#well I guess i have no choice when they force my hand like this

[anon-e-miss]

At Waiting's End - 9 - Consequence

“Thank you for coming,” Camshaft said.

Despite the ease with which Jazz and Punch had absorbed the information that a colleague of their was Prowl’s progenitor, Camshaft was not inclined to simply, invite Downshift for lunch. Ultimately, he came down to the face he was a protective originator and he would not risk exposing Prowl to rejection. Of course, if Downshift preferred to have no part in their creation’s life, Prowl would feel rejected but there was no need for him to hear it, spoken out loud in his presence. No matter the connection Camshaft had felt both the first time he had met Downshift and then at their reunion, he understood that his choices over the vorns had not only had an impact on his own life but on Prowl’s, on Downshift’s. Though he could not control the consequences, he could at least ensure that he largely faced them alone.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Downshift asked. “Y’re lookin’ stiff.”

“Not wrong, per say,” Camshaft replied. “I need to tell you something, something I should have told you before.”

“I know y’re the one that gave Chromedome the beatdown,” Downshift said. “I don’t blame ya for it. He was accusin’ yer creation o’ serious scrap.”

“Your creation as well,” Camshaft said.

“Sorry?” Downshift froze.

“I was not recalled to Praxus,” Camshaft explained, dimming his optics for a moment. “I realized I was with spark, so I went home.”

“Y’re holdin’ back,” Downshift said and Camshaft’s optics brightened. His lover cupped his face. “Tell me the whole story.”

“I did not want to lose him,” Camshaft explained. “I tried to make my life before, lover, creation, away from Praxus. I only had the bitlet for two orns before security forces arrested me. My lover had revealed me to be a Praxian spy. I was deported.”

“Ya never saw the bitlet again,” Downshift guessed.

“I looked,” Camshaft said. “Over the decavorns but I’ve never found a trace. The cogsucker would have changed their designations. There was no trail for me to follow, not even a cold one.”

“‘M sorry, sweetspark,” Downshift hugged him close and Camshaft took a moment to bask in the comfort. “I don’t blame ya for goin’. I don’t blame ya for bein’ scared.”

“I always told him his progenitor was a good mech,” Camshaft explained. “I needed him to understand why I robbed him of a progenitor but I needed him to know too that his progenitor was a good mech. Fear of losing his bitlet as I lost his brother saw him repeat my choice. I think it broke his spark to leave Jazz but he was so afraid. He was so certain Jazz would turn on him as Chromedome had.”

“Seems like they had more than a lil bad energon from the enforcers,” Downshift said.

“Chromedome assaulted him,” Camshaft said. “With his needles, when Prowl tried to end their affair. It happened more than once.”

Downshift went still. It was a lethal stillness and Camshaft turned his helm and looked at his face. It was blank, on the surface. Below the surface, Camshaft could see the tension in Downshift’s jaw. That was enough to tell him that Chromedome and his friends had dismissed or diminished what Camshaft had accused him of. Even Jazz pressuring for an investigation seemed to have already come to focus on the slanderous accusations and not Chromedome’s personal crimes. Perhaps Camshaft should have said nothing of the matter but he was not ashamed of his creation, only ashamed that he had been denied justice and denied the security to bring accusations against his abuser. He cared very little for the consequences in this instance.

“Did ya want me to make’m burn?” Downshift asked.

“Burn?” Camshaft asked.

“That lil poison ‘o yers,” Downshift said. “Just ‘bout untraceable?”

“Just about,” Camshaft replied. “I do not wish for you to suffer any consequences.”

“I won’t,” Downshift replied. “Hand it over, Lover.”

Camshaft did as Downshift asked and gave him a vial of the poison. It was not lethal, not directly. Unless Chromedome had some health complication, the Faslum Ignem would inflict horrific pain, a sense that he was burning, inside and out, until the poison worked through his system. The victim’s temperature did not rise, blisters did not form on their plating but they would suffer as if they were being smelted. Death was perhaps to easy for Chromedome. Let him suffer for the physical and emotional harm he had done to Prowl. He felt better than he thought he might for tell Downshift the truth.

“‘M glad ya told me,” Downshift said, holding him close.

“I concluded I needed to tell Prowl,” Camshaft explained. “Knowing you are here, it was unfair to deny him and to deny you. He would like to meet you. Jazz and Punch would have you over for lunch but I thought I needed to tell you alone.”

“Givin’ me an out?” Downshift asked.

“It is only fair,” Camshaft said.

“I don’t want an out,” Downshift told him and Camshaft sighed, relieved. “I do want to take ya home for a bit, release some o’ this stress yer carryin’.”

“I would be amendable to that.”

Downshift made Camshaft melt with his glossa, helm buried between his quivering thighs. His belly flexed as his back arched as Downshift played with Camshaft’s wells as he pleasured his valve with his glossa. He gasped with pleasure, clinging to Downshift’s shoulders as his lover rocked his hips, rubbing his spike against Camshaft’s gamma cluster as he sheathed his girth in Camshaft’s aching core. Wet, desperate, Camshaft could do nothing but squirm and moan under his lover’s amorous worship. A half dozen overloads had him strutless and blissfully content. Downshift collapsed on top of him as he gave into his own release. Hot transfluid’s filled Camshaft’s tank, leaving him tingling with warmth. They had nowhere to go, not in any hurry at least and they recharged like this for a while.

Instead of lunch, Downshift and Camshaft surprised the others with dinner. Camshaft watched Downshift and Prowl greet each other, with considerably more hesitation on Prowl’s part. Downshift brushed his crest against Prowl’s and the tension in Prowl’s doorwings released as fear of rejection faded. Holding Smokescreen, Jazz gave Downshift a friendly side hug and then offered the bitlet to his grandprogenitor. Downshift seemed to melt and Camshaft did as well. Smokescreen would have the large and loving family that Camshaft had been unable to give Prowl. Camshaft had not allowed his own originator anywhere near Prowl after Veneer had ordered him to drowned his bitlet when his glitch had been diagnosed. Seeing Bluestreak, Camshaft lifting the mechling up, assuring him that me was accepted as few had shown his own creation.

“‘N this is Bluestreak?” Downshift asked, joining Camshaft after returning Smokescreen to Prowl when the bitlet showed signs of hunger.

“Uh h’uh,” Bluestreak replied, nodding sagely. “You’re Smokey’s grandgeni?”

“I am,” Downshift replied. “Yers too if y’re lookin’ for one.”

He meshed so easily with everyone. Camshaft smiled as Downshift gave Bluestreak a ride on his back. The unpleasant what-ifs were gone now. Prowl was surrounded by mechanisms who embraced him with joy and enthusiasm. Smokescreen was surrounded by mechanisms who would kill or die for him. For the first time in a lifetime, Camshaft relaxed. Jazz offered him engex and Camshaft took it, happy to toast the closing of the circle. For the moment, he did not concern himself with the refugees he had hid in the catacombs or the warlord who had tried to obliterated his framekin. Right now, only the now mattered and the now was rather perfect. Punch joined him, watching the ruckus.

“Did ya tell’m ‘bout that cur?” Punch asked.

“I did,” Camshaft replied. “You know him well.”

“Trained together from sparklinghood,” Punch replied.

“He asked for a poison I make,” Camshaft explained. “One that will make Chromedome feel like he is being smelted but will not kill him and has, thus far, never been detected.”

“He has a cold temper that one,” Punch replied. “I like it. Death is easy.”

“Too easy for him, I agree,” Camshaft replied.

“Got anythin’ else we might put to use?” Punch asked. Camshaft smiled.

“Many,” he replied.

