviour, and definitely not something to show during a sacred festivity.

Y/N felt her heart beating fast - On the ground, she did not see Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, the sweet, dashing boy from Highgarden; Not anymore. She saw Robb Stark, the young wolf. She saw Jon Snow, her shy brother. Her family. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" the foolish, reckless, absolutely idiotic girl jumped the protective fence from the stands and used Dark Sister to block a well-aimed blow to the boy's face. Clegane thought the girl had a death wish - Was she fucked in the head, to go against the bloody Mountain? Was she that desperately in love with that young boy that she'd give away her life, for his own? Regardless of the reason, even he couldn't help but worry for the foolish lady.

Her arms were trembling, and she couldn't hold her own against this outlandish brute strength, but at least she was happy to have spared the boy - Temporarily, at least. "YOU ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF THE KING AND PRINCE JOFFREY - STOP THIS UNSIGHTLY BEHAVIOUR AT ONCE!" but the Mountain did not listen. He was deaf and blind to anything but his rage. "Loras, get up, now!" she spoke, stepping back and parrying one more of his blows. Y/N was sure her arms would fall off, and were it not for her sword being forged from Valyrian steel, she could have sworn it would break from his brute strength, and the barely healed wound on her forearm would spill over with blood and flesh and bits of bone all over the ground.

The third strike was the last, and she was on her back - For a split moment, she remembered how Bran defeated Tommen and sent him to the ground, struggling like a turtle on its shell. Seeing the man raise his longsword to strike somewhere between herself and Loras, she heard the boy call to her. "Duck!" and the two rolled away from the blow. 

Stupid girl, going out of her way to fight death himself. What the hell is in that empty head of hers? She goes out of her way to seduce him, and now, she's shielding another. Y/N and Loras looked like two children, dirty and playing in the sand, only to get bullied by the awful Mountain. Screw him and his stupid brain, and his stupid eroded heart and his stupid fucking morals. "LEAVE THEM BE!" a familiar, rough voice called out, and another man, wearing black, leapt from the stands to parry another swing from the Mountain. Sandor Clegane was shielding Lady Stark, who was on the ground. She looked up at his grand form, struggling to push his gargantuan brother away from the two idiots. Y/N and Loras dragged each other up quickly, scurried next to one another, defending themselves behind his shield and her sword, yet also watching the immaculate fight between the two brothers.

Whilst the Tyrell knight wanted to one day have the Hound's otherwordly sword skill; Y/N felt her heart go crazy with mad love. That man had no reason to go out of his way and face the worst man known to Westeros, and coincidently, his own worst fear - Yet, there he was, protecting her, and fighting off his mad brother. Y/N was striken dizzy with such an intense adoration for Sandor Clegane, like she's never thought possible.

Stupid Joffrey and everyone else only watched the altercation unfold - Were they all dumb? Were they perhaps too stunned by the dance of death? Or were they screaming, yet their shrieks were deaf to those in the ring? "STOP THIS MADNESS, IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" that, however, everyone heard, as Robert Baratheon rose from his throne and his voice roared and thundered throughout the place. The hound kneeled to bend his knee to the King while simultaneously dodging a fatal blow from his brother.

Y/N's hand was desperately clutching on her chest, trying to stop her beating heart from escaping her chest, while her other hand was shaking terribly, clasped around the hilt of her sword. The stupid Stark girl stole a glance at her father - He almost had collapsed from worry, but at least was now relieved she was unharmed. She will explain to him later, the reason for her absolute foolishness. Sansa, too, felt at ease, seeing no one die - Though the shock from the horse's brutal death still weighed heavy on her. She saw Gregor throw away his sword in disgust, and walk away. What a disgusting, unsightly creature. However, Sandor Clegane was his complete opposite. He was faithfully kneeling on one knee, his hands on the hilt of the sword impaled into the ground, and head was down, in respect and loyalty for his King. Y/N had never thought she would ever see someone like him in such a light - However, her heart beat faster, seeing him so humble. He was the only one who got out of his way to protect Loras, a literal child, against his own brother, the most feared Knight of Westeros.

Sandor Clegane was one of the only men that Y/N would call a true Knight.

Looking up, The Hound saw that he could rise - And so he did, yet his head was still hung. Though both young ones still in the ring had trembling legs like flowers in the spring breeze, they made their way towards the Knight who saved them. "I owe my life to you, Ser. And you, My Lady - Thank you to the both of you." though Y/N was too absorbed by shock to speak, Sandor simply spat in bitterness. He truly hated all this unnecessary attention brought to him. "I'm no Ser." Loras grabbed the Hound's hand and brought it up on the sky, declaring him the winner. Y/N smiled, and began clapping - The rest followed. The man, however, was glaring deeply at everyone. 

"Just accept the appreciation, dog." Sandor looked down at the girl, and he wanted to snark her - But that smile. That smile stopped him. It was sweet, and her eyes were sparkling. For a few seconds, he felt as though that dreamy and pure adoration was addressed to him. He loved that thought, be it real or not.

He hated seeing her afraid, like when her life was threatened by his own brother, and he hated seeing her angry, like during the Joffrey incident. He hated seeing her wounded, as with the wound on her arm, and he hated seeing her crying, having seen her cheeks wet with tears.

The dog loved, however, those witty one liners of hers, and the cunning philosophies she spoke of. He loved hearing her conversations with the Imp, although he got jealous, because they were always so clever and tricky. He loved seeing that smirk of hers, as she taunted or mocked him. And he adored that love she held for her family and how she nurtured them all with all her heart.

However, what Sandor Clegane loved, more than anything, was that genuine, innocent smile that. It was all for him. His dear little fox.

But now came the bad part of being the 'hero' as those foolish maidens would call him now. He had to participate in the farce of a tourney. 

Watching the girl take back her seat next to her sister and father, and them hugging her tightly - She seemed to have a guilty expression on her face - But they forgave her for making them worry. That was family. Loving and forgiving each other. Not what his brother did. Killing their father. Killing their sister. Melting half of his face in the brazier. 

Monster.

Sandor's first joust was against the King's own brother, Renly Baratheon, whom he easily defeated, and next, he had to fight the Queen's brother, Jaime Lannister for the semi-finals. A man came over to him with a basket full of flowers. He cursed him off, but the man insisted that he HAD to gift a woman the flower. If he wasn't so done with life, he would have shoved that rose down his nose, watching him bleed to death. But out of respect and loyalty for the King, he kept himself in check, begrudgingly snatching that stupid flower. It was blood red, but thorny. Sandor climbed on his dear horse, Stranger, and all the way to the stands, he absent-mindedly removed the thorns from its stem until he got in front of the beautiful Stark girl with red hair. He extended his hand over, but did not directly face her - Only from the corner of his eye, to get a feel of her feelings regarding his weird gesture. "Here, little fox. Tradition - Or whatever horse-shit some fool spat."

He felt the flower being slowly taken away from his hand, yet he did not, at first, see the demure, bashful expression on her face, nor that sweet blush. For what felt like an eternity, but were merely a few seconds, the girl did not speak - Thousands of fitting replies were running through her head. All of them, appropriate for any other person.

But Sandor Clegane was not just any other person. "Woof." the girl was struggling not to grin from ear to ear, amused beyond belief by her own sick sense of humour. The man, however, snapped his head at her and glared hard - Though his heart melted, watching that joyous innocence - And it was addressed his way. He barked, rough and raspy, before going to his end of the ring.

"Not exactly a prince charming..." Sansa looked skeptical, and slightly disgusted. She wished only the best for her sister - And the Hound was not the handsome knight she wanted Y/N to fall in love with. Clearly, in no way, that monster of a man could be gentle and caring with a noble lady, lest of all, Y/N - Right?

"He may not look as handsome as Loras, Sansa - But his heart is in the right place. More or less." the girl chuckled, watching the dog miraculously taking down the Lannister Lion. "I would choose him, over all knights across Westeros, and beyond." Sansa couldn't comprehend the weirdness of her statement; Perhaps she was still shaken up after all the insane things she did in the jousting court.

The final, however, did not take place, as Loras Tyrell yielded before the match could begin - He did not want to fight the man who saved his life - Thus, Sandor Clegane had won the Jousting Tourney held on the Name's Day of Prince Joffrey. The feast at night was what everyone was truly waiting for - But Arya refused to participate, and Sansa and Jeyne were hovering over the lemon cakes and gossiping about the pretty knights. Y/N had no babysitter job, so she went looking for Sandor. Half of her expected him to be drinking his victory away at the feast - The other, to stay by Joffrey's side. None were true. She found the man drinking all by himself, at the end of the feast, having growled and snarled away any drinking companion. 

Smirking to herself, Y/N nonchalantly stepped to the very end of the feast, and she stood in front of him. She hoped she would be towering over him, while he was sitting, the same way he always shades her with his height. Alas - He was far too tall, either way. "You have fought valiantly today, good Ser." the man growled in annoyance. 

"Must I bite you, to make you stop calling me that?" he seemed genuinely disgusted by the idea of being called a knight.

"O, my, Ser~. Court me first, before you speak of such indecent implications." the man snapped his head up, and looked straight into her beautiful eyes. His beard was wet from all the ale he spilled on himself while drinking his sorrows away.

"That is a very dangerous thing to say to a drunk man, little fox." the man warned, only to see the enigmatic grin on her face.

"I am saying it to you - Not to any drunk man." she giggled, a nasty impish grin on her face, watching him get riled up so easily. "Ever since I left the North, my sense of self-preservation has been completely depraved. Mayhaps I am in need of a loyal hound to protect me, when I cannot." he took a sharp inhale.

"You intentionally got yourself in front of my brother's sword. I'd say 'depraved' is too light a word. Nonexistent is a better fit." the girl looked away, a guilty smile on her face, before she sighed.

"Loras is the same age as Robb and Jon. I did not see Loras there. I saw Robb. I saw Jon." Sandor's heart dropped. The little fox wasn't in love with Loras - She was so madly protective over her younger brothers, that she ended up shielding another female's cubs. He thought all women were the same - Damsels in distress, afraid, frail and so on. But he was wrong. The little fox may be all that, but she's also fierce and with such a strong love for her family, that she would do anything. Now he felt guilty for thinking ill of her.

"I'm not saying what I did was not stupid. It was. If it were not for you, both myself and Loras would have died out there." she admitted, and the man was soberly attentive. "But my siblings are too innocent. They are still children. They did not see how awful the world can be. I want to protect them and that innocence of theirs, for as long as I can. I want to see them happy." she explained, taking out the rose and twirling it around her fingers. "Don't think me altruistic - I am doing it for myself. I live vicariously through them. My happiness comes from their happiness." she smiled bitterly, further confusing the dog. "You can call me all synonyms existent for the word - Stupid - And I will accept them. But that erases naught how strongly I feel about protecting my kin... And..." she bruskly turned in front of the man, and extended the flower intimately towards him. "That even though you cast away the title, you are one of the very few people, in a sea of knights, who deserves that title. And, whether it means anything to you or not, you have earned by deep respect and appreciation." the man was speechless for a while, but then he slapped away her hand. 

"What do you think a knight is for, girl? You think it's all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate? Knights are for killing." the man snarled at her, a look of self-hatred on his face. Drinking always made him even more of a bitter and eroded man than he already was.

"I think black suits you rather well - Although, I would want to see you in shining silver, or elegant gold." she did not let go of the rose. "Knights are for killing, yes, but today, the knight before me used his power to protect me."

"There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different. Today, you should have died. You just got lucky. Same as that other lad. Woman, child, elderly or man - None of these matter, in the eyes of a killer." he reprimanded the girl harshly, yet she only seemed to smile at him - That smile was defiant of his words.

"I don't believe in Gods, nor altruism. I believe not in humanity, nor the genuine good of mankind. I have seen many, I have faced even more, yet there are far worse things out there, of which I would be terrified to witness." she spoke softly, stepping close towards him. "Yet when I saw you there, in front of me - Protecting me against that monster of a man..." her voice was much softer. "I felt safe."

Sandor, with his inebriated mind, was so, so close to just grabbing the girl and smashing his lips to hers - He wanted her so bad. He needed her, more than he needed air to breathe in his lungs. He did, however, grab her arm and brought her to sit on his knee - Yet he only damaged himself and his psyche further, as the imagery of the beautiful girl being flushed against his chest, was doing things to him. He really needed to go to a tavern and fuck some whores, and soon. "Are you done?"

"I want to give you the rose back." the man was confused. Surely, favour can't be returned. Was this her way of rejecting him? Of telling him that, even if she did love him, her noble status prohibited her from being with him? "Red doesn't look good on me, and roses are for fair maidens." her smile disappeared, and a solemn, nostalgic look took over. She looked devastated and anguished, in spite of the facade she tried to keep together.

"You are one." he saw her shake her head, smiling bitterly. 

"I am not." her reply was cold cut like a blade in winter - Though whose heart ached more, was uncertain. "Red roses are for fair maidens, destined to fall in love with a strong knight that will protect her." she said, getting up from his leg, placing the flower gently on the table in front of him. "You are one. But I am not. Love is not something that I am deserving of." he could not understand what she was saying. It was only gibberish and the ramblings of a silly girl. Still, she turned her back to him. "Good night, Sweet Sandor. I truly wish you all the best in the world. You are a fine man. Better than most." her silhouette was trembling softly. "You are the Knight that my young self dreamt of all her life." her voice held a melancholic vibrato; and she walked away, leaving the Hound all alone, as he's always been.

He wanted to think and understand what the hell had that all been about, yet no matter how much he tried to think, he failed at finding an answer. He never prided himself with being overly intelligent, perhaps that was the reason why he couldn't comprehend. He wasn't up to her mental capacity, like The Imp was, nor was he anywhere as wealthy or high in status. Or, even better - He was not as pretty as the Knight of the Flowers - After all, he was ugly, and disfigured. Not that she ever had any problem looking at him - Her gaze never shied away from him, and with that sweet smile from before, he even had... Hope, mayhaps. 

But it had all been for naught.

In his heart, however, he was unable to sever the bond he had between himself and the sweet girl whom he had lost forever.

She did not avoid him though, despite that smile never making its way to her face. She was deathly worried, every second of her existence. Sandor was as ruthless a beast as never before, and he cared little for anyone standing in his way, including her father's own men, whom he helped slaughter. Things were getting rougher. Eddard Stark was imprisoned, and the Stark girls were in grave danger. He worried for them, without realising. But what could he do, when King Baratheon is dead and Ned Stark, the single remaining man who wished for true justice, was sent to the gallows, forced to admit to a lie he never committed, in front of the whole city.

Up on the pedestal, he looked down at the dirty crowd. Beggars and whores and disgusting fleas. Next to him, he could see Sansa, all prettied up, and almost proud of the deal she had made with the Queen next to her. Y/N, however, was keeping King Joffrey deep under her gaze. Glaring at him. It looked as though she was suspecting something ill to be happening. Ilyn Payne was there too. And Littlefinger, and Maester Pycelle, and a few Golden Cloaks. He wanted to reach his hands out, put them on the girl's shoulders and keep her steady - He was afraid she might lash out and get herself killed somehow. The father looked at his two girls, before hanging his head and daring to confess whatever that was to confess. 

Joffrey spoke about Sansa begging him to send him to The Wall - And Cersei too. The Hound found out this way that Y/N, too, pleaded mercy for her father - It was no wonder, he thought. What other deal could you make with a mad child like Joffrey? Alas, their judgement and feelings were subject to mockery. "Ser Ilyn - Bring me his head!" as soon as the King ordered, Sandor's arms grabbed Y/N's body, immobilising her before she could throw herself out there, to die with her father. "LET ME GO, YOU STUPID DOG!" her insults were desperate, but the words did not hurt him. Her pain did. It stuck the blade deep in his heart, and then twisted it around hard. "DADDY! DADDY, NO! STOP -- DON'T DO IT! DON'T KILL HIM! DADDY!" she was not the cunning and enigmatic little fox that was perfectly calm, collected and calculated. That was a little girl, crying for her father. She was a child in his arms, wriggling and struggling to slip from his grasp, but no matter how close she was to getting out, he grabbed her again and brought her to his chest. 

"Don't look, Y/N. Don't look." but she was far too desperate, and when the the longsword was brought down, in one swing, Eddard Stark's head rolled to the ground. Y/N stopped moving - Perhaps, she even stopped breathing - And she fell lax, only the Hound's arms holding him. "No." she was heard by no one, except the dog, who held her tightly. "Y/N - Y/N, look at me." he tried to turn her around, his hands on her face - But his heart stopped, seeing her face, sheer agony and hopelessness in her dead eyes, and her face drenched with tears. One arm was securely holding her body up, wrapped around her waist, for she held no more strength for once; And the other hand was gently holding the back of her head, his fingers through that shiny scarlet hair of hers - As scarlet as the blood of her father, running in thin ribbons down the pedestal.

"He's dead, Sandor. He's dead. What's the point anymore?" he was at a loss of words. How was he to comfort a girl, after she just watched her beloved father get killed, in front of the whole King's Landing - All because of the capricious nature of the boy king?

"He died, for you and your sisters to live. That's the point. Live. For his sake. For the little bird's sake. She needs you." the quivering of her lip and the way she tried to bite down roughly on it did not stop her body from shaking from the sobs. She knew, better than anyone, the torture she was going to face in the many, many days to come. 

"Everyone needs me, Sandor, and they have me - But who do I have?" her question was so desperately heart breaking, that despite his better knowledge, he found himself blurting an answer he never thought would come out of his filthy mouth. A statement that only made the little fox start sobbing openly, burying herself in his chest, relishing in the feeling of his arms around her broken body.

"You have me."

The lions were ready to rip apart the young wolf pups, and the dog held no real power to protect either of them. At least, Sandor thought, Y/N might feel better, knowing that the youngest one had escaped. Maybe, only. The blatant mocking and disrespect could simply be ignored, The Hound thought. Even if Joffrey made fun of Eddark Stark in front of the girls. They looked dead, but at the same time, vengeful. He was afraid either of them might act up stupidly.

One day, he accompanied the King on the bridge, where he wanted to admire the heads propped on lances, serving as a grim reminder for all traitors. He taunted Sansa - And what a fool the little bird was, she wanted to push the bratty King off the bridge, to his death. While very satisfying, Y/N would go insane, if she were to witness her own sister's death as well. Perhaps he had called the sisters separately to mock their father, reveling in their raw emotions? Was humiliating them and bringing them such pain, his pleasure? Definitely.

Thus, there she stood, tall and proud, as if nothing bad had ever happened to her in her life. She had easily masked over her pain. Now, he wondered - His mind flew to that night, after the Tourney - What awful things could she have experienced, that she claimed to not be deserving of love? More, to be able to hide away her true feelings so well? 

He watched Y/N looking up at her father's head - It almost looked alive, she thought. Sleeping. She didn't need Meryn Trant to force her to look at him. She was content on her own. No matter how much he was taunting her, she did not speak. Even if she did spare him a glance, it was defiant, and deep. Piercing, like a hawk staring at its prey. When he smiled, she knew he was mocking her. “Your brother is a traitor too, you know. Just like your father. And so are you and your sister.” he turned Septa Mordane’s head around. “I remember your brother from Winterfell. My dog called him the lord of the wooden sword. Didn’t you, dog? Made fun of how he needed a girl to protect him.”

"Did I?" the Hound replied. "I don't recall." Y/N refused to even spare him a glance. In fact, she did not react at all. She remained unmoved as a statue. His words came back to literally bite him - And hard.

It angered the King that she wasn't afraid of him. How dare she? A stupid little cunt, defying him? Outrageous! "Ser Trant, teach this traitorous wench what happens when she defies my orders." without any hesitation, Meryn Trant stepped almost perfectly between her and Sandor, and with those metal gauntlets, he struck her - Once, and then twice. She did not let out a single whimper, nor sound. A single, thin river of blood went down her chin, from her busted lip. "Still don't want to speak to me? Go on. Ser Trant, continue until she apologises for defying me." Sandor was disgusted with the white cloak before him, who dared call himself a 'Knight', using all his force into slapping a woman. Though, he shouldn't be one to judge - A member of the famed Kingsguard, was watching an innocent person getting beaten up, and he did not stop it. A real dog would never watch the person he is loyal to, getting hurt, and act naught. 

He watched Y/N lose balance from the force behind one of the blows, and she fell to the ground, a single gasp of surprise being heard. Seeing Trant ready to strike her head again, he rushed to grab his hand. "She spoke. You're getting His Grace's schedule behind." Meryn snatched away the hand from the Hound's, and went to sit next to the King.

"Huh. I suppose you're right, dog. I was enjoying myself so much, watching a traitor cunt getting the treatment she deserves, that I have forgotten the course of time." the King marched past her, only to stop. "Ah, before I forget - Mother says that we have to marry you off soon. I'll think of someone really nice for you. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. I was thinking that you might be missing home - Perchance, the bastard son of Lord Bolton would make a good match. Betray your brother even. Or... Some stinky, homeless old man from the sewers of Fleas Bottom would be far more fitting?" the King laughed tauntingly, marching towards the Throne room, with Meryn Trant behind him.

Sandor watched the girl get up, and gaze fondly at the high drop - Pondering, for a small amount of time, the pros and cons of throwing herself and ending things already. The man took out a rag from his pocket and reached out to dab away the blood welling from the various shallow cuts made on her face - But it was slapped away, and she stepped back. "So much for protecting me." she muttered monotonously, walking past him, no doubt back to her room, where she had locked herself into.

He wanted to go over to her room, but she never answered the knocks. He wanted to grab her face again and make her look at him - To tell her - How in the world could he go against the King's word? It would get them both killed - It won't help anyone. He can protect her from anyone, but her greatest enemy - The Lion. Not even the new Hand of the King, Tyrion, who was her friend, could save her. The one time he had barged into her chambers, he had seen her drinking with the Imp, and upon questioning, he simply came up with a petty excuse, and left.

Why did she want to speak to the Imp, and not to him? Did she truly hate him so? 

Unbeknownst to him, he wasn't the only one drinking her sorrows away - Like most people in King's Landing, Y/N, also, fell pray to the vice brought upon by Tyrion and his sweet wine from Highgarden. She knew she was wrong, lashing out at Sandor for not protecting her, and even more wrong for not apologising. She was hurt then, and continued to get even worse - Yet that wasn't even a proper excuse. Some day, she will bribe the dog into her chambers, with the smell of luxury alcohol, and a much needed apology.

Days later, he stood next to the throne, protecting the King. An audience around. Something was going to happen. To his dread, there she was again, walking slow, and with her head up. The make up on her face made wonders in covering the fresh, healing wounds on her face, yet her beauty still looked busted. She was made to kneel on the ground and look up at the King, who held a crossbow at ready, aimed at her. He could only look down at her. He could see there was no fight in her eyes. She looked absolutely dead. Void. One of the King's relatives began to tell her of the crimes her brother seemingly committed - Obviously, all of them exaggerated beyond belief. "Killing you would send your brother a message. He could not protect the one that protected him. I am to marry Sansa, you know? But you? You have no value to me." the King was smirking and having so much fun. "But my mother insists on keeping you and marrying you off to someone. Get up." but before the King put the crossbow away, much to everyone's shock, he fired it at the lady.

Sandor himself, as well as everyone present, flinched in shock at the unexpected occurrence - While the ladies screeched or gasped, and the guards all oh'ed, the Hound found himself unable to breathe. The crossbow arrow had precisely fired past Y/N's ear, so very close to grazing her temple, and it bounced a few feet behind her, on the ground. Few war-hardened could stand still after getting so close to death; Y/N herself, though fighting her shaking body, her shallow breaths, the picked up heartbeat and her trembling lip. She was doing a wonderful job, getting over her terror.

Sandor could almost feel himself sighing in relief - Only internally, of course. He was so happy she was alive after that bullshit. She deserved better than all this shit happening to her. "Are you not going to thank me for sparing you? I did not have the same mercy with your father." she said nothing. "If you insist on being a mute, perhaps I might as well cut your tongue off. You have no use for it, anyway." his hand was up, and was ready to give the order - She had finally spoken. 

"I am undeserving of your mercy, Your Grace. I have nothing to thank, nor be regretful of. The one who deserved your mercy was my father. As you so brilliantly spoketh, I have no value in this greater political game. Whatever it is that you have in plan for me, I will simply accept and not object." the King was ready to take offense - But the ending made him smirk.

"You are saying you're ready to accept any man to be your husband, yes?" the girl did not speak. "If you're so eager to serve - Then serve my dog!" the King's laugh echoed through the place. 

"But... Your Grace... The Hound is a white cloak. He swore an oath." one man warned the King, but he dismissed him.

"I don't care about oaths. My dog has been serving me loyally for years, hasn't he? Doesn't he deserve to be satisfied by a pretty noble lady? Whenever he wants, however he wants - Without needing to stoop so low and crawl in some common tavern whore's bed?" no one could speak a word - Everything the King was saying was madness - A kind of madness that should never be spoken in the holy throne room. "You know, Y/N... Ser Sandor Clegane here is renowned throughout the Realm for how ruthless he is. I am sure you'll serve as a good chewing toy for him. At least, until he's lost interest in you. All dogs gets bored of their broken toys, sooner or later." neither of the two involved could speak. 

For one, Y/N felt her mind spin indefinitely. Marriage? Again? She had hoped to escape this fate - Alas, with the Lannisters on her back, she had no way of running away. She did not mind - It was Sandor. Though he could not protect her, at least she knew, he had a good heart... Even if it was hidden, buried very, very deep inside that guarded chest of his. 

The Hound, however, was nervous - He did not feel often this emotion, but he truly did now. Not only would he have to marry the woman he had grown so fond with - But he would put her in even more danger, because of it. Not that he had any say in it, for the matter. At least it wasn't some old and sleazy old shit lord who would beat her up or what not. With him, at least she was safe. She was not going to see him.

"Thank you for your blessing, Your Grace." Sandor suddenly heard the little fox speak - A voice soft and forced, and she gave a short courtesy bow.

"Now that we've got that settled - I was wondering - Perhaps The Hound should be the one to make a statement. First off, he should discipline his future Lady Wife into not defying her King so much. Secondly, we need to make a point - To her traitorous brother." and here came the trouble that Sandor feared. "Go on, dog. Don't make me say it twice." but Sandor felt reticent - His own legs were refusing to move - How could he actively harm the person he was supposed to protect. "You'll regret it, dog. Ser Trant - You do it. But leave her face - She has to be pretty for the wedding day... And the bedding ceremony." she wanted to take out a dagger and carve her own heart out, just hearing such a thing.

Meryn Trant, unlike Clegane, did not hesitate. He marched, once again, in front of the girl, and with a tightly clenched fist, he punched the girl's gut, cutting out the air from her lungs. As she instinctively stepped back, he took out his sword and used it to hit the girl's leg, making her stumble. Sheathing it back, the knight roughly brought her up, before landing another hit - And another, and another. All of them with such intensity that Y/N lost count. "ENOUGH." Y/N heard the Hound rasp. The sound of metal clinking was approaching.

"Ah, finally ready to join the show? Hit her until I've grown bored." the King was laid back on the throne. For once, Sandor wanted to rip his head off - Looking down at the small, frail girl that he wanted to hold in his arms and protect. She looked even smaller than before, and even more vulnerable.

"Forgive me, Y/N." the girl knew that he chose to do it himself, rather than have that hateful man use all his strength to cause her harm - Alas, she wasn't sure whether the Hound knew or not, the passive strength which he possessed.

"Get it over with." she muttered - And though she was not prepared for the blow, the strikes from the man were just as painful as the ones from that awful man before. She wanted to cry from the pain, but she couldn't give anyone the satisfaction. Soon, she lost count of all the hits that were going to paint her body in all sorts of colours - But some time soon, at least - It will all be over. 

"Ser Meryn - I think Lady Y/N is overdressed. Don't you want to make a pretty gift for your fellow white cloak, and unburden his future lady wife for him?" Sandor wanted to bash his skull against the nearest wall, watching the sadistic grin of Trant as he got behind his Y/N and ripped the whole back of her dress for the audience to see - In front, the fabric was toppling over, and she could only hold it with her hands, so it would not expose the corset and her skin. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't even look at the girl. Her soft whimper of fear and shame drove him crazy. How much more before someone finally stopped this? "Come on, dog! I have given you a gift - It is unwrapped, all for you to claim! Go ahead, it's all yours!" Sandor, for the first time in his life, was praying - Praying that someone would finally step in and put a stopper to this idiocy.

The saving grace did come - Clegane never expected to be grateful to the Imp - Alas, it was him to whom he should light a thankful candle at the Sept later on. "WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?!" his powerful voice boomed, as he stomped all the way to Y/N. "Clegane. Trant. What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?!" the dwarf glared at the two white cloaks. 

"The kind who serves his King - Imp!" Meryn spat at the Hand of the King. Sandor did no utter a single word. 

"Easy, now. We don't want to get blood all over that pretty cloak." the man accompanying Tyrion mocked the ser.

"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with!" at once, Sandor ripped that stupid white cloak and carefully wrapped it all around her form, holding her close to his chest. He never wanted to let go of her. She was forever trapped in his arms.

"She is your soon-to-be sister-in-law. Have you no regard to her honour?!" Tyrion reprimanded his nephew. 

"I was punishing her! Besides - She's The Hound's future wife! He can do whatever he wants with her!" Sandor refused to listen to any of the witty threats that the Imp threw to the King - Even the quarrel about the marriage. He only realised that he existed again, once he went to their side. Y/N turned her head slightly, and nodded. "Thank you, Tyrion." it was small and sincere, and only for the two men to hear. The Lannister nodded back, appalled by the situation.

"I apologise for my nephew's behaviour. Clegane, escort Lady Y/N back to her room." though Y/N turned around to walk on her own, Sandor picked her up with ease - She looked like a child, wrapped like a cocoon in her own blankets. It would have been a romantic scene, were it not for what happened a little ago. 

The walk to her room was silent as a lake. None spoke a single word. He placed her gently on her bed, and with one last look, he turned to leave. "Are you leaving already?" the man stopped in his tracks, yet did not turn. "It wasn't as bad as when he did it. Thank you." somehow, that pissed the man off more - He wasn't angry at her, but at himself.

"Why the hell are you thanking me for beating you up?" his voice was more like a dog's growl. Angry. Not only that he was forced to lay his hand of his woman, but also because she was thanking him for being gentle. Fucking outrageous.

"A small price to pay for being on the wrong side of a war. I cannot ask you to compromise your life, for a failed attempt at protecting me." her humble understanding sent him into a rage. "And... I hadn't had the chance to apologise for lashing at you back then. I didn't mean to hurt you, but I did - And for that, I am truly sorry. I deserved what happened today."

"If you want death, go throw yourself off the bridge. I won't stop you. But don't bullshit me with that selfless act - It doesn't impress me." she didn't even flinch from his risen tone.

"Joffrey said our wedding is next week. Are you going to wear festive clothing?" she gave a weak smile.

"I did not hit you in the head - Why are you babbling?" he asked, watching the girl fumble with the cloak.

"I am fine with anything. As long as it is you. I meant what I said that night. I suppose even my fears and insecurities, I must face and accept." she spoke softly. "You have secrets, as well as I - Yet neither of them were spoken. I... Am willing to... If so are you." she must be referring to their past, Sandor realised. He pondered over - He couldn't stay much for the day - He still had that little cunt to serve. The wedding night could, however, serve as a perfect pretext for drunk story telling.

"Fine. But I bring the drinks. I don't drink sweet mead for women." he grumbled, ready to exit the room. "Don't leave the room without me." and he left. 

A week went by past, and Sandor found himself, disgusted, in the middle of the Sept. Sandor Clegane was getting married. What a fucking sick joke. He looked down, from the stairs of the Sept, at the ridiculous crowd. And there she stood, led by the King - His beautiful wife. She was dressed in a beautiful dress of pure gold - She looked like the Sun - Or like the fire itself, with her long hair, going down her shoulders in crimson waves.

But she didn't smile. Not even the littlest bit. Even when looking up into his own, dark eyes, Sandor could only see sorrow and pity.

She had the grey Stark cape. The Septon spoke whatever gibberish these old people of so called faith did, before he heard that he may cloak the bride and 'Bring her under his protection'. Bullshit. If he could, he would fight the whole realm - Yet he cannot. That means he cannot properly protect her.

Y/N turned her back to him took her hair away from her back, making it easier for him to fumble with the Stark cape... And put the Clegane one. It fit better - Yellow, Gold, same thing.

Nah, it wasn't - Not even he could say that the cheap yellow of Clegane could outshine the gorgeous gold of her dress. Long, and with long sleeves that covered her arms, yet her hands were covered in jewellery - As well as her neck, ears and hair. She was a jewel herself.

But she hated yellow.

Still, he was forced to put that cloak over her shoulders - It was so large over her form. Yellow did not make her happy.

At last, the septon continued the ceremony, and it ended even sooner. With the cloak thus removed permanently, the two went to the feast that was to last until well into the evening. They sat at the main table, only the two of them - But she did not eat. He couldn't either. Instead, he downed drink after drink, while she sat there, unmoving. He could see the look of sorry on the Imp's face - As if he was apologising to her for allowing things to get so bad, so easily. Her little sister was hiding in some corner, afraid for her own fate. She had never been to a wedding, had no idea what could happen. She was far too little to properly attend her sister's wedding, so she does not know its horrors, nor of the shameful bedding ceremony.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the growing desperation inside his bride's heart. Finally, she reached for the sweetest summerwine, and she drank it faster than even he. Was she willingly getting drunk, to escape the humiliation? Smart move. Painful, but smart.

The longer they stood there, the more he could see Y/N checking the time of day. The more it got darker outside, the more fidgety she would get. "What are you so afraid of?" he turned his head to her - She seemed genuinely shocked to hear that question.

"Do you have any idea how absolutely humiliating that... That THING is, for a woman?" she was perplex, but Sandor was clueless. "You... You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" now, the shock was greater.

"If you'd stop speaking so damn cryptic, I might know, little fox." he downed another ale, clearly left in the dark to her fears.

"The... The be-..." he never heard her stutter, nor was she afraid when she was being beaten or threatened. Now, she was horrified.

"THE BEDDING CEREMONY!" Joffrey's voice greatly overshowed her own - Sandor heard the girl curse and freeze, for the first time since they've known themselves. The same word, repeatedly. She glanced down, almost as if she wanted to hide forever under the table.

Clegane, too, cursed himself - How could he forget that fucking stupid tradition, of all things? He just wanted to get this stupid fucking wedding over with, and keep Y/N forever in her fox cage, away from harm. "No ceremony." came the growl of the Hound, watching Y/N get dragged away by the King. She was petrified.

"We must respect traditions, dog." Joffrey laughed merrily. "Come, everyone! Unburden her, pick her up, and carry her to her wedding bed! Get rid of her gown - She won't be needing it any longer!" Clegane watched as his bride snatched her hand away from the King's, and hugged herself. She looked left and right, for predators. She wasn't a little fox anymore. She was a scared little fawn, begging for help.

"The groom said he doesn't want to partake in the ceremony. Let him have it." Tyrion spoke up, but the King's word is law.

"The dog is loyal to me, uncle. If I tell him to fuck his bride right here, he will do so without question. Don't make me order him so. Or maybe I should?" the little Imp tried to intervene again, but the King pushed him aside. "Ladies - Attend to my dog. They say he's well-gifted down there." the King laughed harder, watching the women giggle and surround the Hound, only for him to aggressively growl at them and scare them away.