[killjoy-prince]

Why are the second bad relationship ends hard to get for the deep route boys ughhhhhhhhhh

[sunny44]

Never the first choice

Pairing: Lando Norris x bf!reader

Warnings: angst, crying, fighting

Summary: Y/n is never Lando’s first choice.

I sat at the restaurant table, trying to focus on the conversation. The guy in front of me was kind, funny, and interesting—everything someone could want on a date. But my mind was elsewhere. Every time he smiled, I imagined someone else's smile. When he spoke, it was as if I was waiting for someone else's voice to fill the silence.

"Are you okay?" he asked, noticing my distraction.

I forced a smile. "Yes, I'm fine. Sorry, I'm just a little tired."

He nodded, accepting my excuse without question. But the truth was much more complicated. Lando was always somewhere in the back of my mind, whether he was at a McLaren practice, at a Grand Prix, or even when I was on dates like this. I hated myself for it. I hated myself for not being able to move on, for still being stuck on someone who didn’t have the courage to choose me.

I was about to ask for the check, determined to end the date before my heart got even more tangled, when I saw him. Lando walked into the restaurant, his eyes immediately finding mine, as if he had some kind of radar that always guided him to me.

"Y/n?" my date called my attention, realizing that I was staring at something—or someone—behind him.

"Sorry, I just need a minute," I murmured, already standing up. I didn’t know what he was doing here, but I knew nothing good could come of it.

I walked over to Lando, meeting him near the entrance, with an expression I knew all too well—determination mixed with possessiveness.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, trying to stay calm.

"I... I needed to talk to you," he replied, his voice tense.

"Now? In the middle of my date?" I could already feel my patience running thin. Lando always showed up at the most inconvenient times, as if he knew exactly when I was about to move on.

"Yes, now," he insisted, stepping closer to me. "This guy isn’t right for you."

That was the last straw. "You cannot be serious. You crash my date to tell me this guy isn’t right for me? And who are you to decide that, Lando?"

Before he could respond, my date approached, a look of confusion on his face. "Is everything okay here?"

I wanted to scream, to apologize to him, but all I could do was shake my head.

"I... I’m leaving." Lando stepped closer to me, but I raised my hand, signaling him to stop. "No. Don’t touch me."

The other guy—who didn’t matter much to me anymore, since my heart was focused on Lando—shook his head in resignation. "I guess I’ll leave you two to talk."

I watched him walk away, a mix of anger and disappointment washing over me. Lando just stood there, and I didn’t know if I wanted to hug him or push him away. In the end, I chose the latter.

"You’re unbelievable," I began, my voice trembling with anger. "If you really wanted to be with me, you wouldn’t have gone on a date two weeks ago. Remember that date, Lando? The one you thought I didn’t know about?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but I wasn’t willing to listen.

"So you have no right to ruin my date, just because you’re not man enough to ask me out."

I could see the surprise in his eyes, as if he didn’t expect me to know. But the truth is, ever since I met Lando, I’ve always known when he was getting close to other people. He was unpredictable, and that was one of his charms—and one of his biggest flaws.

"Y/n, it’s not like that..." he started, but I raised my hands, refusing to hear.

"No, Lando, it’s exactly like that. It always has been. And it always will be, right? I’m only your first choice when no one better comes along." I felt the tears start to fall, but I continued, the pain turning into an unexpected strength. "I won’t be your second choice, Lando. I won’t be the person you always turn to when you need to get your dick wet.”

He tried to grab my arm, but I pulled away.

"Don’t touch me. That’s enough, im not gonna deal with this forever."

I turned, grabbed my bag, and walked away from him. The sound of my heels echoed in the restaurant, and the feeling of relief mixed with a deep sadness. The sound of laughter and conversations around us seemed so distant, as if I was in a completely different universe, where all that mattered was the pain in my chest.

When I reached the door, I stopped for a second, hoping he would come after me, say something that would change everything. But all I heard was silence.

I stepped out into the street, the cool night air hitting my face. Finally, the tears I had been holding back fell, and I allowed myself to cry. Cry for me, cry for Lando, cry for the love I never managed to have.

But as the tears fell, a firm decision began to form within me. I was tired of waiting, tired of being the second choice. Lando might not know what he wanted, but I did. I knew I deserved more, deserved someone who would choose me without hesitation, without doubts.

And above all, I knew that no matter how much I loved him, it wasn’t worth it if I always ended up feeling like this—alone, broken, and in second place. I deserved more. And in that moment, I decided I was going to find it, even if it meant leaving Lando behind.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername instagram stories

“Getting used to be sad and alone all the time”

[yuquinzel]

from this list of prompts!

“here comes the airplane!” “i can feed myself.” “too bad.”

“what... are you trying to do?” sae shoots you the look of a raised eyebrow and lips twisted in confusion, eyeing the spoonful of porridge in your hand and the mischievous smile he’s come to adore.

currently he sits on his bed, tucked in all the fluffliest and warmest blankets you could find in his apartment. which weren’t a lot, so he’s also wrapped in his own hoodies. you even made a comment about him looking like deflated baymax — he had glared at you, you laughed even more.

sae doesn’t get sick a lot, and when he does, he’d most likely brush it off as normal cold that would go away on its own or whatever, which is also the reason behind his bad habit of never telling you about the times he is sick.

although you find out anyway, and sae guesses it’s because his manager is working double ways. well, he doesn’t really mind it either. because each time it leads to our current situation — which, although he never has and never will admit — is something he always looks forward to. and if he's being honest, he wouldn’t mind getting sick on purpose for the very reason.

“isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to handfeed you.” you say, in a manner of declaring an obvious fact.

“no, don’t do that.” he deadpans. ( he’s hiding his smile. )

“here comes the airplane!” you ignore him, slowly bringing the spoonful towards him.

“i can feed myself.” although he makes no visible effort to back away, he scrunches his nose. his eye travel to the porridge, then to you and back to the spoonful. he sighs.

“too bad,” you say, and sae isn’t given much choice but to oblige, “i’m gonna do it anyway.”

of course you will.

he rolls his eyes, you peer down at him expectantly, “well??”

“...well what?” his cheeks are puffed out like a hamster. but you would never say that out loud and risk your chances of seeing him like this again. you have to bite back a laugh. although you can’t resist the smile tugging at your lips.

“is it any good?” your smile grows.

“it’s... porridge. is it ever good?” he says dryly.

“yeah, but I’m handfeeding you! doesn’t being taken care of this way by the love of your life sway your heart?” you gasp dramatically, and sae lets out a weak chuckle.

“meh,” he laughs at the way your face drops from grinning like an excited child to that of a serious middle aged man. ( :D to :| )

“fine. then, enjoy it yourself.” you try to hand him the bowl, but he holds down your hands instead.

sae looks at you with a precise gaze, keeping yours on him. it’s serious and unwavering, although to a stark contrast to his cheeks and mouth. both sweetly pouted like that of a child’s. then he parts his lips, slightly so, mirroring your expectant expression from before.

“you’re really going to leave the love of your life by himself when he’s sick?” his eyes shine. a playful chuckle leaves his lips when you roll your eyes.

it’s the side effects of the medicines you’ve been forcing him to take. that must be it. but for now, sae can’t bring himself to give half a damn.

“well, i thought the love of my life didn’t need me to take care of him.” your thumb traces the corner of his mouth, sae bites it playfully. he kisses it just seconds later when you frown.

“i’m actually so sick i could die right now.” he laughs. side effects of the medicines, really.

you roll your eyes at him, bringing the spoonful to him again. “how’s the porridge now?”