"There will be no bedding ceremony, Your Grace." Sandor's voice was more clear now - The King did not have it. Though Joffrey feared his dog to a certain degree, he knew he couldn't go against his direct order.

"There WILL be, if I say so." with a simple exchange of looks, Sandor understood the gravity of the situation. He arose from his seat, aggravated, as soon as he saw some of the men praying on Y/N, and even daring to ruin that dress from her body. Thankfully, she wasn't uncovered, or he'd have stomped them alive. Instead, he swatted them away like flies, and he picked the girl up, stepping in front of the King.

"No. Ceremony." the dog's snarl sent a shiver down the King's spine, watching his personal guard carry his wife away from the venue, and back to her own room. Once again, no word spoken - Though her trembling was shaking his arms, and she was visibly distraught by what had happened. 

Perfectly mimicking what happened a week prior, Y/N was placed on the bed, and Sandor remained on his feet. "Go ahead, change in your sleeping clothes. I'm leaving." the man spoke, ready to turn around and exit - Only to get his arm grabbed, and pulled back. 

"Don't go." she said. "Stay. Please." she spoke in that sweet voice of hers, as she guided him on the bed. Kneeling behind him, her slender arms wrapped around him, and her forehead rested between his shoulder blades. "I'm afraid."

"No one would dare hurt you, now that you're under my protection." not even he did truly believe those words.

"Then... You want to leave?" she sounded so broken and meek, as if it wasn't her.

"A little ago, you were afraid of the ceremony. You want me to fuck you now?" her fingers gripped his clothing tighter. "I won't bother you. I'm going to the tavern. Drink and fuck the night away or something."

"Already going to other women?" she muttered lowly.

"I ask again - Do you want me to fuck you?" he was met with silence. "That's right. You don't." he spat bitterly. "No woman in her right mind would want to fuck a disfigured, ugly monster of a man like me, without being paid well - Let alone marry one."

"That's not true." she retorted, offended. "That's not the truth at all."

"Then what is the truth? If you want to deprive me of getting my dick sucked, then at least give me a good reason." the girl thought a bit, before she spoke. Though she didn't appreciate the vulgar tone, even she couldn't deny how her heart yearned for him strongly.

"Reputation might matter little to you - But it could be my death. What do you think is worse - Knowing that the King's dog had his way with the Stark heiress, who was his wife - Or that he left her on their wedding night, to sleep with common women in a cheap tavern." she had a point - Sort of. 

"You're right. I don't care about a reputation, and neither should you." she was silent again, for a longer time. "If you don't have a real reason, I'm leaving." he was ready to get up, but her hold on him was far greater. 

"I don't want you to spend the night with anyone else but me." his breath was cut off from that bold statement. "I... I've been wishing to say this to you, since that time you bandaged my wound by the river. I've been falling in love with you progressively ever since." her voice sounded ragged and ashamed - Humiliated to admit she was in love. "You are the only man I ever loved." were it not for his keen hearing, he wouldn't have heard her last whispering.

"How many times must I tell you not to say such words to a drunk man? Do you have any idea the power you hold, looking like that - Your dress is half ripped off, and you think you're safe with me?" in an instant, Y/N found herself laying on her back, her wrists pinned to the bed, and his hair tickling her face. But the man saw clear anxiety gleaming into her fearful eyes, and tried to rip himself off from her - She stopped him. "I thought I didn't scare you. You can't even look me in the face anymore. Next time you lie to me, at least make it more credible."

"I was married once." she blurted out - Sandor frowned his brows, inching backward. "I was. I was -- I was married once. A while ago." Clegane looked at her, and saw a broken woman, hurt countless times. "Maybe it sounds petty - It's no different than things that many other women go through. I went through this humiliating... Thing once. It wasn't fun. It wasn't... Anything good. None of it was." she spoke, slowly pushing herself in a sitting position, and although she looked at Sandor, she looked... Timid. "I didn't last long. I wanted to divorce. I was not allowed to. I killed him." the coldness with which she spoke made the hurt even more transparent. "Only dad knew the truth. I never told anyone else. It was a burden on him - But he did it for me. He felt responsible. Poor man." she muttered softly. "I meant it when I said you were a good man, Sandor. I feel... Lucky, even - To say that, out of all the possible men in Westeros, it is you, that I married. I was really, really lucky. Joffrey does not know the man you are." though she lacked coherency, her words were hitting his weak spot. "I never felt safe since then. I wanted to just rot away, alone, in the safety of my home, surrounded by my family. I would become an old crone that teaches young girls how to embroider. It was fine." she said, making a small pause. "But with you... I was..." the last word, the man grunted himself. 

"Safe." she nodded.

"I never felt safe with a man that wasn't my family." her confession made Sandor's mind and heart go crazy.

Sandor got off the bed. "I'll go get booze." the girl stopped him. To his surprise, the girl hopped off the bed and he comically saw her struggling to move a large shelf - Behind it, a whole alcohol cabinet was revealed. 

"You have free access to my secret alcohol stash. Only the best ale and wine. Courtesy of Tyrion Lannister." met with a sheepish smile, Sandor barked a laugh, and took away all the bottles and put them around the night stands. Easily moving the shelf back in its place, he motioned for the girl to get dressed and get back in bed.

But seeing Y/N dressed in an almost sheer-white nightgown proved another challenge for the Hound. Her body looked perfect, her silhouette, though barely visible, was highlighted into the dim light of the candle, as she sat there, leisurely, with a golden goblet into her hand, sipping whatever sweet summer wine she had from Highgarden. Mostly, she told him about good memories she had of her family, with her parents, her brothers, her wolves. She looked genuinely happy. Sandor wanted to make her happy for her entire life. Somehow, he had to get her out of here. There was no way a flower of the North was going to survive the scorching heat and the deathly stink of the South. She would wilt.

Unexpectedly, Sandor spoke laso. "I was a mere child. I loved knights - Foolishly deluded myself, just like your little bird of a sister did. A wood carver came by our house. Gave my brother a toy knight - It had joints and it could move, thanks to the strings. I wanted that toy - Gregor didn't care of it. But he did not want to share. Instead, he grabbed my head and he pressed me to the fire like I was a nice juicy mutton chop." Y/N's eyes were wide and her jaw agape. "He killed our sister. Then, our father. All the inheritance was to fall into his hands. I run away and swore servitude to the Lannisters the very same day. I was just a squire back then - But at least I realised that all oaths are just that - Horseshit." was it the first time that Sandor ever told his past to anyone? He wasn't sure, not did he care.

"I hope your child self feels some comfort, knowing that your present self became the most honorable knight there is." the man scoffed, with bitter annoyance. 

"Your pretty words won't help me, little fox." he spoke. "I want to fuck you more than a little ago, all the same. Just because I can control myself, doesn't mean my thoughts aren't lingering." she wasn't threatened - Instead, she chuckled.

"It would be rather awkward if mine own husband thought little of me." she admitted, a half-amused smile on her face. "Besides - It is our actions that define us, not our words. With the amount of swearing you do, you could be champion - Alas, your heart is real. And I can feel it being genuine to me all the same." Y/N felt his hands on either side of her legs, and they were trailing up her soft skin, until they reached her thighs - Sandor was well between her legs, fully clothed, while Y/N could only blush - She then felt herself being pulled towards him, her head resting comfortably on the pillow.

"I know things that those fancy, pretty lord don't even dream of doing to their ladies. So shameful that even a whore would blush like a maiden. I can make you mewl mine name through the night, and people through the realm would wonder what happened." the Hound rasped from above, his face so dangerously close to hers, drinking in the dazed look she had, all flushed from the dirty words he spoke. "So stop tempting me with that pretty mouth of yours, or I will do so many sinful things to you that the Sept will explode - And I will not regret any little thing." and he said all that, kneeling comfortably between her legs, prowling over her petite body. She's never felt her heart beating so fast, in anticipation. Maybe it was her inebriated brain, or just him - She wanted him more than she needed water to drink - But she couldn't possibly voice something so embarrassing.

Instead, before she could even react, he felt the man's hands going up her body, until they reached her upper back - And he lay his head on her chest. And he started snoring softly.

Y/N was completely bewildered, tried calling out his name - He was fast asleep. "Seven Hells." the girl muttered under her breath. "Sandor, I'm cold. At least put the blanket over." no response. "You're kinda heavy." still, his weight on her body, as well as his arms wrapped around her gave her comfort and a sense of safety. "I'm still cold thought." he definitely was in a very deep sleep. "Damn it."

No matter how much she wished for for sleep - She couldn't. The heavy form of her husband was weighting on her, the pressure, uncomfortable. She could only look out of the window, in search for the moon, hoping it would move already. To pass the time, she warged, linking her mind to her darling Meleys's. She saw her as the protector of the pack - The leader seemed to be Nymeria. Lady was seeking comfort from Meleys, always glued to her side. The sweet sister wolves were protecting one another, as they should have. Y/N was content with that knowledge, although, she would have hoped they were back in Winterfell, or maybe even aiding Robb with his war. Grey Wind was always the leader, back home. She wondered now how Summer and Shaggydog were doing, protective over their sweet boys, just like their loving lady mother. Alas, Ghost was up there, at the Wall, with Jon - Will she ever see her brother again? She dearly hoped she would. Jon was always so nice - A true brother to his siblings. Robb saw him as a true brother, and Arya, especially, was so fond of him. Bastard or not, he was still their brother - And she was protective of her kin.

Y/N was forcefully awoken from her dream-like state, and going back into her own consciousness, she was met with the kind yet dazed dark eyes of The Hound. He looked down at her - And then even further down - Before meeting her face again. "Slept well, Lord husband?" the vixen teased him.

"Best sleep of my life." he muttered, rolling on the side of the bed. Y/N felt now, again, the sweet feeling of breathing.

"At least one of us slept." she chuckled weakly. "You're damn heavy." she explained, once he frowned, questioning. "And you didn't give me the blanket."

"I'm warm enough for the both of us." he muttered begrudgingly.

"It wasn't all bad though." she hummed, sitting up on the bed. "I at least had good company and no fear creeping on me. That beats the cold by far - Not to mention - I had enough time to see what Meleys was doing." Y/N grinned down at the man.

"You were dreaming, yet you say you did not sleep. You're so full of shit." but the girl's mischievous smirk begged to differ.

"You simply are unaware of the magic that a child of the North possesses, so no need to call me a hypocrite." she retorted hastily.

"Whatever, girl. I have duties to attend to. Go on, playing with your pups in your dreams." the man gruffed, raising from the bed. He didn't bother even looking in the mirror to fix his disheveled look. He would have to return to his room and dorn the white cloak either way.

Before he left - The door wide open - He heard her speak. "Some day, I shall hold you to your promise." Sandor looked back, unaware of the promise of a drunk man - Yet that cheeky grin spoke a thousand words.

"You're as much of a fairy as I am, little fox." the man barked in amusement, closing the door behind him. She liked keeping him on the edge, it seemed. What a lass. Flashbacks of last night came forth - Y/N, all beautiful, in that dress of hers, hair done and make up pretty - Yet looking like an alluring mess with her outfit ripped as she lay down on the bed, below him. That look in her eyes - The innocent yet wanting look of an unaware lady with great promises from her lord - And those fingers gripping into his clothes. The feeling of her body flushed against him -

Sandor truly needed to find a way to release this tension on his body, otherwise, she'll drive him crazy and completely unable to even remember his name. He always wore gloves - But that night, he did not. He could feel that skin of hers. He never lay with a noble lady - Were all of them like this? Not even Littlefinger's whores were like this, and they were luxury whores. Those slender legs, that tiny waist, her feather weight - How easy it was for him to simply hoist her up with a single hand and do so many things to her. He recalled all the shameful things that he threatened her with - 

He didn't want to stop at simple, innocent touches. He wanted to hide his head under that sheer nightgown of hers and hold tightly onto her hips. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and kiss her thighs - And further up, when he's pleasured her once, as he's heard that sweet melody of hers, he will tower over her, unburdening her of the dress, and he will tease her like she's done to him, one hand caressing her face dearly, making her look up at him as his fingers become all wet in her heat - And then --

Sandor stopped and bashed his head against the wall, growling at himself for the far too long moment of weakness - And he hurried to his chambers to change into his armor, to guard that bratty King - But how could his head be focused on standing still and at ready next to the King, when his mind is caught in that wretched imagery of his lady wife?

Days passed and so did night, and though days have been not as cruel for Y/N Stark, yet Sansa was still the subject of her future lord husband's cruelty. Being the betrothed of a bratty king couldn't be easy - Sandor saw the worry in his wife's eyes, and that very concern dripped with every word she spoke to him in private. There was nothing he could do for the little bird that sang like one of those birdies from the Summer Isles. His dear little vixen wasn't tamed - Nor did he want her to be - But he also didn't want to see the king wearing fox fur any time soon. He couldn't protect everyone at once - Heavens knew, he was just a stupid dog, bound by his duty to the Lannisters, yet soul bound to the Stark girl he was married to. A fine privilege that no other man could ever even dream of - Let alone, a member of the kingsguard.

In all ways possible, he was pissing on every vow and oath existent to mankind. And he was loving it. 

Sandor was very fine with checking each evening on the girl in her own room, as seeing her reading or embroidering - Or whatever it was that noble women liked to do - As long as she wasn't in the direct way of harm, he was content. She wasn't going out much, unless it was to escort her sister through the gardens - Though even those stank like shit, because of all the waste from Fleas Bottom. Really, that place had to be destroyed and all the people killed. They were nothing but trouble.

There came new reason for worry though, as Sandor found out about the farewell 'party' of Princess Myrcella - The royal family, as well as the Stark girls, as well as the Stokeworths and some others were to see the little girl on her way to the docks, where she would depart for Dorne, soon to be wed to the Martell heir. Going on horseback, through, it was imminent death, and no amount of golden cloaks or white cloaks could flawlessly save the entire retinue - Clegane thought to himself. He was glued to the King - He knew something would definitely happen, should he allow any of the other incompetent idiots who call themselves the 'Knights of the Kingsguard' were left unsupervised. The Queen was flanked by three knights - The same as Joffrey. The Imp had just one white cloak, along with his sworn sellsword or whatever that frail man was - He often saw him in the tavern, drinking and whoring. Y/N and Sansa, however, barely had any real protection - They had two other women with them. He knew one of them was a Stokeworth - The other, he did not know, nor care. His eyes were glued to his little fox and that striking, vibrant green dress that brought out her eyes so well. Sansa was wearing a powder pink, soft and feminine, fit for a fair maiden. A little bird, ready to sing her song. But the other two had similar hairstyles and clothes. Y/N didn't. Y/N kept most of her hair flowing, aside from two braids with flowers - As if she was some flower spirit.

The way to the docks went relatively well, and Myrcella was sent off to Dorne. The way back, however, was not as safe. People were hostile - Aggressive. Angry. They were shouting various things - Their frustrations. Hunger, especially. They kept chanting usurper names, from Stannis to the Young Wolf, Robb Stark, or even Renly Baratheon's name. No surprise, as soon as Y/N heard Robb's name, her attention snapped to the people perched on the walls. Skeleton people, skin and bones, desperate and in need of taking care of.

The first to react was Tyrion, who had Prince Tommen quickly taken away from the retinue. Y/N grabbed Sansa's hand and held it tightly, her other hand checking the simple dagger in her sleeve. She was not allowed her sword, so it was the next best thing. She feared now that she might be needing it. 

The riot was started by some woman who went before the King and showed him her dead baby. Sansa gently told Joffrey that she might appease the crowd if he were to give her some money. He was greedy, and barely spared a silver stag - Yet even that coin, he threw in the crowd, for the people to fight over it. Anarchy started as someone retaliated to this mocking by throwing literal shit, hitting Joffrey right in the face. Tyrion shouted at the knights to take the Queen away as fast as possible, while the Hound and the other members of the Kingsguard were focusing on protecting and dragging the King back to the Keep. This left the four women completely unprotected during this madness and forced to witness the High Septon being dragged by the people and ripped apart, limb from limb - Only to completely cannibalize him. 

Y/N grabbed Sansa, who was being clinged onto by the other two women, and tried to make way between the many so-called knights, trying to reach the keep. The road was blocked by tens upon tens of filthy men who tried to grab them, and they spewed vulgar words. The eldest Stark lady cursed under her breath and used her dagger, impaling the eye of one who dared touch her little sister, and kicking him away, she ran away with the girls in the other direction, where Cersei was being taken. She couldn't even pinpoint where her Dwarf friend and ally was - She was simply lost, in an ocean of enemies. 

By the time they got away, only three remained. Their way forth was blocked by two men, so Y/N backed to her right - The only open way. Only Sansa and Lollys remained by her side. But they were met with misfortune, as the cramped alleyway was a dead end that led into some kind of closed stable, with hay to on the ground and what not. It wouldn't last long. She knew that. "Lollys - Go back the way we came, but turn right. The path that the Queen and her knights took is clear by now." Y/N told the Stokeworth lady, dreading her awful deception. Lollys was a known halfwit, unmarried, a maiden still at three and twenty. She wasn't the most attractive woman in the world - But she did not care. Y/N would even stoop so low, if it meant keeping herself and Sansa safe. The lady, worried, nodded vigorously and ran as she was instructed. Little after she turned towards the path Cersei took, Lollys's scream was heard. Both Stark girls shuddered. 

"Why did you do that?!" Sansa grabbed her elder sister, who slapped her hand over her mouth and pulled her flush against the wall.

"Lollys is not my sister. You are. Not keep quiet." Y/N whispered in her ear. She was even afraid of breathing, in fear of alerting the wild men outside. Their safety didn't last long, for one man found its way in this stable. Y/N killed him with ease and pulled his body away from the corridor. Another and another came - But she could defeat them with ease, as they were all defenseless. Though she ordered Sansa to pick up any kind of weapon, she was cowered in a corner. Gods knew, there were plenty of wooden bats even, with which she could defend herself against a single man. She was too far gone. Y/N thought, by now, she'd have gotten used to this hell and would learn to fight back by herself, and preserve her life. She did not.