“it’s meh,” he says again, ignoring the self assured smirk you wear, “but i’ll work with it.”

“i thought you could feed yourself?” you bring another spoonful to his lips, and he obliges instantly this time.

“i am the love of your life. it’s the least you could do.”

you bite back a laugh at that, sae is a little more unguarded than usual when he’s sick. it’s cute.

“baby”

“yes?”

“baby as in you’re a baby. it’s derogatory.”

it’s his turn to roll his eyes, “yeah, yeah.” he parts his lips once again.

© yuquinzel2023 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

@luvether saw ur answer on my alt bae here u go I’m dumping my bllk drafts just for u :3

@kyoghurts daddy’s home

[rosiesmuts]

The Temptations of Jennie Kim

BLACKPINK Jennie

Words: 4,000

A/N: Boo! 👻

Jennie Kim is a pure unadulterated bitch.

Obstacle one is making it past the bouncer; having your name on the guest list makes that an easy task. Obstacle two is the sea of people; a VIP wristband solves that little inconvenience. Your expected prize for completing these side quests is a night of dancing, ending with divulging in the salacious body of a world famous idol. The light at the end of the tunnel is anything but. Obstacle three is something you couldn't see coming. That world famous idol has already found her seat, only it's on the lap of another man.

Your mind goes a million miles a minute trying to figure out a plan:

1) 'I should go up and confront her.' No, causing a scene wouldn't be good for anyone.

2) 'Fuck this I should just go home.' No, I can't let her just win so easily.

3) 'Fuck it, I'm already here, might as well grab a drink.' I guess this is the winner.

Probably not the best plan, but the one you've chosen.

"Don't tell me you're obsessed over her too."

An unfamiliar voice. Your eyes follow the voice, finding yourself face to face with a beautiful woman. It shouldn't be a surprise, this club is crawling with them. Too busy wallowing in your pity to notice her join your table and too late now to do anything about it.

"Huh?" Admittedly not the most suave response, but it's the one that comes blurting out.

"Jennie. Half the guys here are just sitting here staring at her, what's so special about her anyway?"

"Are you really surprised? BLACKPINK is a pretty big deal. Besides I want staring I was just-"

"Look at yourself, you're even sneaking in little peeks while talking to me."

Her hand is placed under your chin, forcing you to finally take a good look at her. You start to speak but she cuts you off.

"What’re you drinking?"

"Whiskey."

It's rare to see a woman take control. And here you were, sitting face to face with one. She flags someone down and orders you a fresh drink.

"What's your name?" You regret your lame choice of ice breaker the moment it's said out loud.

"Unimportant. Let's just have some fun and see where it leads."

Maybe there is a god. So far nothing you've said could be constituted as smooth, yet here she was, still giving you a chance.

Where things led was more surprises: first, a dance. A hot body pressed close and shaking, accompanied by a mind clouding cocktail of scents. Your eyes dart all over her: the glow of the mysterious woman's pale skin under the multicolored lights; her plump lips; her toned midriff.

"Still thinking about Jennie? I think you've got enough room to squeeze me in."

Both her hands come to rest at your hips, gently pushing yours forward and squeezing your body closer to hers. Your eyes lock, the music from the club fades out, and you find yourselves with your noses an inch away. This insanely hot girl, not the one you intended to spend tonight with, but not the worst thing you can think of right now. The tip of her nose brushes yours and her hands push forward one last time, the kiss can only be delayed a second longer.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

Jennie Kim has some nice timing. Just when you were about to give into this other woman, there was a tug on your shoulder and you're spun around–Jennie Kim's face, contorted with a mixture of anger and jealousy.

"You. Step the fuck back, he's not yours." Jennie shoves her hand out to your impromptu date, but that was apparently not an adequate barrier to keep her away. The girl comes up and wraps around your arm, not allowing Jennie to steal you away.

"He was until you got in my way."

"In case you didn't hear: step the fucking hell away." Jennie is nothing short of livid. People have stopped dancing, staring at the unfolding scene. Your new date notices the attention.

"Fine! He's not worth it anyway." And just like that your new acquaintance storms off, her hips and the smoke trailing from the bottom of her black dress being the last you'll ever see of her.

"Walk. Right. Now." Jennie drags you towards the hallway, likely intent on either berating or maiming you somewhere in private. In any other scenario it would sound like the fantasy of every man in South Korea, but right now you know it's bad.

A private room behind the dancefloor, a much better place to be killed and your corpse dumped than in front of hundreds of witnesses. She shuts the door with a slam hard enough you think it might shatter and locks it with an unnecessarily loud click.

"Who the fuck was that? You've only been here two minutes and you're already on top of another woman?!"

"Hey, hey, fuck you Jennie. Do you know what I saw when I came here? After you invited me? Oh you were totally there, sitting on another man's lap."

"That's not the same."

"Not the same my ass. Can you even begin to explain what it is then? No of course you can't. Because you're a spoiled fucking idol who does whatever the fuck you want."

You turn to leave, but are pulled back and receive a rough slap across the face. There's no pain, only the sudden red color filling up that side of your vision. She did it again. This time it brings with it the burning sensation. A stinging radiates across your cheek, an angry mark that burns more as the adrenaline fades.

Then in almost cliche like fashion you grab her face and slam her into the nearby wall, returning her slap with an aggressive kiss. Jennie doesn't try to pull away, in fact she gives just as much as she receives. If her jealousy made her slap, her frustration makes her kiss harder, her teeth digging in slightly at her efforts.

"Someone is still obsessed with me hmm~?"

"Fuck you." The reply is snarled out through the tears in your teeth.

"Why don't you? Make sure everyone out there knows who you belong to. You weren't even interested in that slut anyway. All you could think about was me."

Any rebuttal was silenced the instant a hand traced the outline of the bulge forming in your jeans. No words need to be said; she's right, there's only her. Her face, her smell, her voice. Jennie bites your collarbone through the shirt to try and get a rise and boy does it. A firm hand groping her behind and pulling her into you, meeting the hardness growing in your jeans. Jennie chuckles, enjoying the reaction.

"Do it. Go ahead."

Jennie fucking Kim. The girl of your dreams. The girl of your nightmares. You've fallen into her trap. What's happening right now can only be described as karma's cruel payback, an attempt to dangle your greatest desire right in front of your nose–before a final humiliating insult is slapped on it.

"You little bitch." Jennie taunts you, unraveling her flirtatious intentions as her skirt rides higher and higher along with your patience. "Go on. Put me through the wall. Pull it out and fuck me as hard as you can."

It would be too easy, wouldn't it? Giving her what she wants after what she did. Instead she's dragged to the couch and bent over you knees. Jennie yelps in surprise, before realizing what's coming to her.

SMACK.

"I didn't say stop." Jennie responds after feeling the forceful slap at her backside.

Another. Jennie cries out, before letting the sweetest sounds come tumbling out of her mouth. Your palm raises once more, pauses, and then swings down and impacts against the exposed skin. A large pink spot forms on the exposed skin as a result and you're starting to think Jennie is actually getting turned on.

"P-please."

"Well since you asked so nicely."

Her panties are brushed to the side and two fingers plunge in and begin exploring without any warning. Jennie squeaks and curls up at the sudden and bold invasion, but it doesn't take long before those two fingers find the sweet spot and stimulate a cascade of pleasurable electricity. In and out they go, aided in their efforts by the squelch of their occupant's excitement. The couch rocks as Jennie arches and bucks wildly, alternating between sporadic whimpers and full on screams of delight.

"I'm so close...so so close..."

Your fingers pull free then another smack against her ass again, interrupting her moment of bliss.