But she will need to, unless she wants a dozen men to fuck her to death. "SANSA, GET A WEAPON!" Y/N yelled to her sister, seeing more and more men intrude the stables, in packs of two or three - Though she struggled, she killed them. "SANSA! WAKE UP! I NEED YOU!" Y/N kept yelling at her sister, realising how she was struggling to keep the predators away from them.

"I CAN'T! I CAN'T! I'M SCARED!" she was sobbing and shaking in the corner. "WHERE IS THE HOUND?! WHERE IS THE IMP?! WHERE IS EVERYONE WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO PROTECT US?!" she kept on babbling around.

"To hell with everyone - We have only ourselves now, damn it! Get up and fight!" Y/N's words only earned more deep sobs and whimpers - Followed by a shriek.

"STOP! I WILL KILL HER! DROP YOUR WEAPON OR I BASH HER PRETTY SKULL OPEN BEFORE I FUCK YOU BOTH!" one burlier man got ahold of a bat and threatened Sansa. Y/N only looked in horror at her little sister, threatened with death, crying and apologising over and over again. Y/N felt the dagger fall from her grasp, before she was struck hard and thrown to the ground - Not on the hay, but on the cobbled floor. She kicked around and tried to punch, even dragged herself towards the hay, trying to reach the kicked dagger, but also afraid of that one hurting Sansa - But he had his boot over her only weapon - And he threw Sansa to the side, reaching to the Lady on the ground. His hand buried deep into her flame hair, pulled on it hard and rolled the girl over on her back. The flowers were long since destroyed, and the searing burn from her scalp was blinding her.

She felt her hands being stomped on, so she would stop struggling so much, while the other five surrounded her. Two were fully naked, one only shirtless, while the other were beginning to undress. She tried to kick away the one who kept trying to get between her legs, but the naked ones grabbed away at her ankles and knees and pulled them away. For skeletal people, they were awfully strong. "SANDOR! SANDOR!" Y/N didn't realise she was crying her husband's name, still squirming around, hoping to escape, but Sansa felt her heart stabbed. Her strong, ferocious elder sister was resumed to a scared girl, just like she was - And she was calling for help from the ugly beast. 

"Don't even think, girl." the one who was sitting on Y/N's hands took out his cock and glared at Sansa, a perverted smirk on her face. "You're next." is this what they deserved for using Lollys as a bait?

Hard, rushed steps made their way through the endless stable-like corridor - The knight saw the glimpse of expensive shoes worn by a woman with pale skin like snow and legs flawlessly sculped. An ugly sucker was on his knees, between her skirts, while another either trying to choke her or keep her quite, covering her mouth with those disgusting ones. He saw Sansa Stark, trembling in the corner - Her blue eyes like the sky were wet like rain - They noticed him, but didn't dare speak a word. They were pleading to him to save the one on the ground.

Sandor Clegane felt a rage like never before - His longsword impaled the churl who dared sit in a place no man should ever stay around his lady wife - All the way to its hilt. If he wanted to impale something, now, he felt what it was like to get impaled back. Sandor cut that fucker in two - Then four, and more parts, all the viscera on the ground, unrecognizable. Pure anger was fueling him as he easily disposed of the other shits surrounding her - And with the bigger one finally stepping away from her hands, she was able to crawl and hide in a corner, holding her hands to her chest. They hurt so much, and the feeling of the crawling hands on her skin - They were haunting her and she wanted to flay herself from disgust. Those hands weren't Sandor's. Those men weren't Sandor. This wasn't their room either. 

Her mind was still swimming with incoherent thoughts - Only to squeak and try to hide even further inside the cold stone corner of the corridor upon feeling another touch. "It's over, Y/N. You're safe now. I'm here." Sansa was in deep shock - She had never heard the Hound ever having such a gentle, velvety voice, nor did she imagine a man who looked so sloppy, clumsy and rough, being so careful with someone, especially her sister, whom, she thought, married unwillingly. What about all those rumours of abuse? Had Y/N truly spoken the truth to her before?

Noticing her uneven breathing, Sandor took off his gloves. "I'm here, my little fox. You can open your eyes. There's no more threat now." he cupped her face gingerly, and made her look at him - She looked so broken, so afraid. It was different from the time Eddark Stark died. He wanted to hold her cradled to his chest and rock her, kiss her hair and tell her it's all going to be alright. She's safe with him. She's always safe with him. She looked so weak, so vulnerable, so frail. So very afraid. He knew what happened to her. That night of their wedding when they confessed their woes, it was the only time they truly allowed themselves to open their hearts to another. True and sincere. "Can you see me, little fox?" though she took a while, she nodded slightly. "Do you know who I am?"  once again, she nodded. "Do you trust me?" she looked at him long, and his dark eyes twitched with every tears that escaped her eye. He thought that her unresponsiveness meant a negative answer. Instead, he was shocked to see the girl crawl into his arms and nestle herself into his plated chest. 

"I called for you." her shaky breath was heart shattering. "And you came." she whimpered. "You are here." she repeated, again and again. "I was so scared, Sandor. So scared." his arms were holding her protectively to his body, caressing and untangling her beautiful hair, kissing it now and again.

"I know, little fox. I know." the monster of a man was so loving and kind to her sister, Sansa thought - The most unlikely man, who pissed on all knights - Was a paradox. The most knightly man in the world. Also, the most gentle. "I will always keep you safe." the man held her that-a-way until he could feel her trembling going down.

"Sandor. I have sinned." she spoke meekly. Those words spooked the man greatly.

"Had any of those fuckers touched you? Did they hurt you?" he asked, fearing the worst - Thankfully, she shook her head. He had gotten there in time. "Then whatever you did, it doesn't matter. You're safe now. We're going back to your room and we're not leaving until you've calmed." he reassured her.

"I lied to Lollys. Made her run away. I used her as bait. I fear for her, yet had no remorse, using her to save Sansa and myself." he had seen that one - Walking dazed, naked through the streets, covered with a variety of... Things.

"She's alive." he grunted, evading any implication. "Anything else doesn't matter now. Let's get you two back to the castle." but her soft whimper proved she was still afraid of the outside word. 

"Can you carry Sansa?" the girl asked, struggling to get up.

"No." the man rasped harshly, confusing his wife. "The little bird is not my lady wife. The little bird has wings. She will be fine by my side. The riot has subsided significantly." Sandor's strong arms scooped Y/N into his arms.

"How come we always end up like this?" the girl asked, her arms gingerly wrapped around his neck, her head hiding in the crook of his neck.

"Because I can." he said. "And because I especially like carrying my pretty little fox to bed." though said in a jesting manner, he looked down, and noticed her bashful expression. He wasn't a dashing, charming man - Never was - But whatever he was doing, he must be doing right. Or maybe her brain was simply broken. Who knew. "You have got to stop letting other men ruin your clothes." he pointed out playfully. "The only man allowed to rip your dress off is me."

"If you do that every time you want me, I won't be able to keep up... And seam more clothes. What ever will I do?" slowly, she was finding her voice again - She was safe. The safest she's ever been.

"Sleep all day like the spoiled little vixen that you are and wear those sheer gowns with which you tease me with."

The way back to the keep was surprisingly short - Or maybe it felt that way, being carried effortlessly by the giant man. By the time they arrived, Tyrion looked at the two Stark sisters with eyes and mouth wide open. "Take the little bird back to her cage. She's bleeding - See to her cut." The Hound instructed the Lannister imp, watching Sansa being taken away by her maids. 

"Lady Y/N, are you alright?" Tyrion's voice, albeit filled with concern, was sympathetic and soft. He knew his friend as she always was - Defiant, strong, valiant and cunning. The way she was cuddled up in Clegane's arms, so small, so defenseless, powerless - It broke the dwarf's heart.

"She's fine. No harm done. Tell the King I'm off duty today." with a shared nod of their head, Clegane turned around.

"Good job, Clegane." though the Hound let out some grunt as a response, he leapt up the stairs to get into the castle, and back into her room. Her safe haven. The only place she could relatively feel safe - And since their wedding, the chamber he visited the most. 

The comfortable bed, the pillows, the blankets - They all felt like a fluffy cloud, keeping her away from any trouble from outside of these four walls keeping her safe. Sometimes, she wishes she would never leave this room, and just have Sandor hold her in his arms forever.

But then she misses her home and finds herself going through the flower garden or Godswood. It was the best thing she could do, in lack of her real home.

Like before, Y/N dressed in her sleeping wear while Sandor took off his armor. Suddenly, he felt so much better with all that weight off him. He was so used to all the knight stuff that he didn't notice the emotional and mental burden pressed on him with each piece of protective metal on him.

The gloves and chest piece especially, were his favourite parts to remove. He could feel Y/N as he touched her, and more, he could pull her against his broad chest where she so loved to nestle herself and fall asleep. She looked like a tiny little fox pup compared to him. It was very amusing. "Sandor - Will you please stay the night again? Stay with me? Forever?" the girl asked in a small voice.

"If you want me to, I will." he grunted, holding her tighter.

"I do." she spoke back. 

It was barely the next day that Y/N found out the tragic fate of Lollys, impregnated by half a hundred men - Not only did Y/N felt her vision blurry and mind go hazy, Sandor was sick to his stomach as well - He didn't care for the Stokeworth halfwit - It would be stupid to weep for every tragic soul in Westeros - But the mere thought that, should he not have been there, the same could have happened to his little lady, it made him want to castrate every man who dared look her way. He can't handle the simple idea of any harm coming her way - She's suffered enough, hasn't she? Now she was safe, and he will continue to keep her that a way. She had a bad marriage - He knew the truth. He knew she was the one who poisoned her late lord husband - He did not care. He was going to show her there was no need to fear, that he was no way the awful beast that the fucker was. He was just a dog - Stupidly loyal and aggressively overprotective. 

He had seen her bruised body, after Joffrey ordered not only him, but others to beat her, not on a single occasion - He felt guilty and ashamed - How could fate be so cruel, to force him to lay his hand on his own lady wife? The king was a cunt, but he was powerless before him and his stupid family. He kissed every inch of unnaturally coloured skin - Blue, black, yellow, and every other colour that a bruise can get. And only he knew how much she hated yellow. 

It was in this room that he first danced, in the dim light from the candles, as Y/N hummed a pretty song from the North and she embraced him, swaying with him, the way she her her mum and dad dance one night, on the anniversary of their wedding - They thought they were sneaky, outside, at night. They weren't - Not to her, at least. 

It was in that room that the girl first kissed him, and she caressed his burnt, ugly face, planting lots of little kisses all over - He felt like his soul was departing from his body from the heavenly way he was feeling. It was also, in this room, that he first saw her naked, in his arms - The suffocating feeling of love and passion that was overflowing from his body, watching her melt, and every sweet noise that escaped those lovely lips, were taking him to the edge. It was then that he realised that none of his previous addictions were able to get his mental stability back - They were all distractions from the miserable life he was feeling. He needed no alcohol to drown down his sorrows, no depraved whores that would do the most shameless things to him, nor did he need to waste his money away on baseless gambling. He needed only her love - So, so  desperately, as without it, he would die.

It was here that he first had a woman urge him to relax with his head on her lap, as she read to him whatever story book she found around - Albeit, not without various pragmatic comments about its content - All which made her laugh. That night, he remembers he was so comfortable, at ease. He felt inner peace, which he's never felt before - And he fell asleep, with Y/N's hand stroking his hair and caressing his face. He genuinely forgot how ugly and disfigured he was, whenever she was around - It was like she was not seeing the hideousness that he was seeing.

And here it was that he could drink wine or ale without feeling the need to get drunk to death, all so he could watch the graceful way in which she embroidered or fixed his ripped clothes - Yet she never touched the ripped Clegane cape, yellow and black. She told him that she would use it as fuel for the fire kindling in the fireplace. Her long, slender fingers could create such small and meticulous thing - While all he could do was destroy everything that stood in his way, with those huge, calloused, rough hands of his.

And wood carving. That, he could do. It involved a sharp blade - He was good with those. Hence why, he had gifted her a statuette of Meleys, her red wolf, whom she missed so dearly - And then, it was, that she told him the secret of the Stark children and their warg abilities. 

Finally, it was here that Sandor finally started longing for a place of their own - Small and cozy, away from the chaos and threats of King's Landing - He was willing to return with Y/N back to her home in Winterfell if she would have him, but anywhere was fine. He would build the house himself, and every piece of furniture - Would make the house impeccable and warm, and fit for the most special woman in the world - This change only happened once he heard her yearning for home one night, saying how she wished the two were back there, where it all began. Back when things were still safe and harmless. 

He had all the time in the world to think of that - As a Knight of the Kingsguard, as a white cloak and the King's personal sworn shield, he was forced to serve for life. All the same, he was not supposed to marry either - Not that he ever thought he would - Yet here he was, a married man, and very much content and happy with this intertwined fate.

This messed up peace was disrupted when King's Landing fell under attack from the enemy, Stannis Baratheon himself. It was late into the night, and all the noble women were sitting in the same room as the Queen - Who was drinking wine and masking her worry. Y/N forgot any animosity for Cersei Lannister, and asked to drink with her - Though surprised, the Queen accepted, and even poured some of the sweet wine into her cup. Sansa was pacing worriedly around the room - Her sister only bothered to throw a comment or two her way, but she already knew they were pointless. It was either death or living, yet everything went down to the army's prowess and their strategies.

The Hound had told her before, the castle was being kept safe by a bunch of cunts. Old veterans, new recruits, squires, and whatever cloaks they could find - Every competent knight was fighting in the Riverlands, with Tywin Lannister. It was the perfect strategy, Stannis attacking them from the Blackwater Bay - But Tyrion told her of his witty strategy involving wildfire. 

Of course, after a few too many cups of wine, Y/N became restless and gripped the sword she kept for protection. Dark Sister never failed to keep her safe in every situation. She went outside - And from the distance and that height, she could see the ships approaching swiftly - Only for a huge explosion of green flames to erupt throughout the black sea. "O, Sandor..." the imagery could have even be called artistic and beautiful, in its own tragedy and death - Yet Y/N's mind was only on Sandor, and how terrified he must of all that fire. Her sweet Sandor. 

The fire was everywhere, ranging from every shade of vibrant green, to strong yellow. Oh, how she hated that awful yellow. She really needed to find Sandor - And fast - Before he loses his mind because of all this madness. "Y/N, what in Seven Hells are you doing here?!" she heard Tyrion's voice, stopping his commanding for a second, his eyes bulking in bewilderment at seeing her, with her sword in her hand. 

"I have to find Sandor. Do you see that fire? He's going to lose his mind. If you want The Hound to keep on fighting, Sandor Clegane must be snapped out of his traumatic fear." she explained, standing tall and scanning for the man.

"I understand - I will look for him - But please, for goodness's sake, go back to safety! Only the Gods know, if anything happens to you, Clegane would get over his fear of fire and actually burn the whole King's Landing to the ground!" the dwarf tried to warn her. The King was there too, satisfied after the wildfire explosion, but incredibly terrified of war.

"I don't see the problem." the girl muttered, simply uncaring of any repercussion she might face. "Ah - There he is." the girl pushed the two out of her way and jumped off the stairs, sprinting and killing the enemies that approached her dog. "Sandor! Sandor, snap out of it! You're fine! You're safe with me - Sandor, everything will be alright!" the girl yelled at him, hoping to be heard through the ocean of screams. "Sandor, look at me! My love -- Look at me!" with her free hand, she brought his head down so she could touch her forehead to his own, bringing him some peace before she pulled him into a deep kiss. "It's me. It's your little fox. Snap out of it, my love. Wake up." she pleaded and pleaded - And a kiss was his only reply. 

"I need a drink." he muttered, clearly shaken.

The Hound grabbed her wrist and brought her to safety, close to the gates of the castle where Tyrion was. He can't believe that he began this war, threatening the army that he would fuck their dead bodies if they die with a clean sword - Yet here he was, losing his mind over fire. Pathetic. Just like the water the page offered him. He threw the deerskin back at him, before downing the wine in one go. 

"Can I get you some iced milk - And a bowl of raspberries too?" the dwarf asked, appalled by their greatest fighter being so vulnerable - He was seeing their defeat before his eyes.

"Eat shit, dwarf." Clegane snarled ugly at him.

"You're on the wrong side of the wall!" Tyrion reprimanded him harshly.

"I lost half my men." Sandor spoke. "The Blackwater's on fire..." his voice was shaking from fright and shock, memories of his own burning marks flashing painfully. 

"Dog! I command you to go out there and FIGHT!" Joffrey shouted at his own protector.

"Leave him be!" Y/N shouted back at the offended King. "Can't you see he's traumatised?! What good would throwing him back out there do for you, if he'll only die? Who will protect you as good as him? There's no one out there who would devout his own life like that for you!" the girl reprimanded the boy, as if she was scolding her own brothers - Bad move, Tyrion thought, not only as she had no right to scold the King, but also, because they truly needed Clegane to fight.

"I'll have you killed, you stupid bitch. You ruined my dog! You tamed my vicious, rabid dog! I'll put your head on a spike, right next to your traitor father, when this battle is won!" Joffrey yelled back at her, almost frothing at the mouth.

"You're Kingsguard, Clegane! We must beat them back, unless they're going to take the city. Your King's city." Tyrion spoke pointed to him.

"Fuck the Kingsguard." this comment took aback the Lannister and the Baratheon King. "Fuck the city." he continued, before his eyes glared at Joffrey. "Fuck the King." throwing away the empty deerskin, he threw his arm around his girl and took her away from there.

"That was incredibly brave of you. And such a turn on. Did you see Joffrey's face?" the girl's giggled did nothing for the man.

"Fuck that bratty cunt's face. We're leaving the city." the girl stopped dead in her track. "You heard me. Let's get your sister and let's go." 

"You... Know the implications, don't you?" she asked, knowing how, should he be found and caught, he would face execution.