"You think you deserve to cum Jennie? Hmm?"

Jennie answers with an arch to her back, a long, sensual moan that turns into a low pitched growl.

"Yes...Yes...just let me cum please please."

She's grinding at the air, her desperation on full display. You're just a few seconds away from finishing her, of making this cute bitch cry out and go rigid as waves of pleasure radiate all the way from her groin to the rest of her body.

"Feel that pressed against your stomach Jennie? I think you need to suck it. Prove you deserve it."

Her feet meet the ground as she kneels between you legs, and with a final lustful glance, begins to pull away the zipper to your jeans. "You're a real fucker aren't you? Fine, I'll show you."

Down goes your underwear, tossed to the side of the couch, and up Jennie comes with the heaving package in her face. A tiny lick along the bottom of the shaft and then a more robust and adventurous one the entire length. No preamble this time, only the sudden heat and wetness as the girl with a history of petty remarks envelopes your member, coiling her tongue around the sensitive areas and sinking further into your lap.

This girl, Jennie Kim. How can she be so talented at such a crude act? The walls of her mouth shift in a thousand ways as she draws a throaty groan out of you, her tongue expertly knowing all the ways to drive you crazy. This fucking bitch, going deep, purposely drooling all over it, and looking up in satisfaction as she gags and chokes. Up and down she goes, swallowing and sucking back a mouthful every single time she rises. The picture perfect idol, loving nothing more than a throat full of cock, a wide streak of mascara under her eyes and spit all over her face.

The room grows ever hotter, the look in Jennie's eyes begging, imploring for you not to hold back. You sit upright and clutch onto her hair, fingers locking as tight as possible to guide her, taking charge of her bobbing head, sending yourself all the way up to your pelvis. Her arms are limp, her face is a mess, you've reduced a famous singer and model to a panting wreck, and that sight is almost too much.

"Fuck my mouth..." the pleads of the famous superstar when you let her up for air. Her request is granted, her hair gets pulled and the momentum carries your pulsating member all the way to the base. Inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter until the tip of her nose touches the pubic bone and her jaw is stretched as wide as possible, the outline of the member embedded into her throat.

The unholy gags are the hottest fucking thing ever. And the little flutters, her struggle not to cough, the spasms. Jennie Kim, proudest bitch alive. Choking and gagging on your cock, no thoughts in her brain of anything else but to please. She loves it, she wants it. More, more, more, always more, begging with her eyes the only way she could.

With a heavy gasp, you finally let up, letting her burning lungs draw air. While she is a coughing wreck, her face slick with tears and saliva, the thought that fills the forefront of her mind is exactly what's about to happen. The thrill, the idea, the exhilaration, she can't contain the giggling smile.

Jennie was a bad girl, touching herself while you fucked her face, showing off her fingers covered in her own juices and licking them clean. This woman was going to be the end of you, that smirk.

"You and that stupid ass cock." Jennie takes matters into her own hands, straddling your lap, lining up the tip. She's in control, now she'll decide just how far you'll sink into her.

"Dumb fucking whore." Your fingers wrap around her delicate neck. Her eyes widen, not in fear, but in excitement. They darken, her pupils dilating, the clear response to the aggression is reflected in a quickened pulse under the flesh. It isn't surprising the more forceful you get, the wetter she seems to get.

And holy fuck it feels so fucking good, Jennie's lower lips engulfing your tip. The walls of her cavern part and pull you deep within her, her breathing changes pace and volume, whimpering and panting as it sinks in further. She's warm, she's welcoming. Every inch is a bit tighter, the friction causing your heart rate to rise, and her arms, encircling you in a vice grip, coaxing a tighter hold on her throat. You can almost see the lightheaded effect it's having, the subtle shifts in her vision, the dream like daze that accompanies such euphoric sexual bliss.

Up and down Jennie bounces, the tempo of her breathing just a second out of synch, every moan coming just a second later. You don't try to hide your own pleasure either, groaning with a volume only a centimeter away from yelling and definitely noticeable beyond the walls. With a firm slap to the ass, her pussy responds in the best possible way; squeezing tightly for a moment and sending a pleasant shiver down your body.

Jennie fucking Kim. Her tightness, her perky tits, the fucking supermodel and worldwide heartthrob, riding you. That's a story to tell. The sight of this gorgeous bitch bouncing up and down like her life depends on it, the sound of flesh colliding reverberating throughout the room.

Her cries of pleasure come louder, with no sign of the fun ending any time soon. Another thrust and her eyes roll to the top of their sockets. The adorable scrunch in her nose, the contortion of the expression of carnal pleasure, the euphoria right after. The small smirk in the corner of her lips and the grinding of her hips into yours. She's close. Her face gives that away. Her walls pulsate, and if that doesn't sell it the pitch change of the moans certainly do. Her noises shift in timbre. Whines and loud whimpers, the sudden erratic nature.

There's no stopping her now, it's out of your control, and it's fucking beautiful. Jennie fucking Kim, cumming on your lap. Her thighs begin to spasm, a waterfall of juices spilling all the way down to the floor, pooling around your ankles. That fucking face, a cacophony of ecstasy. Then with one final, powerful groan, she suddenly stops. Her eyes shoot open and she curls up, freezing and grinding away. You pull her hair back, forcing the perfect idol to bare her neck and shriek, as her orgasm consumes her senses, her legs thrashing about and toes curled into their arches. Jennie fucking Kim came, her face red and a smile creeping upon the ends of her lips.

It's not over, not even close. Jennie's face a mask of desire, her breathing deep, still needing more, the short, panting breaths catching the tiny pieces of her hair waving across her face.

"Fuck me like you mean it." Jennie goads you on. Your hands wrap around her tiny waist, fingers digging into her flesh, and you start thrusting. Up into her body, down into her lap, each of her downward drops meeting a upward thrust, your hips meeting hers halfway. In no time her squeaky noises are echoing against the walls, your pelvic bones colliding hard, both of your bodies jerking about as you throw everything into each pump. Her eyes turn dark, a drunken gaze. Fuck yes, those lips curling back into a naughty, crazed smile.

"You can't fucking resist it can you?" Jennie screams the question, feeling your hands force her up and slam her back down with your hips surging forward. Her whole body lurching backwards from the impact and then snapping forward from the following motion. Another one, the smack of flesh meeting flesh resounding once more and the squirt of liquids spraying the air and wetting the sides of the couch. Jennie no longer cares, letting her body get fucked and then roughly jammed downwards and impaling herself repeatedly, filling the room with the loud slaps.

"You're nothing but a fucking whore aren't you?" You say it directly to her face and as expected the deprecating talk turns her on like nothing else. A genuine laugh followed by a growl and a "you want this tight pussy all for yourself?"

And another smack, a spank and a squeeze of her delicate ass. Her neck tilts backwards. Yes! Look into those deep pools, her gorgeous, intense stare. Losing control, that face, her mouth, it's open and wet and covered in saliva. That cute kittenish tongue sticking out of the edge of her lips.

Another thrust. Jennie's body flies forward from the impact, a lustful grin stuck on her face, burying your face in her small tits. Her chest jiggles with each pounding, a single moment of freedom followed by an instant of being engulfed in their softness. Those perfect mounds of flesh, enough to drive any sane man or woman mad with obsession, bouncing inches from your eyes, sweat coating their supple surface. Her giggle erupts and she sees that dumb smile plastered all over your face. Her nose rubs against your own. The stare is intense.

"We really fucking hate each other huh?" Jennie teases then goes in for a kiss. A sloppy, messy affair, her nails dig into your back, leaving a series of scratches as her pussy tightens around the engorged member within her. She's cumming again, the contractions drawing out another series of grunts.