"Die here in the fire, die here from being a dumb idiot, or die somewhere out there - Dying is dying, the reason matters little." there was truth in his words. "We are going North." he heart leapt, and Y/N immediately flushed with life and she was now the one dragging him away, to Sansa's room.

"Sansa!" Y/N called out, unwillingly frightening her, almost dropping her doll. "We are leaving the city."  she spoke in a rush.

"What?" her sister gasped, her gaze going between the two. "Y/N, you must have drunk too much with the Queen. We can't leave - That's... That's treason. We can't." but the elder Stark girl rolled her eyes.

"You are not speaking courtesies to the Queen, Sansa. You are speaking to your sister. Fuck any courtesy you know. The city will fall. Let's go back home." Y/N tried to persuade her, but even her words didn't reach her.

"I'm not coming." her words felt like a guillotine blade - Sharp and just. "Please don't try to convince me. You two are married - Even if you didn't want to, you would still follow your lord husband. But I'm not going. I have to stay here." she felt a sharp slap on her face.

"Are you out of your mind?! If the city falls, there's no way knowing what Stannis might do to you! And if the city does not fall - Joffrey and Cersei will continue to torture you. You want that? To become the most tragic Queen in history? To have that diabolical brat abuse you with every chance he gets?!" she yelled desperately at her sister, who turned away, clutching her cheek.

"Just leave! Leave, or I will tell the Queen of your plot!" Sansa's voice was wavery - No doubt, she was crying. "We are not like each other. I- I was never like you. Arya was. Arya would have picked up a weapon when you were attacked, and she would have protected you, while I just stood there and cried. Arya would have ran away with you, just like she did when dad died. Arya would have been as defiant and reckless as you. But I'm not like you. This is who I am. This is my path, and I'm willing to go down, being who I am." her words were melodramatic and absolutely tragic.

"Sansa - The Others take me - If you do not come, I will hit you over the head, make you faint, and drag you out of this hell myself. So just come willingly already. Fuck the Lannisters and fuck this forsaken place. This is not where we belong. Our place is up in the North. It always has and it will always be so. Come on." Sansa did not budge.

"I will hate you forever if you do that. I will even kill myself. Leave me out of your plot, and I will pretend I had no idea you left. Now go!" the young Stark's conviction put her sister's at a loss. What was she supposed to do? She wasn't going to remain here - But if she left, only Tyrion remained to protect her, and there was only so much he could do.

"You're making a grave mistake, little song bird." Sandor warned the girl.

"So are you. Keep her safe out there. Now leave." it was with heavy feet that Y/N left her sister's room, and both the Stark girls felt shattered, being torn apart from each other. Sandor took Y/N to the stables, from where he retrieved his beautiful black horse, Stranger, and another one for the girl.

"I'm proud of you, Sandor." the girl spoke, her hand reaching out to cup his face. "You were very brave today. I'm happy that you're no longer tied to some child who does not appreciate you." the man scoffed in self-deprecation.

"I don't need to hear any of that. I just need to get as far away from that fire as possible." he muttered, leaning into her loving touch.

"Sandor. I love you." her voice was sweet, but her kiss was sweeter. He did not say a single word, yet he almost felt guilty for not doing so. "You don't have to tell me anything. Your actions speak far louder than any words existent." he barked a dry laugh.

"You and that cunning, silver tongue of yours. You're lucky I didn't cut it yet." he helped her up, before the two ran the hell out of there, towards the North. The whole night they were tireless and galloped away through the forests, avoiding the King's Road, in case anyone might want to follow their traces.

Her closest relatives were either to the far left, in the Westerlands, where Robb was fighting, or up and to the right, in the Eyrie, where her aunt would be waiting. From the two options, neither were great - But she wanted to see the heir of Winterfell. Thankfully, the Young Wolf was winning his fights and keeping Jaime Lannister as the perfect captive. And once they arrive at his camp, she can finally call Meleys, Lady and Nymeria back to her. It was perfect.

Sandor and Y/N stopped riding, once they spotted an inn. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives." Y/N spoke, getting off the horse. "That is what dad always told us. Yet now, look at us. All of us. We are spread all over Westeros. We should have never left Winterfell." she sneered, still angry for leaving her sister behind.

"You've got a dog protecting you. The rest of the pack can be gathered. As long as we're far away from that shit city, we can do whatever the hell we want." the girl hummed in agreement. The two propped the horses outside and went to warm themselves and get something warm to eat. 

"We've got a long way ahead of us. Are you ready, dear?" he let out a grunt, eating away on that chicken leg. A man sat on the bench opposite of them - A dashing smirk, and a flower in his hand - He extended his hand between the two travelling companions, who were more confused than anything.

"O, what a sight to behold! Your beauty exceeds any flower that I hath seen!" the young lad spoke, and Sandor looked at Y/N - Her hand was covering her mouth as she tried not to laugh.

"You want to such my dick, is that it?" Clegane asked the young one.

"Dick?" he repeated the unknown word. "Cock." the dog clarified.

"Ohhhh." the young one let out a dumb exhale of realisation. "Dick. Yeah, I like it." he nodded, understanding, and liking the sound of the word.

"I bet you do." Y/N couldn't hide her giggles anymore. The poor boy thought he was the one amusing her.

"My fair maiden, please accept this token of courtship - You are, by far, the most beautiful lady that I have ever seen." though the girl's smile was wry, she had no idea how to respond. Instead, Sandor's large hand grabbed the flower and destroyed it in his fist, before glaring harshly enough as to scare away the poor lad.

"She HATES yellow." Sandor smirked, remembering the moment he threw away his house's cloak, permanently renouncing it and any titles that were associated with his Clegane name, along with his hound helmet. From then on, he was not Ser Clegane, nor The Hound, or the King's sworn shield, a member of the Kingsguard, or some stupid cloak.

He was just Sandor, a dog taking care of his lovely little fox and whatever wolf pup she decided to take care of. 

And only Sandor knew how much he loved red.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

After Hours (Boss!Geto x Assistant!Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Self-Insert!Reader

Synopsis: In which Geto Suguru, your boss, and owner of his own public relations firm, celebrates a job well done on a five-month-long project with you, his trusty secretary, but what was once a friendly, professional relationship between you turns into something else when the staff goes home for the night and champagne gets involved.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Reader is Black, Fem & Plus-Sized!; Crush Confession; Boss/Secretary; Some Power Play; Sexual Tension; Coworkers to Lovers; Office Sex; Mild BDSM; MDom/fsub; Geto Pours Champagne on the Titties & Kitty; Temperature/Sensory Play; Ice Play; Cunnilingus; Sex Against the Window; Geto Got a Big Ol' Dick; Unprotected PIV; Mutual O; Cum on Ass; Aftercare; Surprise Ending 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Once again, a big thank you to @curiouscutie143 for allowing me to bring her fantasies to life. I had so much fun writing boss!Geto & now I wanna lowkey write a longer fic about an office romance with him. Enjoy! -Jazz

*********

“Cheers,” your boss says with a smile. “To the successful end of this stupid fucking waste of time.” 

You laugh, lightly clinking your champagne flute with the extremely handsome, wealthy, intoxicating man sitting next to you on his office couch…who also, again, happens to be your boss. “It wasn’t a waste,” you giggle. “But I will say it was very time-consuming. At least we got it done in time.” 

Geto Suguru hums in agreement as he takes a sip of the champagne in unison with you, making even that look hot.

He is truly a man to behold with his long, black hair he kept tied into a respectable ponytail, a lean build under his button-down and slacks, gage earrings that he purposely kept in for tonight’s festivities, brown eyes you could swim in forever, and tattoos that he usually keeps hidden beneath his blazers and designer suit jackets, but tonight are exposed under his rolled-up sleeves. 

He puts all models and men to shame with his beauty. And wealth! He is his own boss and CEO of his own PR firm which he has owned for over six years now. It skyrocketed in popularity in only a year, earning the title of the 6th most popular business in Japan which has jumped to 2nd place on that list. You joined his team two years later as his personal secretary after working as an assistant for his HR team. 

Geto, who interviewed and hired you, was so impressed with your work and presentation that he offered you the job. “I need a personal secretary,” he explained to you, “and I think you’d be the perfect fit.” Two years later, you’re still here and you don’t see yourself going anywhere else. Geto is a wonderful boss who offers great pay, supreme benefits, and understands the importance of mental health days. 

Though he doesn’t allow anyone to play with him or his money. If he suspects that an employee is not giving him the most on the clock or is taking advantage of his kindness, he will either straighten them out himself with a private meeting or send them on their way. However, he is a kind, respectable, understanding man that you are honored to have worked for for four years. 

And a man that you have embarrassingly been crushing on for four years. “All thanks to you,” he praises. “I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am to you, V. Seriously; I so appreciate all of those times you’ve stayed late with me and the team and set up all of those lunch meetings and conference calls.” 

Those eyes, so generous and kind, smile at you in his spacious, luxurious office. Seriously; Geto’s office is like a damn penthouse stretching over 900 square feet with polished marbled floors and open-brick walls. A kitchenette, coffee section, wine mini bar, and bathroom sit on the left side of the office while his mahogany desk and bookcase sit on the right.

His lounging section, or “decompression area” as he calls it, sits smack dab in the middle, included with two chairs and a couch you both currently occupy with a glass coffee table sitting in the middle. 

Though the office is wide enough for space, you feel as if the walls are closing in on you the more you sit and stare at Geto. “Well, that’s my job anyway,” you joke, clearing your throat. “It was no trouble, Mr. Geto, really! I’m honored you chose me to work with you on this.” 

Geto scoffs, raising an eyebrow at you as he begins to loosen his tie with one hand. “You thought I wouldn’t?” he chuckles. “You’re my trusted assistant and a great employee. Plus, dealing with people is your specialty, unlike me. If anyone was needed on this project, it was you.” 

You feel like you flush as red as the cocktail dress you are wearing despite the fact you’re as Black as your mama.

Tonight was the celebration of your five-month project ending. Geto has been interested in partnerships and merging his firm with other companies, especially tech companies. When a popular tech firm in Germany reached out, it took about five months to get everything finalized and a lot of reaching out to multiple people. 

You sweated over this project, doing work at home, setting up meetings, and sometimes staying late with Geto and his business team where he ordered Chinese and pizza for the crew around dinnertime.

There were also days and nights when everyone wasn’t here then you’d be with Geto in his office, typing up memos and emails he would think of at the top of his head. But you didn’t mind. Not only did your boss pay you overtime for all the hours you spent working on this, but it also meant you could spend more time with him. 

Finally, just a week ago, the project was completed and Geto’s partnership was greenlit. All staff was invited to the party, including those who didn’t even work on it, to celebrate such a milestone for Geto’s firm. Food, alcohol, and music were all included, lasting from 5 PM to 9 at night.

You danced and sang karaoke with your coworkers and friends, trying to get Geto to join in though it was like trying to pull teeth out of his mouth. He looks more relaxed now as he loosens his tie and pops a collar to his shirt, revealing the column of his throat and toned chest. You look away, feeling warm. 

“Now I can finally rest without hurrying here at 6 AM to prepare for meetings or deal with that stupid fucking Excel chart,” he huffs, revealed. “And we’re blessed with a new partnership. Praise God or whoever.” He points his glass to the ceiling before taking a sip of the Brüte champagne. You giggle, feeling his relief. 

Suddenly, the door to his office opens and you startle as if you were just caught in a very compromising position with your boss. Gojo Satoru, your supervisor, Geto’s right hand, and the heart throb of the office (understandably since the man is just as fine as Geto), pokes his snow-white head into the room. 

“You two still in here?” he scoffs, glaring at you beneath his glasses. “Oooh, are those more of those cupcake cheesecakes?” He strides into the room and bends down to pluck one of the tiny cakes off of Geto’s desk, but Geto chucks a pillow at him. “Uh-uh, greedy,” he criticizes. “You barely left any of the food at the party earlier. Besides, aren’t you goin’ for dinner now?” 

Gojo catches the pillow with one hand, grinning. “Dinner and drinks,” he cackles. “Shoko, Yuki, and I were wonderin’ if you two wanted to come along and not be boring for once.” He slips his glasses down his nose and winks at you, indicating that he’s joking.  

Knowing his game and having this relationship with Gojo, you play along. “I am not boring,” you scoff, putting a hand to your chest. “My cat thinks I’m a lot of fun at 3 AM, thank you very much. I put on all kinds of concerts for her!” 

Geto gives a big laugh that lights your insides up while Gojo physically cringes. “Fun to us isn’t just downing shots and passin’ out on our couch, Satoru,” your boss scoffs. His friend takes a moment to think about it, sitting down on the edge of Geto’s desk. “Okay, point taken, but the offer is still open. C’mon, we need to celebrate and it’s a Friday night!” 

Even with his friend’s whining, Geto shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Thanks, but not tonight,” he sighs. “I wanted to clean up my office a bit before I head home and get some much-needed sleep.”

Gojo takes his glasses off and rolls his ocean-blue eyes. “Such an old man,” he huffs. “What about you, Ms. V? You up for some fun with me?” The gorgeous, Colgate smile he gives you is full of temptation, but you’ve already had enough drinking and dancing for tonight. 

“Thank you, Satoru,” you sweetly say, “but I have to get ready for a family event tomorrow. My mom is forcing me to help cook.” You get up from the couch and saunter over to him, barely seeing his eyes glazing over your hips. “Buuut if y’all ever decide to have another night out, let me know and I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

You take the pillow from him and offer him a sweet smile which he returns. It damn near makes him prettier. “Will do,” he replies. His phone suddenly dings and he sighs. “That’s Shoko chewin’ me out,” he announces, slipping off the desk and heading to the door on his long legs. “I’ll see you two kids later. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…or do. I don’t give a fuck.” 

He gives you another wink and a smile before slipping out of the office and shutting the door behind him. “Have fun!” you call after him. Once he leaves, you realize how quiet the building seems. “Any of the janitors still here?” you curiously ask Geto. 

He is still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the back of the couch and still sipping his champagne. “Nah, I sent everybody home after the party ended.” He gives you a curious look, almost looking like a puppy...or maybe that’s just the champagne getting to you. You only had a half of glass at the party and now you find your current glass empty. 

“How come you didn’t want to go with Satoru, if you don’t mind me asking?” he suddenly asks, his head cocked to the side. You don’t mind since Geto and you have a very “close” relationship. 

It’s one of the closest you have at work, ironically enough. You know what his condo looks like having visited there before to deliver papers and packages that accidentally came to the office.

You know his birthday and he knows yours, even sending you flowers to your apartment every year, each one bigger and more beautiful than the last.

You talk about anything that annoys or bothers you when you find yourselves together, even sometimes having lunch together (for work purposes). 

You would say that he is almost like your work husband, but that would be pushing it. You find yourself needing to remind yourself that he’s your boss! No matter how good he looks in his suits or the way you feel when he praises your work, you must remember that. This is your job. Your responsibility.

“Eh,” you sigh with a shrug. “Sometimes, I just like being home to unwind and relax. Nothing beats a glass of wine, a hot bath, and a movie.” Geto nods, understanding. 

“What about you?” you curiously ask as you sit back down beside him. “Why didn’t you go with Gojo? He’s your best friend, right?” 

Geto drains the rest of his glass before pouring another. “Unfortunately,” he jokes, making you laugh. He seems to enjoy that. “Nah, but I’m the same: sometimes, I like to unwind with some drinks and social outings, and other times, I just chill at home in my very spacious, very lonely condo with my dog. When you’re the owner of a PR firm, it’s usually the second one.” 

You can’t help but feel sad about that. “So was that story about your mom a lie?” he asks with a smirk. Sheepishly, you nod. “So I’m guessin’ that show for your cat is the move for tonight?” 

You would say yes, but something pulls you back. You don’t know if it’s the champagne or the way Geto’s cologne smells, but something is keeping you glued to the couch with him. “W-Well, I was gonna say I can help you clean up your office if you want…a-and drink the rest of this champagne!” You pick up the bottle and pour yourself another glass, raising it to him. 

Geto looks taken aback as he clinks his glass with yours. “I mean…if you want,” he hesitantly says. “You absolutely don’t have to stay for my sake, V. You’re not on the clock.” 

You flush, not wanting him to think you’re weird for staying here or that you have ulterior motives (which you do). “It’s okay!” you laugh, waving your manicured hand. “Really! Call me weird, but I kind of like organizing.” 

Geto laughs at this, getting up from the couch. “Well, now I know why your office is so pristine,” he chuckles. “Lemme turn on some music then.”

You watch him as he walks over this his desk, shamelessly ogling his firm, toned, juicy ass in his slacks. You would give so much to feel it in your hands, your nails digging into the flesh while his hips grind against yours, his cock buried deep inside your– 

The sound of a piano mixed with horns and a smooth bass makes you jump, deep in your naughty thoughts. Geto sighs and his shoulders loosen as he presses the volume up on his Bluetooth, happy and relaxed.

“Jazz music?” you snort. He gives you a sheepish smirk. “I know, I know: I’m an old man.” To make him feel better, you begin to snap your fingers, albeit offbeat, and that makes him laugh even harder. 

For the next hour, you sit with your boss and help him organize his office while downing champagne. While he rearranges items on his desk, you lounge on his couch with your heels off and organize documents, either throwing some away or keeping some to file. You talk every so often about everything––new movies, restaurants, plans for the summer, etc. But the silence that follows these conversations isn’t awkward, but peaceful and comfortable. You feel relaxed with Geto. 

“So what’s the plan for this weekend?” he suddenly asks as he organizes his bookcase. “Maybe a date or something?” You pause, not sure why this question is making you feel so frazzled. “If that’s too personal, I understand,” he quickly adds, noticing your reluctance to answer. 

You push your glass away, having already finished your second glass. You feel bubbly and loose, the alcohol sinking its claws into you. “No,” you reply, sheepishly so. “No dating for me right now with work and everything. Maybe one day if I find the right person.” 

Geto hums and goes back to organizing his books. You continue to work, mostly to give your hands something to do. “What about you?” you ask. “With your kinda money, you could take a weekend trip to Mexico for the hell of it, if you wanted!” 

Your boss suddenly turns, his expression stoic and a brow raised. “Exactly how much money do you think I have, Ms. L/N?” he asks in a deep voice that makes your pussy jump.

At first, you think you went too far but then you see the corner of his mouth flick upwards. “Like you don’t have a condo,” you scoff. “Which I know because I’ve sent you packages from work and secret admirers before.” 

Geto’s brows wrinkle cutely. “Secret admirers?” he parrots. You nod, already giggling at one particular memory. “You remember the flowers sent here when you were sick with COVID that time?” 

He blinks, clueless, and then his eyes widen. “Ohhh, yeah!” he laughs, tossing his head back. “God, Gojo wouldn’t leave me alone about that for weeks. She was an old partner of mine who heard through the grapevine that I was sick.” He turns and leans against his bookcase, his, big, tatted arms crossed over his chest. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, still shuffling papers. You want to give yourself something to do as the next question gnaws at you. “A…business partner?” you carefully ask. You never knew who this woman was that sent Geto the flowers; only that you didn’t know her but she knew your boss. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, giving you a smile that looks almost saddened. “I haven’t dated anyone long-term in over two years. Like you said, maybe one day if I find the right person, but that hasn’t happened yet.” He chuckles to himself. “You’d think it’d be easy with my status, right?” 

You don’t say anything for a while and the silence becomes thick even with the music playing. When he turns around to finish his work, you finally get up the nerve to speak to his backside. 

When you start, you can’t stop yourself, the champagne overflowing out of your mouth. “You know, if it’s any consolation to you, I-I think you’d deserve to meet someone nice,” you stutteringly say. “You’re a very good man, Mr. Geto.” 

And then he turns slowly to you and the way the city lights from the window reflect on his shocked face and in his eyes makes you realize what you just said. “V,” he says, his voice breathless and soft. You cover your mouth but it’s too late. You can’t take them back. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that,” you quietly gasp. 

Immediately, you get up, but the papers you were organizing fall from your lap onto the floor. 

“I’m so, so sorry!” you squeak. “I-I should leave!” You’re near tears, a hot rush of humiliation falling on you. You fall onto your knees and begin picking up the papers, swearing as you do. 

“No, no, V,” Geto says, walking toward you. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“No, I do!” you protest. “That was totally inappropriate! I don’t know why I–” You pause when your finger catches against the edge of a sheet of paper too quickly and it slices into your skin. 

“Ow!” you hiss, immediately snatching your hand away and dropping the paper. 

Quickly, Geto stops the music and rushes over to you. He kneels down in front of you, crushing the papers under his knees as if they mean nothing. “What happened?” he demands.

You silently show him your bleeding finger, whimpering at the sting. “Lemme see,” he says, already taking your hand. He examines the cut and frowns at it. “Oh, honey, it cut you deep,” he coos, the pet name making your stomach flip. He’s never called you that before. “Here, don’t move,” he orders and quickly hurries to his bathroom. 

He returns with a first aid kit and coaxes you to sit up on the couch. He takes your wounded finger in one hand, holding an alcohol swab in the other. “It may sting a bit,” he warns. “Just squeeze my leg if it’s too much.” And it does sting. You hiss and grip his thigh as he cleans the cut, watching your expression. “That’s it,” he softly coos. “Good girl.” 

Your stomach flutters and your body grows hot at the very inappropriate pet name, but what is more inappropriate are the past thoughts you’ve had about him calling you a good girl. His good girl. He smiles at you when he finishes cleaning the cut. “Hard part’s over,” he chuckles. “Now I’ll just add some antibacterial cream and a band-aid to make it all better.” 

You stay quiet as he applies the cream to your cut, his touch soft and gentle. “I’m sorry, Mr. Geto,” you whisper. He narrows his eyes at you. “What are you talkin’ about?” he scoffs. “V, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was just an accident. You could never do anything to upset me…except think that you don’t deserve to date right now.” 

The silence around you swells the instant he says it. “W-What?” you whisper, gaping at him. He continues his work, now wrapping the band-aid around your finger. “Y’know, if it’s any consolation to you, you deserve to meet the right man too. You’re so sweet and smart and beautiful…who wouldn’t want you?” 

Finally, he finishes and just looks at you. You look at him too, both of you just staring at each other in the dimly lit office. Geto finally breaks and pinches the bridge of the nose. “God, I really shouldn’t have said that,” he groans. “We shouldn’t be doing any of this.” 

Seeing his internal battle and realizing that he feels the same way you do, you keep your hand on his thigh and squeeze. “Suguru,” you softly say. “It’s okay.” 

He looks at you in shock. This is the first time you’ve ever used his first name, especially when talking to him. He moves closer to you, making the room feel like it’s shrinking. The city lights reflect in his eyes through the window, twinkling at you. “Say my name again,” he demands but it’s more like a plea. “Tell me what you want me to do, V. You can tell me to stop and I will.” 

You know this is very bad. You know this is wrong. You know that if you do this, you can never go back to the way things were. But you can’t turn back at this point. “Suguru,” you say again, “please. I want this.” You trail your hand up to his chest, feeling his heart pound against your fingertips. “I’ve wanted you for 5 years,” you confess. 

The restraint in Geto’s eyes finally dissipates and he places his hand on top of yours. “Fuck,” he growls. “I’ve wanted this too, V. You have no fuckin’ idea.” He takes both of your hands in his, gently stroking your knuckles with his thumb. “Can I kiss you?” he asks. You damn near choke, feeling like you’re about to faint. 

He scoots closer, close enough to do so himself…but he doesn’t. “I need your words, mama,” he murmurs.

Finally, you find the will to speak: “Yes,” you whimper and it’s enough to make Geto melt. “Kiss me, Suguru.” Immediately, he swoops in and takes you into his arms, holding you against him as he places the hottest, most passionate kiss you’ve ever had on your lips. 

His lips are soft and wet against yours, pulling you in farther and farther. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him flush against you. If this were a romantic comedy, there would be fireworks popping off outside the same way they are in your head. Geto pulls away, softly panting. “Keep talkin’ to me,” he whispers. “Tell me what you want from me.” 

He swoops in to kiss you again, drowning out your soft moans. “Touch me,” you plea into his mouth. “Put your hands on me, Suguru.”

He does just that, his big hands moving down your hips to pull you into his lap. You wrap your arms tight around his neck like a koala bear, latching onto his body. Geto wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves how your soft, pudgy body feels against him and sitting on top of him, your heat radiating from between your thighs against his crotch. Your kisses grow deeper and wetter, your tongues swirling against each other, arousing the both of you.  

“You’re wearing too much,” you whisper, tugging at his collar. He sniggers against your lips, his hands gripping your ass. “So are you,” he chuckles. “But we can help each other with that, can’t we?” Even without the seduction in his gaze, you wouldn’t resist. 

You begin to pop his buttons, yank off his tie, and peel his shirt off while he unzips your dress. You beat him, successfully getting him semi-naked. At the feeling and sight of his toned abs, pecs, and tatted, tanned skin, you damn near get a nosebleed. “Like whatcha see, babydoll?” he purrs. “Because I’m lovin’ what I’m seein’ right now.” 

He coaxes you to stand up in front of him and finally peels off your dress, exposing your lace bra and panties to him. At the sight of you standing between his thighs in only your underwear, stockings, and heels, Geto almost busts a nut. You’re so fucking beautiful, babydoll, shit,” he hisses. 

His hands glide down your sides before pulling you closer. You allow him to do what he wants, loving whatever he does, especially when he latches his lips onto your brown nipples. While he sucks and laps at your nipples, alternating between each, his big hands mold and fondle each juicy breast that his mouth can’t occupy. 

Your sultry, slutty moans are like music to him, way better than the jazz. “Fuck!” you moan. “Suguru…that feels so good!” Your head falls back and your eyes close, the pleasure immense. He’s so, so good with his mouth! You wonder just how good he is eating pussy. 

Geto suddenly looks up at you, his mouth still latched onto your hardened, brown nipple. 

“Lay back on the couch and put your arms over your head,” he orders you. You do so, shivering in delight at him telling you what to do. He then takes his empty champagne glass off of the table and pours himself a glass. 

“Lemme try something,” he pants before slowly pouring some of the champagne over your breasts. You gasp as each cold, little droplet hits your skin, making your nipples even harder. He then swoops down and begins to lap at the champagne, drinking it from between your cleavage and lapping it off your nipples. 

“Mmm,” you softly moan, melting into the couch cushion. You’re so relaxed that you barely notice the ice cube in Geto’s mouth until he’s dragging it over your neck and tits. You gasp, your back arching into his cold lips. 

He smiles, leaning back up with the ice cube in his mouth and giving you an open-mouth kiss. The ice cube falls into your mouth, immediately melting. “That feel good, babydoll?” he chuckles, loving the way your skin jumped at the cold ice cube. 

He continues to suck on your nipples while you grind your hips against his thigh wedged between your thighs. “My, you’re so vocal,” he hums. “Thank God the staff ain’t here or we’d be in big trouble.” He then sits up, straddling you, and slowly takes down his ponytail. Watching his locks of black hair cascade over his shoulders and back is more than you can handle. 

“I need more of you,” he says, sounding hoarse and in need. “Is it okay if I taste you, babydoll? I’ve been dreaming of what you’d feel like against my tongue for so long.” He doesn’t touch you. Not until you say so. Consent being so important to him makes you wetter, your cunt throbbing against his knee. “Yes, sir,” you moan. “Please taste me. I’m yours.” 

He yanks you closer by your legs, making you squeal. “Keep saying that,” he demands. He then hunkers down in between your legs, peppering your jiggly, luscious thighs in kisses. “I’m yours,” you say, a laugh slipping out of you. 

He takes your panties off of you, leaving your heels on. “I’m yours,” you gasp as his lips make contact with your fatter, softer ones down under. His tongue laps and licks at your folds, caressing your clit. He then begins to gently suck on the tiny bud, making your toes curl. “I’m yours, Suguru, fuck!” you moan, your hands lacing in his hair. “Please do that again!” 

Geto smirks against your pussy. “What?” he chuckles. “You mean this?” He does the same move again, this time swirling his tongue around your clit.

The pleasure is overwhelming, making your mind blank and emitting the sluttiest sounds out of you. “Shit, Sugu, yes, fuck!” you pant. “You’re s-so…oooo, fuck, baby, right there!” 

Geto continues to feast on your pussy, eating it up like it’s his last meal for a while. “Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ cute,” he groans against your slit, his tongue sliding down to your asscrack before sliding back up. “I like seein’ you like this. Keep makin’ more of those sounds for me, babydoll. That’s an order.” 

You can’t help it, so you do it, making as many moans, whines, and grunts as he wants. With the way he works his mouth against your pussy, it’s impossible to not. But when his hands move up to tweak and pinch your nipples, you almost explode.

“Yes, like that!” you whine. “I love that so much! Keep goin’, sir, please, sh-sh-shit!” You begin to grind your clit against his nose while his tongue explores your insides, his hot, wet mouth and cushiony lips too much to bear. You can’t take much more of this! “Shit, Suguru!” you moan. “Fuck, sir, I’m gonna cum!” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Geto hums, slipping his tongue out of you. He begins to suck on your throbbing clit again, making you see heaven. “Say the magic word,” he coos against your clit. Your hands grip his hair as your back arches into his ministrations, needing more. “Please, sir!” you whine. “Please, please let me cum! I need it, please!” 

His chocolate eyes peer up at you through the V of your thighs, demanding you to give him what he wants. “Give it to me, babydoll,” he orders. “Cum all over me. Fuckin’ do it.” As his voice drops several octaves, you feel shivers travel up and down your spine. Your core begins to tighten more and more as you grind against his magical mouth over and over again. 

When you cum, you cum hard. You’ve never had such an intense orgasm before. It tears through you, making you nearly arch off of the bed as you explode in Geto’s mouth. Moans and cries of pleasure leave your lips, tingles of ecstasy coursing through you. The man between your legs hungrily laps at your pussy, slurping up all of the cream that you give him. 

Finally, after several seconds, you come down from your high, aching in the best way possible. Geto pulls away with a sigh, his lips dripping with you. “You’re way better than the champagne,” he chuckles, licking your juices off of his lips. “Now I need more.” 

He seems to shift into a whole other person the more you look at him. His eyes darken and his hands massage your thighs a lot more as if he can’t get enough of them. “I’m sorry, babydoll, but you seem to have made me into a fiend,” he growls. “If you don’t want this, tell me now before I bust a hole through these pants.” 

He grips his hard-on pushing into his slacks and your eyes have never stretched so wide before. 

“B-But what about–” 

“You don’t need to take care of me,” he interrupts. “What you can do is lay back and let me fuck you like I need to.” He gazes down at you, molten lust evident in his eyes. “Will you let me, V?” he asks. “Is that okay with you?” 

Is that okay with you? Your pussy is dripping at the mention of finally getting what she and you both want. Finally!

Instinctively, you open your legs for him, exposing your soaked pussy to his naked eyes only. “Fuck me, sir,” you purr. “I want you so bad. Please, just fuck me now.”

Geto doesn’t need to be told twice. After planting another rough, wet kiss on your lips, he unzips his pants and shrugs his boxers down to his waist. 

Like a Jack-in-the-Box, his cock springs up, fat, long, and throbbing. You practically salivate at the sight of it. Smirkingly, Geto wraps a hand around himself and slowly slides himself home inside the wet, spongy walls of your pretty cunt, emitting a gasp from the both of you.

He looks down at you expectantly, waiting for you to give him the go to move. Once you have adjusted to his size and girth, you put your hands on his shoulders and nod, giving him a reassuring smile. 

He settles on top of you, keeping his arms on either side of you to hold himself up, and slowly begins to rock his hips. As soon as he begins to sheathe his cock in and out of you, you feel the pleasure you felt before return but it’s increased by 100. You are overwhelmed with ecstasy every time Geto pumps his cock inside of you and his pelvis rubs against your clit, unable to hold back the slutty sounds dripping from your open mouth. 

Geto smiles down at you, loving how adorable you look underneath him as you take his cock. He holds himself up with one hand to hold one of your juicy tits in his hand, loving how it jiggles as he fucks himself down into you. “So needy for me,” he sighs. “So fuckin’ cute.” His hips piston into yours just right, nailing that spot again and again as he fucks you into the couch. 

“Fuck, Sugu!” you cry, gripping his broad shoulders. “Please go faster! Fuck me faster, sir!” His handsome face flushed and black strands of hair falling in his face, Geto gives you what he wants. He sits up and grips your fleshy thighs before pumping his cock deeper and faster into you, causing the sounds of your moans to grow louder. 

If anyone were to be outside of the office right now, they would immediately know what’s going down in Mr. Geto Suguru’s office. The sound of sex–grunts, moans, whimpers, couch springs bouncing, skin slapping against skin–is way too obvious to pass it off as something else. The idea of that makes you wetter and tighter around Geto’s cock. It makes him damn near insane. 

Unable to control himself any longer, his big hands move under your ass to pull you to him. 

He then sits up with you and slowly stands, lifting you up with him. You gasp, gripping onto him tight like a cobra, and he chuckles. “I’ve got you, honey. Don’t worry, just hold onto me.” You do so as he walks over to his office window, the glittering lights of the city gleaming back at you. He slowly puts you down and wordlessly stares at you, his gaze dark and oh-so seductive. 

You don’t have to ask what he wants. Immediately, you turn around and place your hands on the cold glass of the window, sticking your ass out for him. “Damn, I didn’t even have to tell you to assume the position,” he chuckles. “I guess you’re feenin’ too.” His hand caresses your asscheeks, his thick fingers massaging them. 

You look down at the streets below, seeing people walking their dogs and having a night out on the town. You’ve never done anything like this before, but the idea of having sex in front of a window where anyone could look up and see you makes you wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. And nobody would ever know that it’s your boss giving you such good dick.

Your coherent thoughts are pushed to the back when Geto slaps his cock up against your asscheeks and then sinks himself back into your pussy. “Shit, baby!” he hisses, immediately going back to railing you. “You’re tighter than before.” 

You whine in response as he grips your hips, pumping himself into you like you’re no more than a toy. A fleshlight. His personal sex object. It’s so dirty. So wrong.

And yet it feels so, so good. You can’t deny how much you enjoy his thick cock stretching you out and sending sparks of pleasure throughout your brain. How much you love the sweet ache in your knees and your body. How much you love the way he makes your tits and ass jiggle as he fucks you.

Speaking of ass, Geto is a fiend for it, staring at the way it shakes and jiggles as he fucks your pussy. “I need to see this ass bounce for me,” he shudderingly groans, giving your ass a harsh smack. You gasp at the sting, the nasty act of it making your pussy throb around him. 

“Do that again!” you whine and he does, the pain mixing with the pleasure as he sinks his cock back into you again and again, going deeper and deeper each time. You have to brace yourself against the window the more he pounds into you, going so fast that he could damn well put a pornstar to shame with his stamina. “Fuck, Sugu, yes!” you sob. “Y-Yeah, just like that, fuck me just like that!” 

“Fuck me back, babydoll,” he demands. “Work for that cum, c’mon. Be a good secretary for me.” You do so, pressing into your heels and tossing your ass back into him. “God, that’s it!” he moans, giving you another spank as a reward. “I’ve always dreamed of fucking you like this. Always wanted to see you like this.” 

You want to tell him the same, but your tongue is tied, the pleasure making you crazy as you begin to frantically rub your clit. You can quickly feel that knot in your stomach about to snap the more he fucks you. You feel him press himself against you, pushing you into the window. You gasp as the cold glass touches your bare, brown tits pushed against the window while Geto’s big, rock-hard body pushes against your back. 