"That's right, keep your dumb cock buried inside, you fucking love this tight pussy."

Oh how far this idol has fallen, the foulest mouth coming out the prettiest lips. Then she whispers in your ears to hold her hips tighter and fuck her harder, and fuck did you deliver. Her throaty groans filling your ears, a crescendo and a rapid beating pulse under your palms. You're close, this little superstar making sure you're as deep as you can be and clinging for dear life.

Jennie's hands wrap around your throat, squeezing, choking the life out of you, your vision blurring, and at the same time she's squirting a second wave and shaking violently. Her hips never stop moving, fucking herself silly. She doesn't stop, the nasty smirk has returned and a mumbled string of 'fuck fuck fuck' under her breath.

Jennie fucks you. Those perfect abs, her slim body, the smell of sex radiates all throughout. You're getting lightheaded, this cute piece of ass a violent whirl of raven hair and painful grip. The harder she orgasms, the harder she squeezes your neck. Then, stars start filling your field of vision and your vision goes white, the pulses start firing. Sick sadistic oxygen depravation brings one of the hardest orgasms in your life. That twisted smirk of the psychotic woman, the evil in her gaze as the heat fills the pit of her belly. She feels it, your load splashing inside of her womb. As you release, so do her fingers, the blood rushing back to your brain not a moment too soon.

Her expression, oh how proud she is for her conquest. You couldn't look anywhere else, this perfect devil in front of your eyes. The cute, tingly and erotic feeling flowing from your groin, it never stops and only grows, the continuous shots, emptying everything you have into her. This little fucking bitch, controlling you until the very end.

Jennie fucking Kim sits satisfied as you gasp for air, a mixture of confusion, satisfaction, and pleasure overwhelming your body. That beautiful little smirk, her hips rolling about, enjoying your final twitches before everything softens.

"See, now tell me that wasn't worth the wait."

Jennie collapses forward, a content sigh, a murmur in your ear about how her body feels. Your legs and feet tingle, a sort of numbness and buzz from the powerful waves of euphoria. Jennie stretches like a cat, all while nuzzling against your neck.

She leans in for a kiss, soft, gentle, uncharacteristically kind. Fingers thread into her hair, your palm resting against the side of her neck. She's warm, and tired, the once energetic and brash girl now settling down, almost vulnerable.

"You know why I keep coming back to you?" Jennie seems almost kind, running her hands through your hair and looking at you with loving eyes.

"Must be my big cock." You tease her, pinching her bum, and stealing another kiss in the process.

"Of course you can't be serious for a single fucking minute." Jennie shoves her shoulder against yours. "No you idiot. When we fuck, it's so fucking good. And look at you. Trying to act all tough, but when I tell you to fuck me harder you do just that. And when I tell you just like that you don't change pace for a moment."

The affection, her soft words. Jennie Kim loves to act hard, to show herself off. There's the world's most famous pop star, snuggled into your shoulder. Her finger tracing along the outline of your chin, the last few beads of sweat dripping down her forehead and her eyelashes. Jennie almost looks sweet, smiling down upon you. That signature gummy smile, the tiny dimple on one side. How can someone so rough, have such a charming side?

"Give me your jacket fucker."

Now this, this was much more of a Jennie thing to say. What a cute and silly request after something as passionate as what the two of you did. Jennie's sweat soaked body. Your brain is a fog, still lost in the moment, struggling to take the demand seriously, still looking at those flawless thighs, now tinged pink.

"I can't leave this place looking like this. You're taking me home. Don't think I'm done with you yet." The look in her eyes, that mischievous glimmer. A girl bent on devouring you. Her knee pressed against your crotch drives you back into reality. "Did you not get the fucking memo? Hurry the fuck up."

There is no shortage of nerve in this girl, and fuck if her confidence and commanding tone isn't doing anything for the part of your brain in charge of desire. If anything, you know she's not exaggerating, she still isn't fucking done. Not by a long shot.

It'll be another long night, the same pattern of anger and lust. Spoiled fucking idol Jennie Kim, turning you into a fucking puppet. Letting you do the strangest things to her in the middle of the night. That bitch. That perfect little devil.

And you wouldn't have it any other way...

[kayewrite]

At the same time, I wanna hug you

(...I wanna wrap my hands around your neck)

seungmin x reader!! enemies to lovers troupe!! genre; fluff. word count: 10.7k (long but still not enough)

summary; if you have teleportation powers you would bring seungmin in the middle of ocean and dump him there. that's how much you hated him. but wait.. why he was suddenly cool?

an: you dont know how much i went crazy seeing seungmin in uniform! like babe! why are my classmate not like him? and.. this was a birthday present cause this man just turn half 50 minus 1!! anyways enjoy reading

Kim Seungmin.

You hated that very name.

You hated his existence.

You hated his smirk.

You hated that he breathes.

You hated how he never failed to make your blood boil.

Like now.

You were practically crawling into the classroom, late again, knowing full well the teacher wasn’t going to let it slide this time. Slowly and quietly, you slipped through the back door, hoping to go unnoticed, but your hopes were dashed when Kim Seungmin turned in his seat and caught your eye. His face slowly morphed into that all-too-familiar smirk.

You already knew your fate.

"Ma'am, someone’s late again."

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to punch him as the teacher ordered you to stand and endure a scolding. You stood there, bowing your head like a guilty child while Seungmin chuckled at your misery.

You hated him. You hated him so much you wished for teleportation powers—just so you could dump him in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and teleport back home.

The worst part? You were seatmates. In the one subject that made you contemplate dropping the class every week just to escape him. But no, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You’d endure, just so he wouldn’t win.

"Why were you late again?" he leaned over, asking in the most casual, condescending way possible.

“None of your business,” you rolled your eyes and shifted your chair further away from him.

“Actually, it is my business.” He smirked again, lifting the attendance sheet. “I’m in charge of marking who’s here today, and guess what? I don’t see your name yet. Got a good excuse for me?”

Damn.

You glared at him, wishing your stare could send him straight to the hospital. “I hate you.”

“Oh, I love you too,” he teased, laughing at your frustration.

--

You were minding your own business, erasing the board, when out of nowhere, a crumpled piece of paper hit you square on the head. Annoyed, you turned sharply, searching for the culprit. Your eyes quickly landed on Kim Seungmin, who very obviously averted his gaze and started whistling—like that wasn’t the biggest giveaway ever.

Glaring at him, you felt your temper rise. Without thinking twice, you grabbed the nearest weapon of choice—the chalkboard eraser—and hurled it with full force.

"Hey—!" Seungmin barely had time to react, his hands flying up to shield himself. The eraser still hit him, sending a cloud of chalk dust everywhere.

Minutes later, there he was, sitting in the clinic, sulking like he’d been gravely injured. You stood over him, arms crossed, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous situation.

“You’re such a kid,” you teased, watching as he winced dramatically. “Crying over a tiny little scratch.”

He glared at you, clutching his arm like he’d survived a battle. “Tiny? You nearly broke my arm!”

You smirked, “If I wanted to break your arm, Seungmin, I wouldn’t have used an eraser.”

You and Seungmin fought like kids, constantly bickering and annoying each other to the point where even your classmates didn’t bother stepping in anymore. They’d seen you two nearly throw punches at each other too many times to care.

One day in the cafeteria, you were finally enjoying a moment of peace, savoring your lunch, when Seungmin suddenly plopped down in front of you. He smiled, but there was something odd about it. Well, Seungmin was always odd, but this felt extra weird. He wasn’t even touching his food; he just sat there, staring at you.