“You wanna cum with me, babydoll?” he pants into your ear. “Tell me. Tell me you wanna cum with me.”

You can feel the wetness begin to drip down your thighs and stain his balls, no doubt getting on the floor. “Tell me you want me to give you my cum,” he growls. “Say it. Tell me where the fuck you want it.” 

Somehow, you find the words to speak and scream out, “Yes! Yes, sir, I want your cum! Do it on me, please! I don’t care where! Just please, please cum with me!”

That just about makes Geto snap. He turns your face and tongue kisses you, his lips and mouth tasting like a night of champagne. You don’t speak as he continues to rail you, chasing his orgasm at full speed and taking you along for the ride.

When you both finally cum, you do so together. He manages to pull out of you quickly and pumps his cum all over your plump, soft, perfect ass while you do so onto his hand, his fingers replacing yours. 

Swears, sobs, and moans leave your lips as you’re finally released like a genie in a bottle, your orgasm hitting you dead on. It drains all of the energy out of you, making your knees buckle and your body feel weak.

“I’ve got you,” Geto softly says, hugging you to him from the back. “Just melt into me, mama. It’s okay.” 

Deliriously and happily, you smile, doing as he says. You loop an arm around his head, bringing him closer to you. You don’t ever want to leave his arms. You want to stay like this forever, pressed against him in his office, while the rest of the world turns and moves outside. At some point, you both sink onto the floor and just stay there for a while, silence descending onto you. 

Once the pleasurable fog of your orgasm fades, the concrete realization hits you like a truck: you just had sex with your boss. Geto seems to know what you’re thinking though and turns your face towards his. “Tell me how you feel,” he tells you, his eyes firm but soft. “Listen, I don’t want you to regret what we did, Y/N, ‘cause I don’t. This was real for me.” 

He bites on his bottom lip, looking flushed and nervous. You’ve never seen him look like that before. “I know this was a lot, but if you want, I’d like to turn this into something more. But it’s all up to you.” You blink at him, wondering if he’s serious. He continues to hold that firm yet nervous look, his eyes hopeful. 

After sex like that, you’d be crazy to say no! You place a hand on his cheek and move in to kiss him softly. He accepts the kiss, his lips dancing with yours before you pull away. “I’m ready to try if you are, sir,” you softly answer. “But dinner would be nice.”

Geto begins to laugh and kisses your hand. “Of course,” he chuckles, sounding relieved. “You like Italian? Or maybe ramen? I know this place that just opened that–” 

Knock, knock, knock! Quickly, Geto places himself in front of you, blocking you from whoever is at his office door. Fear jumps inside of you, making your stomach churn. “I thought you said nobody was here!” you hiss. 

“There isn’t,” he whispers. “Or there wasn’t supposed to be.” He clears his throat, giving a clear, short, “Yes?” 

“Brooo, it’s me!” Gojo shouts through the door. “I think I dropped my wallet in here! Can ya let me in?” Geto turns to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you think, babydoll?” he asks. “Should we let my friend in?” 

You don’t know why you say yes or why your pussy throbs despite having just orgasmed twice, but Geto gives Gojo the okay and he comes waltzing into the office. At the sight of his best friend and his personal secretary sitting naked on the floor in their afterglow, Gojo’s blue eyes widen in shock… 

And then they grow hooded with lust. “Well, well,” he chuckles. “It’s about fuckin’ time.”

He begins to loosen his tie, giving you a flirty smile. “I hope it ain’t too much to ask if I can join, babe.” 

THE END. 

Fan Art by @almaadst

[dark-night-hero]

「Thru these tears」 Getou Suguru

↳ In which In the end, you're gonna be alright. But it might take a hundred sleepless nights to make memories of him disappear but right now, you can't see nothing through these tears.

It was one of those days, rare days where he was not by that annoying Gojo Satoru's side. Probably has something to do with him and his love aka your best friend currently walking side by side in front of the two of you and Geto. Nevertheless you could only sigh and roll your eyes, trying not to pay attention to the guy right beside you, looking equally bored as you as you mindlessly follow the leading pair.

"Hey. Wanna stray away from them?" "And leave my bestfriend with that guy?" "Well I can't see why not, they're enjoying." He shrugs acting like the four of you were adults in this Gion Matsuri festival when you were just a bunch of 15 year old teenagers sent on a joint mission with the Tokyo branch to survey the ongoing festival. A mission in which your best friend with his fiance made as their date, catching up with each other as if they have not seen each other for a very long time in which you really doubt.

"Come on, let them be." "But-" "I saw some interesting stalls back there, wanna check them with me?" "..." Looking back and forth between your friend looking safe and side right beside Gojo and his guy right beside you, you sigh. Putting your full attention to him, "What's your name?" You did not fail to notice the way he seems to be taken a back by your question. "Geto, Geto Suguru." "So it's you." "You've heard about me?" "About you and Gojo Satoru over there actually. I'm (Lastname)(First name). It's a pleasure to meet you." You introduce yourself, holding up a hand for a handshake. "I've heard a lot of stories about you too, actually." He replied, taking your hand as the two of you shook hands before letting go, walking on the opposite direction of where the other two was heading. "I hope it's a good news not a bad news." "I could say the same thing about me and Satoru..."

That night was nothing new. The mission came to an end that same night as there was no suspicious person nor special grade curses lurking that night like the report says. Probably because you and your friend have already taken care of things right before the actual joint mission due to your friend wanting to spend more time with Gojo. Looking back of it now, all the stress of that was now gone as you end up experiencing a different thing from what you expected off which is third wheeling from your friend and their fiancee.

"I had fun." You mumble under your breath as the two of you, you and Geto-san is currently waiting at the meet up spot the four of you have agreed to meet upon. Glancing at the man beside you who was quiet, one phone in hand, the other on his pocket. You ended up looking as soon as he glance back at your direction, earning a chuckle. "I had fun today." "Me too." "Though it's quite a shame since there was no curse in sight like the report says" "Ehem. I wonder about what too." "You do?" Once again he looked at you and your eyes end up meeting. Though this time, you end up rolling your eyes at him because he was looking at you like he knows very well why there was no curse in sight. "They're here." You spoke, spotting the couple from distance when you felt a tap on your shoulder. "What's the matter Geto-san?" You asked, looking at him only to find him... quite flustered? "If it's okay with you, can I have your number?"

Your head was throbbing and damn you do not know if it was because of the memories or has something to do with the bandages on your head. It hurts every step you take. Nevertheless that did not stop you from going where you want to go. With a bandage all over your head, dry throat and bleeding hand due to the harsh removal of the IV drop. You navigate your way to see the man you really needed to see right now. Gojo fucking Satoru. The man that could only answer your questions right now, the only one you would listen to right now.

And there after knowing for what is like forever to you walking down this hallway of who knows where. You spotted him, heads down as he dumped into you and damn, never have you ever seen him looking so damn pissed off right now, almost scaring you but you did not dare backdown. "Look where you're goi- oh. It's you." And now by the tone of his voice, the way he was looking at you. He looks more pissed than before yet you did not miss the way those blue iris of his looks at you in embarrassment and pity. Why?

Why do they kept looking at you like that? All while avoiding where in the fucking hell is Suguru was? Despite your throbbing head, you took a hold of Gojo that was about to walk away from you. "Where is Suguru?" You asked, gripping on his wirst. But he did not answer, nor he tried to pull away from your hold. He just stood there, unable to look at you in the face as he if was contemplating to even talk about it. And you are having none of it. "Gojo Satoru. Where is Suguru?" "... know." "What?" "I said I don't know!" With his sudden outburst, you were taken a back, a sudden force between the two of you caused you to let go of him and almost hitting the wall beside if it was not for the person who grabbed you and pull you towards them.

"Satoru!" It was the sound of your best friend, though it was quite different from the last time you have heard of it. "You knew better than to lash out at them!" "Well I'm sorry! They just kept on pissing me off-fuck!" You have never seem him like that. The way the Gojo Saturu looking all distress and angry at the same time. You have never seem him like that causing a bad feeling on your chest. It made you unconsciously cling into your bestfriend's arms that was warped around you giving you some sort of comfort. "Suguru..." You utter your lover's name, looking up to your friend for some sort of answer. "Where is Suguru?"

But just like any other, your friend looked away from you. And if felt like something broke inside you. "Why are you looking away?" Your head is throbbing like shit. "Why can't you- anyone answer me?" Your eyes were bloodshot. "Why won't you say a damn thing?!-" "Because we don't know where he went!" "Do you think that's making any sense-?" You could not helo but to pause for a moment as your head throbbed painfully, awfully painful as some memories came into mind. "Come to think of it..." You look at Gojo, "You're supposed to be dead aren't you? Didn't Toji-? That bastard from zenin clan killed you? Why are you here? How come you're alive?? Also- right, He went after Suguru right? Where is he-?" "That was three years ago, (First name)." What?

"You've been in coma for three years." Your friend explained as gently as they could. "And well... So much have changed all those years ago, (First name)." Your friend then looks away from you and turn to look at Gojo, all you did was to follow your friend's gaze as Gojo looks at them before turning his back at the two of you as if he already leave the explanation in the hands of your friend. And they did, all those things that happened the moment you were in coma, the fall out of the two strongest, the way they started walking into different path. Your condition over the past few years which seems to put more toll not only to your friend but also for your lover. The death of their kohai and lastly. "Last night, it was reported that Geto Suguru killed... murdered 112 villigers and is now a fugitive, someone who is to be kill on sight."

You felt like your entire world was falling apart. It felt like someone ripped ot your lungs from your chest, you could not breathe. Your head could not stop throbbing, it feels like someone kept bashing a hammer in it over and over again. And yet all the words your friend have said was clear. It was so damn clear. "Geto Suguru is now considered as a curse user." Your ears were ringing. You could not help but to gasp, holding on into your head as you curl up forward if it was not for your friend holding you in their arms but you cannot feel it. It hurts. Why? Why why why why why? Why would he do something like that? Why? Just fucking why? Holding on into every bit of sanity you have, you gripped in the arms of your friend and was about to say something when everything went black.

"I know it was out of the blue but I think I like you a lot." Just like he said, it was out of the blue. Very random in the middle of the way you are having right not. Not so far away from you two was the couple who seems to have been spending every bit of time in their life right now. Something you would never understand, yet to understand. Not until the following years. "Quit being silly, Geto-san." You chuckle. Nudging him by his side. It was such a peaceful day, it was also the last day of the joint exercise from both schools. Meaning you would not be meeting again for the mean time.

As soon as you said that, he stopped walking, looking all serious causing your smile to fade away as you too stop walking. "Are you serious?" You asked, dumbfounded. Ever since the joint mission between the four of you, you and Geto have been in contact which each other taking about trivial matters, often talking over the phone with some random stuffs, mostly talking about Gojo and your best friend. Laughing over some matter and openly flirting with each other, something you thought was platonic did really end up having a meaning behind it after denying everything to your bestfriend.

"I like you..." He stated, a meter away from you. "A lot." He added, those black iris of his seems to be searching something from your (eye color) ones. With out mouth opening and closing. "More than Gojo Satoru?" "What?" "What?" Looking dumbfounded at each other, you could not help but to let out a laugh in which he too follows. "What kind of question is that?" He chuckle. "Of course I like you more than Satoru. He's my best friend but you are something else." "That's surprising." You did it again, eyes wide open as you hold up a hand to your lips, ruining the mood but he still laughs at it. "So if it's okay with you, would you like to go out with me?"

"Yeah, sure. Let's date." You replied. And for a moment, as the sunset within the horizon. It's golden like sunlight illuminate his face, causing your eyes to widen as a genuine, by far the happiness smile makes its way on his lips, brushing back his black hair that was still growing like he said he had plan to keep his hair long. He smiles at you and hold up a hand. "I'll make sure you won't regret that." "We'll see about that, Geto-san." You smile back at him, taking his hand. "Call me Suguru." "When I get used to it." "(First name)." It was the first time he called you by your name as it has always been your surname.

You blink, then you look away from him as you felt your cheeks burning. Nevertheless as the two of you continue to walk hand in hand within the same path your bestfriend and their fiance that now seems to have vanished from your sigh was going through, it was peaceful.

"So this is where you've been." You did not look at your friend, who have come by your side as you focused on the cigarette in your hand, right beside you was a countless bottle of beer. You were hoping to get drunk. A few years ago you would not even dare of doing such thing, you were still underage after all and yet here you are. In a blink of an eye you are adult now, very well drinking wishing the next day would never come. There was nothing to look forward into anyway.

Instead of replying to your friend, you just puff out a cloud of smoke before trashing your cigarette on the ground. Reaching out for another on inside the pack only to realize it is now empty. "Fuck." You curse, reaching out for another bottle of beer only to realize there was nothing left but empty bottles for you to throw away. "Fuck." This time you sound even more annoyed than you already are. Bloodshot eyes, dark circles under your eyes, messy hair, clothes you barely manage to put on. "(First name), let's go home."

"I don't understand." You states, brushing your friend suggestion off. "It was just like yesterday... Everything was so fine, we were still students, going on into missions once in while... and now we're adults." "(First name)..." "Everything was fine damn it. I have you, I have Suguru and a huge bright future a head of us. What happened?" "... So much happened..." Your friend replied and you shake your head. "I know that already... I know that already... But for me it was just like yesterday where everything was fine and now..."

Looking around in the same spot where you and Suguru used to go to alot. Hoping, wishing to at least see him in here. But he's not, nor does he ever show any signs of showing up right in front of you, something he had given the chance to Gojo and Shoko.

"Everyone was expecting me to just shrug it off." You chuckle. "They're expecting me to not give a damn about it and trust me, I'm trying." You look down at your shaking hands as your vision starts to get blurry. "But the more I am left off with myself, I kept thinking, why? Why would he do such a thing? I know Suguru, I know he would never do such a thing unless there was a reason behind it." It was just an endless unanswered thoughts of whys. "Why... why would he leave me all alone?" This time, you look at your friend who ended up pulling you in their arms, whispering endless apologies. It was none of their fault anyways.

"It's going to be okay? Alright?" Your best friend caresses your back. "It will be tough, but I'll get you through this- we'll help you through this- okay?" "No... No... You don't understand it. Suguru is the only one I have... Without him... I can't... I just can't." You smile despite the tears rolling down your cheeks. "I don't understand... How did we come into this?" You were late, years too late.

"Stop." "Stop what?" He smiles as you shove your hands on his face. "Stop staring at me like that, I'm embarrassed." "You look like you were enjoying it tho." As you glare at him, you hears a gagging noise right in front of you causing you to roll your eyes at the white haired guy currently playing with the star plasma vessel within the shore. "Don't be like that Satoru, we didn't say a thing whenever you and your fiance kept sucking each other's face right in front of us."

Loving Geto Suguru was fun, a one of a kind love you would never trade for something else. It was the kind of love you never thought you were looking for. He was kind, caring, spoiling you every now and then, and even despite being in the same case of being a special grade sorcerer, he knows how to make you feel protected. With Suguru by your side, you felt sheltered and protected, almost away from the complicated jujutsu world that you live in. Suguru was home.

"Maybe we should go on a trip." "Hmm? All of a sudden? We're still in the middle of this mission you know." You replied to your lover of two years before looking at the still messing around Gojo and Riko within the shore. "Isn't he overworking himself? His infinity is still on." "I know, I was just about to talk to him about it." Suguru sigh causing you to give him a gentle pat in the back. "He has you and me here, there is nothing he should over work himself for. It's quite a shame my bestfriend is currently assigned overseas right now." Strange timing to be honest. "So about that trip you are talking about, what about it?" "Nothing, just you and me on a beach. What do you think? Right after this mission." He asked and of course, with the brightest smile on your face, you agreed.

"Should I cut my hair soon?" As you were about to stand up underneath the huge parasol shielding you and your lover away from the sun, you look back at him, topless and grabbing the end of his hair. "Should you? I think you look good in long hair." "It's quite annoying to maintain it." He huff causing you to laugh and flick his forehead before making your way into the shore where the two troublemakers where still playing at but not before looking back at Suguru before saying, "Hair holds memories you know, it's been two years since your last haircut, but if you do find it annoying. I'll go to the barbers with you."

You cannot sleep. More like you refuse to sleep. You are tired, constantly being sent into missions. Just drowning yourself into endless mission so you would not be having that much time to think about stuffs, to think about him but in the very end he still appears in your dream with memories you long to forget. So here you are, standing still wearing baggy clothes, your feet bringing you into the only place you find some sort of comfort with.

Usually you would stay there for a moment, at least when you finish a pack of cigarette you manage to buy from the nearest convenient store where you have left your car parked when you happened to come across a very familiar looking back. Though the hair that used to be shoulder length tied up in a bun was now let loose, it was not that long, but sure long enough to make you realize it had grown a little long just like how times have passed by while you were in a coma.

"Suguru." His name flowed out of your mouth before you knew it, a name you have not called for so long yet still vivid in your mind. It feels like everything just happened yesterday. And the man upon hearing his name, you saw him flinch, you did not miss the way he does as you took a step towards him but eventually stops. He did not look back nor he did not reply. He just stood there, a couple of steps right in front of you, looking forward into the city light as the two of you would often state at.

"Suguru." Once again you called out his name, this time, sounding a little, perhaps a bit desperate. "Suguru please talk to me." "You aren't supposed to be in here, (First name)." It made you flinch, not because of his words, but by the tone of his voice you are not familiar with. It sounds the same, but you knew it is not the same. "You knew better than to go in here and not expecting to meet me in the process." "That's true... maybe I was ho... I just couldn't go to sleep tonight." "What was that?" There was no reply.

This was not the scene you were expecting when you see him again. Not when the two of you looked quite tired, although his back was turned into you, you could see it by his posture. He was tired. And as much as you want to pull that man into your arms and tell him it was going to be alright. Something side was telling you that this person right in front of you was not the same guy you used to love, that this person right in front of you is someone who is now considered to be one of the most dangerous person within the world or sorcery and curses. But he was still the person you used to love, still love.