"What are you looking at, ugly?" you asked, scowling.

He leaned back casually. "My friends are coming, and we're sitting at this table. It’s up to you if you wanna leave or not."

You blinked, taken aback. "What?! I got here first!"

"Yeah, well," he shrugged nonchalantly, "I don’t care."

Before you could argue further, the cafeteria exploded with noise. His friends had arrived—there was no mistaking it. They were loud, famous, and had an almost cult-like following at school. You could practically hear the high-pitched squeals from the “fandom” as they entered. Without even turning around, you knew it was them.

Your frustration mounted as they surrounded the table, chattering loudly. You weren’t exactly fond of crowds, for that matter. Sitting there, sandwiched between Seungmin and his friends, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

Hyunjin—yes, that Hyunjin—suddenly leaned over, flashing a bright smile. "Hey, what’s your name?"

You nearly choked on your food. Of course, the universe had to pick this moment to be cruel. Before you could respond, Seungmin cut in with a smug grin.

"She’s no one. Don’t mind her," he said, not even sparing you a glance.

Your face flushed with embarrassment and annoyance. You stood up abruptly, knocking over your chair. "I’ve suddenly lost my appetite," you muttered awkwardly before storming off, desperately trying to escape the humiliation.

Why does this always happen to me? you groaned internally. I hate Seungmin. And I hate myself for embarrassing myself in front of my crush… Hyunjin.

If I see that KIM SEUNGMIN later, I’m going to kill him.

Later in class, your chance for revenge came. Seungmin was called on for an oral recitation, and—poetic justice—he stood there, stuttering and completely clueless. You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath as he floundered, finally getting a taste of the embarrassment he loved dishing out.

Justice had never tasted so sweet.

---

"I hope lightning strikes him," you muttered, glaring at Seungmin from a distance as you hugged yourself, shivering from the cold. You were stuck in a waiting shed, the afternoon bringing with it a torrential downpour that looked like the start of a typhoon. The weather had been perfect this morning—sunny, with not a cloud in sight. You'd made the mistake of leaving your umbrella at home, thinking it would only weigh down your bag. Now, you regretted every bit of that decision.

Across the street, Seungmin stood dry under his big, obnoxiously bright umbrella, almost laughing as he caught sight of you. His smug grin was practically glowing, and as if to rub salt in the wound, he waved at you.

You flipped him the finger.

‘When will his time come?’ you wondered bitterly. Why am I always the one who ends up miserable?

The shed's roof was doing a terrible job of keeping the rain out. Water dripped from all angles, splashing around you and soaking your clothes. You glanced up at the leaky ceiling and groaned. When will this stop? you thought—both about the rain and Seungmin.

If the two of you were friends, and if he weren’t the spawn of Lucifer himself, you might’ve swallowed your pride and asked to share his umbrella. Your house was literally just a block away. But no! You would not—under any circumstances—lower yourself to envy his dry, smug self.

You would never give him the satisfaction. Even if it meant sitting here the whole night, soaked and miserable.

Seungmin started walking toward you, his big umbrella swaying with each step. He stopped in front of you with the most annoyingly sarcastic smile.

"You wanna share?" he asked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

You rolled your eyes. "No thanks."

"You sure? The news said the rain’s stopping… tomorrow."

"Even if it never stops for a whole week, Kim Seungmin, I would never!" you snapped, glaring at him.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your misery. "You sure? Last chance."

"Yes!" you practically shouted, arms crossed in defiance.

"Okay." He shrugged, stepping back. "One word is enough for me."

And with that, he turned on his heel and continued on his way, leaving you alone in the rain.

"I won’t regret it!" you yelled after him, though your voice sounded far less confident than before.

Ten minutes later, you were drenched and shivering, cursing under your breath. Regret started to creep in. You glanced down the road—completely empty. Not a single taxi in sight.

"Where are all the taxis when I need them?" you groaned, looking up at the dark, stormy sky.

And so, your day ended just as it began: with Seungmin somehow managing to ruin it.

--

It was Friday, and your first class of the day happened to be the one where your seatmate was none other than him.

Determined not to be late, you arrived twenty minutes early. The classroom was nearly empty, with only a handful of students scattered around. Feeling groggy, you slumped over your desk, letting the quiet atmosphere lull you into a light nap.

Of course, peace never lasted long when Seungmin was involved.

A sharp knock on your desk pulled you from the brink of sleep. You cracked one eye open to see Seungmin settling into the seat beside you, a smug grin already plastered on his face.

"Oh, you’re early today. Were you looking forward to sitting next to me?" he teased, leaning back comfortably as if he hadn't just ruined your peaceful moment.

"It’s still early, Kim Seungmin," you muttered, closing your eyes again. Not today, you thought. You weren’t going to let him ruin your morning. Not this early.

He glanced at his watch with a chuckle. "Well, it’s 10 a.m., and that’s not exactly early, is it?"

"Seungmin, if you’re bored and looking to annoy someone, talk to my hand." Without even opening your eyes, you lazily raised your hand in his direction, palm out.

Just then, Yuna, who sat in front of you, arrived. She took one look at the two of you, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Why are you guys always fighting the moment you see each other?"

You opened one eye, giving her a pleading look. "Can you please let him annoy you instead?"

Yuna just laughed. "Oh, Seungmin wouldn’t annoy anyone else but you." She gave you a knowing smile. "He likes you."

Your eyes shot open at her words, and you squinted at Seungmin, who was now smirking as if he knew exactly how to get under your skin. "Yeah, likes to annoy me," you huffed, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

Seungmin shrugged, leaning in a little closer just to provoke you. "Well, yeah, I like it sooo much," he laughed, clearly amused by your reaction.

Yuna, now used to your bickering, just shrugged and turned her attention to the front of the classroom, leaving you to deal with him.

You let out a sigh, hoping that Seungmin would leave you alone for at least a minute. "Is there any chance you’ll be quiet today?"

He pretended to think for a moment. "Hmm, nope."

You groaned, dropping your head back onto your desk. "Why do you even sit next to me?"

"Fate," he said casually, glancing over as if he hadn’t just said the most ridiculous thing ever.

You shot him a disbelieving look. "What?"

"It’s fate," he repeated with a smirk. "Out of all the seats in this entire classroom, I ended up next to you. Don’t you think that means something?"

"Yeah, it means I’m cursed."

He laughed, the sound annoyingly cheerful, and leaned in closer. "Maybe, or maybe you’re just lucky to have me next to you."

"Lucky isn’t the word I’d use."

Before he could respond, the classroom started filling up, and the teacher finally arrived. You sent a silent prayer of thanks, hoping class would be a break from Seungmin’s endless teasing.

“…you will do this assignment by pairs. To speed things up, partner with your seatmate.”

It was nothing new to be stuck with your enemy, but when you realized that the activity involved a short roleplay drama, you felt a surge of panic. Acting alongside him was nowhere on your bucket list of things to do—if you even had a bucket list.

“Maam, can I exchange my partner?” you raised your hand, desperation evident in your voice.

“Ouch, you hurt my feelings!” Seungmin clutched his chest dramatically, feigning offense.

“What’s wrong with your partner?” the teacher asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sometimes you wondered why everyone seemed to love this annoying dog sitting next to you.

With no choice left, you begrudgingly held the script with a scowl. When would you ever have a peaceful day in class? Why did you have to pretend to be in love with this guy?

“Come on, read your line!” Seungmin demanded, his annoyance bubbling over.

Of all the choices in your teacher's fishbowl, you’d drawn the romantic scene everyone praying not to get. You would have preferred a horror script over this.