As you stand there on your guard, he turn around, causing you to unconsciously took a step back and for a moment, just for a moment you asked yourself if it was the right thing to do as you saw a glint of sadness within those black iris before it vanished like it was never there. "Let's not see each other again, (First name)."

You hate it. You fucking hate him. He was the one who left you with saying a thing, not even a note. So why does he sound like he would never see you again? Why does he sound so fucking sad and hurt when he said that was if he was tying to convince himself when he said that? Glaring at him as he casually walked passed you. You felt your eyes sting as you quickly turn around. "So this is it? Not even hi, hello, goodbye. Just straight up let's not see each other again? Really? Suguru?"

He did not turn around nor did he reply was he just kept walking away from you with in a very calm phase, as if it was intentional, as if he was really showing off the fact that he was walking away from you. "Suguru." He did not stop. "Suguru." This time you sound like you were commanding him. "Suguru." And this time was desperate. "Are you really going to walk away without even explaining yourself to me?" Fuck, fuck these fucking tears that makes your vision all blurry, making you wipe away the tears on your face. Then he spoke, "Nanako and Mimiko often wake up at night, I need to go."

You knew those names from report, the two girls that was causing trouble in that very same village that was murdered by this man right in front of you. You have always thought the two were killed alongside the villagers. And thinking about it now. You could not help but to chuckle despite the tears that was rolling down your cheeks this whole time. It make sense, at the same time it does not make anysense to you why he could easily abandon you over them. Because if he ask you to come with him, you would. You would fucking go with him.

You want to scream, you want to laugh, you want to cry as if you are not already doing that. You felt like you were going inside as you tried to blink away the tears in your eyes. You want to see him, you want to imprint this memory in mind while you can, this memory of him walking away from you in mind as you said your last final words to him. "Walk away and we're done, Geto Suguru." You were so confident when you stated that, so confident that he would, in fact walk away from you and in that, you would finally be able to leave everything about him behind as you finally know the reason why he did such thing.

Except he did not. As soon as you said that, you watch him halt. What the heck? "I said walk away and we're done, Suguru." You look at his back like he was insane as he stay in place. "I said walk away and we're done! What are you doing?!" You are mad, you are starting to go mad. "Are you fucking kidding me?! Are you trying to screw over my feelings? Huh!? Answer me Geto Suguru!" Funny how he chooses them, how he chooses his new ideals over you and when you are finally letting him call it quits. He just could not.

"Fuck!" You screamed, wanting to pull your hair out of frustration and madness as you continue to glare at that back of his. But you knew very well why. He just loved you so much, so much that your accident left a huge scar over him. A guilt of not being there by your side when you almost died. Geto Suguru might have chosen this path but he just could not let you go. And you knew that, you knew that. Those stares you were feeling whenever you went out to finish some dangerous missions. Those anonymous help you kept receiving during critical situations. Just as much as you could not let him go, he could not let you go too. And you hate him for that. You fucking hate him for that.

As tears roll down your cheeks, as painful sobs escape your lips. "I hate you." You sob. "I fucking hate you, Suguru." You knew that he loves you despite of everything. So why does it hurts? "I hate that I love you so fucking much." You do not want to love him anymore. For the sake of both parties, one must step away of you are both doomed. "Goodbye, Suguru."

You hate that at the very end of the way, it was you who decided to walk away. Walking passed his figure, purposely bumping into his shoulder in a very gentle manner. You did not look back, you do not want to look back. For only doing so would make you waiver. Walking back into your car, you started it and never look back, driving away from that place and never to come back. But half way through the drive. You stopped, hitting the breaks before pulling it to the side of the road.

It was clear to you what you both had and who the two of you before and now. But right now, as you curl up in your seat, one hand covering your mouth as you try to cover up your ugly sobs, the other clenching on your chest when your phone rings. But you did not play attention to it because aside from the undescribeable pain you are feeling right now, you cannot see anything else thru these tears. Why does to be in the very end, had to be you who walks away with so much memories between the two of you.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024°

: Might or may not make a part two in Geto's POV cuz why not but also might not because this might end up as a ff book series if I had more time in the future. Inspired by Thru these tears by Lany.

[mara-xx217]

Fear and hunger, like I don't mind monster (? If crow or guard or poket cat) and all but what about Pav from Termina??? :3. ;33

With Pav x reader if you don't mind, like I hope you don't mind me blabbing and all but I imagine Pav got curious and got the attention from reader but they(or she I don't mind) didn't notice and all , Pav be like Mine and he thought after the festival am gonna make them mine or something like that lmao

I've been thinking about him for a while and I've been liking him more and more. So here's some headcanons for him and a fem!reader as the Festival takes place!

Warnings for general Pav toxic-ness and shitty behavior

Day One - Day Two

Pav isn't sure why you have caught his eye. Maybe you remind him of someone from his past, from the village that the Kaiser had raised so long ago. Maybe you were just cute to him, maybe you looked like a particularly easy target to him-

He's got some serious shit to do. He can't be flirting with every dame that he crosses... though it's not like there are many left in Prehevil, or at least those that aren't hideously deformed or raving mad.

Fuck it. He's a dead man and he knows it. Might as well have fun while he still can.

Pav is the most obnoxious courter and he fucking knows it. What better way to get a lady's attention other than to be the loudest, most flamboyant man on the battlefield?

He's kind of vile... Leering at you, catcalling you, whistling like the wolf he is. You didn't know what you were hearing at first, so you pretended as though you couldn't hear him at all. For all you know, it was one of the mad villagers losing their minds.

Being ignored isn't in Pav's style, so he will directly confront you and anyone else that might be in your presence and Gods forbid if there's a lad with you, because he will be squaring up for a fight.

Get used to being called 'his good girl', because that's exactly what he'll call you. Over and over again. Maybe it makes you blush a little... Or maybe your face is red from annoyance and anger. All of it is good for Pav.

"You're so pretty when you are furious with me, radiant one~"

He will threaten you with his gun, regardless of the fact that he has little intention to kill you. It's an extension of his person, as a solider, as a survivor...

Becomes unbelievably frustrated with the fact that you do not engage him like Abella or Marina does. No shouting, no 'fuck you's', no attention given to him whatsoever. What, do you think you're too good for him?!

Maybe you're right-

He can't stick around for long... He'd like to chase your skirt all damn day but he can't. There's... unfinished business he needs to attend to. He can't afford to fuck it up, even for a pretty little woman such as yourself...

Day Two - Day Three

He... failed...?

Waking up on the train, Pav is... disappointed that he is still alive. The shame of failure burns worse than the wound across his chest. He's nearly forgotten you, your face, your nice, nice ass in your pretty little skirt...

He's... surprised that you were on the train with him.

Pav isn't the cocky bastard that you met earlier in the Festival anymore. He's subdued. Quiet, almost... thoughtful. He avoids your gaze and has an expression equivalent to that of a kicked dog.

"How... do you feel?"

"..."

He rolled over and went back to sleep. Daan might have been the one to initially doctor his wounds but you were the one that continued to keep him alive.

Why? Well...

Pav was rather pathetic in your eyes. He was compensating for something, though what you weren't exactly sure of. He was dangerous and worse he was obnoxious.

But he was still human, and learning that he had attempted to assassinate the Kaiser had shifted the feeling of disgust that you had towards him into something more akin to pity.

Pav won't talk to you much. He's a wounded beast and you and him both know that he's due to die at any moment.

But it doesn't really stop you from making the last hours he has left at least bearable... More so than any of his time in the damn Bremen army has ever been.

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine, @memoryofheather, @horny-3

[ask-casino-cups-swap-au]

“Where are we going?” Lucifer asked as Elder Kettle led him by the arm.

It was a starry night, and they had arrived in the town, where everyone seemed to be setting up their stalls, and several people were carrying blankets and baskets.

“It’s... a surprise, Luci. It’s going to be an incredible surprise, trust me,” Elder Kettle replied. But Lucifer couldn’t focus much on his words; his mind was occupied with the other people in the town, the food stalls, and the lights decorating every place.

“What’s happening? Why are there so many people?” Lucifer asked, still confused.

“It’s a festival, the people here are excited about an event happening tonight,” Elder Kettle squeezed Lucifer’s hand a little and lowered his gaze to look at him. “It’ll be fun.”

But Lucifer didn’t respond, too focused on the looks of the other people.

“Luci... are you okay?” Elder Kettle asked, still walking and now looking ahead, gently rubbing Lucifer’s hand.

“There are just so many people,” Lucifer replied in a quieter voice, moving closer to Elder Kettle.

“Don’t worry,” Elder Kettle nudged him a bit to place the little one by his side. “Don’t think too much about the people in the town, we’ll have plenty of time for you to adjust, but for now, it’s just you and me, okay?” Elder Kettle rubbed Lucifer’s head, and he twitched his ears a little in response, pulling his head away slightly.

“You know... after this, we can eat anything you want,” Lucifer’s eyes lit up a bit as he heard these words, and his ears perked up at the news.

After that, they headed out of the city; as they walked, more people joined them, and when they reached their destination, everyone spread out their blankets in different spots. Some people also had baskets with food and chatted while looking at the sky.

Even though they didn’t bring a blanket, they sat on the grass. As they sat down, Lucifer hugged his legs.

“Can I know what’s happening now?” the little one asked while anxiously swinging his legs up and down.

“Patience, Luci,” the old man chuckled a bit as he settled on the grass. “All good things are worth waiting for.”

Resigned, Lucifer gazed up at the sky until he noticed a small streak of light. He tilted his head in confusion until he could see that it was a shooting star, surrounded by a very bright glow. It was the first time he had seen a shooting star, and soon many more started crossing the sky, lighting it up with a white glow. Excited, Lucifer crawled forward on his knees to get a better view of the spectacle, completely mesmerized.

“Ah! Look at that!” Lucifer exclaimed excitedly, pointing at the sky. “It’s beautiful, all those stars!” He couldn’t contain his excitement, his tail wagging a bit.

“Ha ha... you won’t have many nights like this. Was the wait worth it?” Elder Kettle asked, smiling as he watched Lucifer’s change in attitude.

Lucifer turned to look at him and nodded before returning his gaze to the sky. “I wish every night could be like this.”

“It’s a shame they’re not, but you can always make the most of them, live in the moment, feel it, and make it yours. And it will live on forever in your memory, even when everything else seems like it won’t,” Elder Kettle’s words resonated in Lucifer’s mind for a moment before he refocused on the stars.

Elder Kettle moved closer to Lucifer and stayed by his side, holding him as they both watched the meteor shower.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

—¿Dónde vamos?—preguntó Lucifer mientras Elder Kettle lo llevaba del brazo.

Era una noche estrellada, y habían llegado al pueblo, donde todos parecían estar alistando sus puestos y varias personas llevaban mantas y canastas.

—Es... una sorpresa, Luci. Será una sorpresa increíble, créeme.—Contestó Elder Kettle. Sin embargo, Lucifer no podía concentrarse mucho en sus palabras, su mente estaba enfocada en las demás personas del pueblo, en los puestos de comida y las luces que decoraban cada lugar.

—¿Qué está pasando? ¿Por qué hay tanta gente?—preguntó, aún confundido, Lucifer.

—Es un festival, la gente de aquí está emocionada por un evento que pasará esta noche—Elder Kettle apretó un poco la mano de Lucifer y bajó la mirada para verlo—. Será divertido.

Pero no hubo respuesta de Lucifer, quien estaba demasiado enfocado en las miradas de las demás personas.

—Luci... ¿estás bien?—Elder Kettle preguntó, aún caminando y enfocando su mirada hacia adelante ahora, mientras sobaba un poco la mano de Lucifer.

—Es que hay mucha gente—Lucifer respondió con una voz más baja, acercándose más a Elder Kettle.

—Tranquilo—Elder Kettle lo empujó un poco para colocar al pequeño a su lado—. No pienses mucho en la gente del pueblo, ya tendremos mucho tiempo para que te adaptes, pero por ahora solo somos tú y yo, ¿okay?—Elder Kettle sobó la cabeza de Lucifer y este movió un poco sus orejas en respuesta, alejando su cabeza un poco.

—Sabes... luego de esto podemos comer cualquier cosa que tú me pidas—. Apenas escuchó estas palabras, los ojos de Lucifer se iluminaron un poco, y sus orejas también se levantaron tras la noticia.

Después, ambos se dirigieron a las afueras de la ciudad; en su caminata, más gente los acompañaba, y al llegar a su destino, cada uno en diferentes lugares colocaba sus mantas; algunas personas llevaban también canastas con comida y charlaban mientras miraban al cielo.

A pesar de que ellos no llevaron una manta, se sentaron en el césped. Al sentarse en el césped, Lucifer abrazó sus piernas.

—¿Ya puedo saber qué está pasando?—preguntó el pequeño mientras balanceaba sus piernas ansiosamente.

—Paciencia, Luci—rio un poco el viejo acomodándose en el césped—. Todo lo bueno se hace esperar.

Lucifer, resignado, miró el cielo hasta que notó una pequeña estela en el cielo. Él inclinó su cabeza confundido hasta que pudo ver por completo que se trataba de una estrella fugaz, con un brillo bastante grande que la rodeaba. Era la primera vez que veía una estrella fugaz, y con eso empezaron a pasar muchas más por el cielo, iluminando todo el cielo de color blanco. Lucifer, emocionado, se arrastró con sus rodillas para estar más adelante y poder ver aquel espectáculo, quedó totalmente maravillado.

—¡Ah! ¡Mira eso!—Lucifer exclamó con emoción mientras apuntaba al cielo—. ¡Es hermoso, todas esas estrellas!—No pudo contener su emoción, haciendo que su cola se moviera un poco.

—Ja, ja... no tendrás muchas noches como esta, ¿valió la pena la espera?—preguntó Elder Kettle mientras observaba con una sonrisa el cambio de actitud de Lucifer.

Lucifer volteó a verlo y asintió con la cabeza para regresar su mirada al cielo—. Me gustaría que cada noche fuera igual.

—Es una pena que no lo sean, pero siempre puedes sacar lo mejor de ellas, vivir el momento, sentirlo, y hacerlo tuyo. Y vivirá por siempre en tu memoria, así será permanente, incluso aunque todo lo demás parezca que no—. Lucifer escuchó atentamente las palabras de Elder Kettle, resonaron en su cabeza por un momento antes de volver a enfocar su mirada en las estrellas.

Elder Kettle se acercó a Lucifer y se quedó a su lado, abrazándolo mientras ambos veían la lluvia de estrellas.

[snakes-and-fluff]

I think the option to revive Shinjiro in FeMC's route and the story it tells via his Social Link is good, actually, though it is bogged down by the lack of writing consequences after the event. Akihiko's second awakening suffers the most due to the fact they only rewrote and changed a handful of lines instead of restructuring the whole thing. Compare this to Chidori's revival, who gets a lot of new dialogue (though I'm aware this was added in FES, not Portable).

But back to my original point: a lot of Persona 3 is about how one never knows what the future holds. Most of this comes in the form of dramatic irony when speaking to the protagonists about their future (that they'll never have), but it happens on a smaller scale too with things like the typhoon cancelling the school festival. Shinjiro's Social Link is another side of that. The man is convinced he is going to die and there's no escape from this, so he doesn't even really try. But the fact you can intervene; the fact something as small as a pocketwatch changes this "fate" that he thought immovable is exactly in keeping with Persona 3's themes. It's just a shame the writing fumbled the ball.

Persona 3 is not just about death. It's about how you never know what life holds.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Hi! Idk if you write for him, but if you do can you please write something fluffy with Apollo comforting and reassuring his S/O that they are beautiful? 💖

Thanks!

It was hard sometimes, being Apollo’s lover.

Though you loved the man dearly, and knew there was more to him than just the flash he portrayed, it was hard to be standing next to someone who was shining all of the time. Particularly now.

“Oh Apollo! How wonderful to see you! Are you enjoying the festival??”

“Oh yes Hebe! Any opportunity for everyone to get together and look their best is a treat I always enjoy.” He replied with a bright smile.

To which Hebe (and any other goddess within an eye line of sight) gushed and cooed. “Oh wonderful! It’s a shame you have to be here alone though.”

“I’m not alone. You all are here! And, [Y/N] is with me.”

“Hello Hebe.”

The goddess’s face instantly fell into a look of sour grapes as she seemed to remember you were there. “Oh, yes, hello [Y/N]. I hope you are enjoying the party as well.” He voice couldn’t have been flatter if she were crushed by a stone. “Apollo! Would you mind playing something for us later? As the God of music & song, it would be an honor to hear you perform.”

“It would be my pleasure!”

The girls all gush again and squeal at the thought of a private concert from their favorite, beautiful God. And you had had enough. “I’m going to go home.”

You sat your wine down and make way for the exit. Not making it far before Apollo caught up to you in the corridor. “What’s wrong [Y/N]? Are you feeling ill?”

“Not ill. Sick.” You told him. “Sick of always being overlooked and ignored by your fans. Sick of always being forgotten because you are always so blinding.”

“Oh. Yes, my beauty does have that affect on people.” He agreed with a nod. Not helping his cause at all. “But, so does yours my love. Your beauty is blinding to me. Those others, my ‘fans’ as you call them, they are just faceless pillars of marble to me when you are around. I barely notice them as I am so taken by your beauty.”

“Really?” You ask cautiously. You know you should perhaps take his words with a grain of salt. He was the God of Poetry as well after all, and maybe he just didn’t want to get in trouble.

But looking at his beautiful, smiling face, you know that Apollo had no guile on this. You know he would never lie about someone’s beauty. “Really. Now, please stay. I won’t be able to perform without my muse. You may not like my fans, but it would be cruel to deny them the beauty of my song.”

“Well….alright. We can stay a little longer.”

“Wonderful!” He cheered. Grabbing your hand and dragging you back to the party.