“I don’t want to!” you protested, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Well, you have to! It’s your fault for picking it!” he shot back, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I told you to pick it!” you replied, frustration mounting.

“And then I’d be the one to blame? We don’t have a choice but to do well.” He leaned back, crossing his arms smugly.

“Ugh! I hate you so much!” you exclaimed, slumping back in your seat.

“Well, you have to love me now.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying your misery.

“What did I do in my past life to deserve this?” You groaned, reading the lines again.

“Probably killed someone,” he quipped, shooting you a knowing look.

You glared at him, and he immediately raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing.

“Oh, apologies. Let’s practice! You don’t have a choice; it’s either fail or just accept it.”

“I hate you.”

“I accept it, Juliet.” He grinned, clearly relishing your frustration.

Thankfully, the teacher had given you a week to prepare, which meant you never took practicing seriously after that.

“We’ll practice tomorrow,” Seungmin stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I have something to do tomorrow,” you said nonchalantly, hoping to deter him.

“I have things too, but I want good grades, so you have to come.” He started packing his things away.

“Hey, Seungmin!” You both turned at the sound of his friend’s voice. It was Hyunjin, accompanied by Felix and Jisung. You straightened up, suddenly conscious of your appearance.

“Let’s go somewhere!” Jisung draped an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders.

“I have important things to do,” Seungmin replied, and Jisung pouted in response.

“Oh, it was you in the cafeteria the other day,” Hyunjin said, looking right at you. It took you a moment to process that he was talking to you.

“Um…” Your voice faltered. “Yes?”

Hyunjin smiled at you, and you felt your heart race.

“Guys, wait for me outside. You just sneaked into my classroom,” Seungmin laughed, and his friends complied, heading for the door.

You were still catching your breath from the interaction when Seungmin turned back, grinning at you. “So, Hyunjin is your crush?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Oh no! Seungmin had caught on!

“Of course, I’m not!” you blurted out, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Why are you saying ‘I’m not’ in such an awkward way?” He laughed, clearly enjoying this new revelation. “Then it is true!”

“Please don’t tell him!” You pleaded, realizing you were losing this battle.

“Of course I won’t…” He smiled coyly, “…I won’t do what you ask.” Then, with a laugh, he tossed his bag over his shoulder and dashed out the door.

“Oh, damn…” You froze in your seat, panic setting in.

“See you at practice tomorrow!” Seungmin waved annoyingly from the doorway, clearly aware that you had no choice but to comply.

As the door swung shut behind him, you sank back into your chair, contemplating your fate. Tomorrow was going to be a nightmare.

--

You arrived at his house and rang the doorbell repeatedly, knowing he would probably just hear it and take his sweet time.

“You’re late,” he said with a smug smile when he finally opened the gate.

“I’m not,” you insisted, holding your wrist up to show him your watch, the sleek silver face gleaming in the sunlight.

“You’re late by 58 seconds,” he replied, crossing his arms as if he were judging your punctuality.

“What?! It’s not my fault you opened your gate late!” You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

He chuckled at your annoyed expression, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Come in.”

“Not like I have a choice,” you muttered, stepping inside.

It was your first time in his house, and you weren’t surprised by how nice it was. The exterior was already immaculate, and the inside was just as polished—walls adorned with family photos and art that hinted at a cozy atmosphere. But you would never admit that to him.

“My parents aren’t home; they have work,” he said, glancing around the living room as if to check for any potential chaos.

“No one asked,” you shot back, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement.

“Just wanted to let you know in case you try to kill me; there’s a CCTV camera around,” he said, half-serious.

“Oh, great. Just what I need,” you replied dryly, shaking your head.

He headed to the kitchen, presumably to get something to drink, giving you a moment to explore. You took the chance to glance at the pictures displayed throughout the room. One photo caught your eye—him as a child, beaming with joy as he played in a park.

When he returned, you pointed to the picture near the TV. “Is that you?”

“Obviously,” he said, rolling his eyes, his tone laced with playful sarcasm.

You squinted at the picture, then turned to him, suddenly serious. “I mean… will there ever be a time for us to stop bickering, even just for a bit? I'm trying to start a normal conversation here”

“Will there be?” he countered, sitting beside you with a teasing grin, his body relaxed as he leaned back.

“Yeah, right. Never,” you replied, smirking despite yourself.

He handed you the printed script he’d prepared, the edges slightly crinkled. “Why are we putting so much effort into this? It’s just reading the script, not really acting it out.”

“Because I have a goal grade, unlike you,” he said matter-of-factly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Have you forgotten I’m an achiever too?” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly.

When would this bickering ever end?

“Hyunjin is coming,” he announced suddenly, the air in the room shifting.

“No one asked--” You paused, then asked, “Wait what?!”

“So you should behave if you don’t want to scare him off,” he added, the grin still plastered on his face.

“Seungmin, why would you do that?!” You lightly slapped him on the shoulder, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“Because… I can?” He laughed, shielding himself playfully. “I mean, what’s wrong with inviting a friend? He's good at acting he can help”

“I hate you so much,” you groaned, exasperation creeping into your tone.

Hyunjin had been your crush for as long as you could remember, and the thought of him being in the same space as you made your stomach flutter with nerves. He was perfect in every way—charismatic, charming, and completely out of your league.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Seungmin teased, leaning closer with that infuriating grin. “Oh, I forgot—you like him, right?”

You responded by giving him another light shove, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. It was always like this between you two—endless banter, lighthearted teasing, but the presence of Hyunjin added a layer of awkwardness you couldn’t quite shake.

You both settled onto the couch, the printed script between you. Seungmin glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Okay, let’s get this over with. You read Juliet’s lines, and I’ll read Romeo’s,” he said, smirking.

“Fine, but don’t mess it up,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure.

You started reading through the script, your voice steady but laced with a hint of nervousness. “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes dramatically. “Wow, so poetic. Just make sure you don’t faint from all that romance.”

You shot him a glare. “Shut up, Romeo.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. Your heart raced. Hyunjin was here.

“See? You should behave,” Seungmin teased, nudging your shoulder.

You threw him a playful glare, then he rushed to open the door. There stood Hyunjin, looking effortlessly cool, his smile warm as he greeted you both. “Hey! Ready to practice?”

“Uh, yeah! Come in!” you said, trying to keep your cool but feeling the heat creep into your cheeks.

Seungmin sauntered over, clearly relishing the moment. “Hyunjin! Glad you could join us! We were just getting to the juicy parts.”

You shot him a warning look, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass you. Hyunjin, however, seemed unfazed. “Nice! I can help you both with the romantic scenes if you want.”

You nodded eagerly. “That would be great! I need help with… you know, acting like I’m in love.” You winced at how obvious that sounded.

Hyunjin grinned, moving to sit across from you. “Alright, let’s try a scene. Here’s the famous balcony part. Juliet says, ‘O, for a falconer’s voice to lure this tassel-gentle back again.’”

You felt your heart flutter. “I’ll try,” you said, taking a deep breath. “O, for a falconer’s voice to lure this tassel-gentle back again!”

Hyunjin smiled, then gestured for you to continue. “And then Romeo responds with, ‘I would not for the world they saw thee here.’”

Seungmin picked up the line, and you both began to read, the atmosphere shifting as you focused on the scene. You felt a playful energy in the air, the tension of performing lifting your spirits.

“‘I would not for the world they saw thee here,’” Seungmin said, his voice low and earnest.

You replied, “Then there’s no need to be ashamed,” trying to put as much emotion into it as possible.

Hyunjin clapped after your line. “That was great! You both looked really good together!”

You and Seungmin exchanged a quick look. “No!” you both said in unison.

Hyunjin chuckled, clearly entertained by your synchronized denial. “Really, it’s just acting! But seriously, you guys have good chemistry.”

“Thanks!” you said, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pride.

“Alright, let’s keep practicing!” Hyunjin suggested, eager to dive back into the script.

You focused on the lines, the playful banter keeping the atmosphere light. As you practiced, you couldn’t help but enjoy the moment, the camaraderie making the task feel less like a chore and more like fun.

With Hyunjin guiding you, you felt more confident as you delivered your lines, ready to tackle the performance together.

--

The days passed in a blur as you and Seungmin practiced again at his house. You settled into a routine, the playful banter punctuating your rehearsals, and surprisingly, you started to enjoy the time spent together.

Finally, the day of the presentation arrived. As you stood in front of the class, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement. When it was your turn to deliver your lines, you poured your heart into the performance, channeling every emotion.

To your surprise, Yuna leaned over after the presentation and whispered, “It wasn’t like you were entering each other’s nerves at all!” Her compliment made you beam with pride.

Seungmin, too, impressed you with his serious demeanor. For once, he seemed genuinely focused, and seeing him so dedicated made you realize how much he cared about doing well. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for both of you.

After the applause died down, your teacher announced, “I’m pleased to inform you all that I have chosen actors for the upcoming school play, and I choose…” She paused dramatically, glancing between you and Seungmin, “…you two!”

A wave of excitement surged through you, quickly followed by a burst of playful competitiveness. “See? You should thank me for picking a role that suits us both,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I’m grateful, alright. I forgot for a moment how you despise your pick. In fact, I’m so happy I’m going to treat you to cake and coffee.”

“Yes!” you replied enthusiastically, unable to hide your grin. “I deserve a treat after all that hard work!”

“Sure, but only because I can’t let my scene partner go hungry,” he said, winking.

As you both headed out, the bickering continued, light-hearted and familiar, but beneath it was a shared joy that made the moment all the more special. You couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this experience was bringing you closer, even if you would never admit it.

At the café, the atmosphere buzzed with chatter and the rich aroma of coffee. You and Seungmin settled into a cozy corner, the tension from earlier melted away as you both began to chat more easily.

“So, do you actually love acting?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Absolutely!” you replied, a grin spreading across your face. “I’ve always idolized Emma Watson. I mean, come on, I look just like her!” You struck a dramatic pose, fluttering your eyelashes.

Seungmin looked at you, clearly unconvinced, with a “Are you kidding me?” expression. You burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the café.

“Okay, maybe not exactly like her,” you admitted, trying to catch your breath. “But a girl can dream, right?”

“Sure, if dreaming means torturing the rest of us,” he shot back with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Anyway, I’m planning to major in acting when I get to college. It’s my dream!”

“Nice! I like acting too, but I’m thinking about majoring in music,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Wait, you? You know how to sing?” You raised an eyebrow, unable to hide your skepticism.

“Wanna hear?” he challenged, a playful glint in his eye.

“Please no!” you teased, dramatically placing your hand on your heart. “I’d rather sleep forever than listen to your singing.”

Seungmin laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so mean! I think it would be the opposite”

“Mean? I’m just saving you from embarrassment,” you shot back with a grin. “You should thank me!”

"you'll regret what you're saying when I become famous."

As you exchanged playful banter, you realized that this was your way of connecting. The teasing and light insults had become second nature, and somehow, the hurtful words didn’t sting anymore. Instead, they felt like an essential part of your friendship, a comfortable rhythm that made you both laugh.

“Seriously though,” you said, softening a bit, “I think it’s awesome that you’re into music. We’ll be the dynamic duo of arts!”

“Absolutely! Just don’t expect me to duet with you anytime soon,” he joked, raising his cup in a mock toast.

“Deal!” you laughed, feeling lighter than you had in a long time.

--

As the practice for the play approached, your schedule became packed, leaving little time for anything else. Excitement bubbled inside you, especially since Hyunjin, a year ahead of you, was also in the cast. You could hardly wait for the next rehearsal.

One day, while waiting for practice to start, you found yourself lost in thought, staring at Hyunjin as he chatted with some friends. Seungmin, ever the observant one, caught you in the act.

“You look like a lovesick puppy,” he teased, a playful grin stretching across his face.

You quickly snapped out of your daydream, narrowing your eyes at him. “Shut up! I’m not!” You playfully punched his arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point.

“Uh-huh, sure,” he laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“You’re just jealous that I’m not staring at you like that!”

As partners playing lovers in the play, you often imagined being paired with Hyunjin. But the teacher had chosen Seungmin, and surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as you expected. You’d gotten used to the banter, and the awkwardness faded as practice continued.

Days passed, filled with rehearsals that drew you closer to Seungmin. The bickering remained, a constant source of amusement.

During one practice, while the two of you were warming up, Seungmin leaned over to Hyunjin, a mischievous smile on his face. “Hyunjin, have you already eaten? This monkey here asks,” he said, pointing at you as if you were some sort of pet.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “I am! Thank you for asking!” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, and she also said you were handsome,” Seungmin added, clearly enjoying the moment.

You felt your cheeks flush, and in a mock fit of outrage, you dashed toward him. “Seungmin!” you yelled, but he was quicker. He took off running, his laughter echoing through the practice room.

When you finally caught up to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck in a playful hug, making him squirm. “You’re such a tormentor!” you laughed, shaking him lightly.

From across the room, Hyunjin watched the whole scene unfold, a smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure they hate each other?” asked the director, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

Hyunjin just nodded, clearly entertained. “Definitely yes!” he replied, chuckling at your playful dynamic.

As you and Seungmin continued to tease each other, you realized that despite the playful bickering, there was an undeniable comfort between you—something that made every rehearsal just a little bit brighter.

---

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, and there you were, standing under a shed, glaring at the gray sky as if it were personally responsible for your soaked shoes. You had forgotten your umbrella—again.

As you waited, shivering slightly from the cold, you spotted Seungmin in the distance, standing confidently under a bright yellow umbrella. He was teasingly waving it over his head, a smirk plastered on his face as he called out, “Looks like someone forgot their umbrella again!”

You rolled your eyes and shot him a finger. “Very funny, Seungmin!”

He sauntered over, his grin widening with each step. "You wanna share?"

You rolled your eyes. "No thanks." you replied, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Okay, then. One word is enough for me.” He turned to leave, an exaggerated pout on his lips.

You hesitated for a moment, watching him walk away. “Wait!” you called out, and he turned back, an annoying smile in his lips. “Fine! We can share!”

Seungmin’s face broke into a triumphant grin as he rushed back to your side, positioning the umbrella over both of you. As you walked together, the atmosphere shifted from frustration to lightheartedness, laughter spilling out between the two of you.

“My shoulder is now wet,” Seungmin complained, feigning annoyance as he brushed water off his shirt.

“Is it my fault that you work out so much? Your shoulders are just too broad!” you shot back, unable to suppress a grin.

“Did you just compliment me?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Ugh, it wasn’t a compliment!” you retorted, trying to keep a straight face.

“Then I’ll just have to embrace this wetness!” he said cheerfully, adjusting the umbrella with exaggerated flair. Before you knew it, he leaned closer, and water dripped off his shoulder, splashing onto you.

You burst into laughter, shoving him playfully. “You idiot!”

Seungmin laughed too, chasing after you as you dashed away, your heart racing with excitement. The rain seemed to fade into the background, the only sound being your giggles and the splatter of water against the pavement.

“You’re going to pay for that!” he yelled, laughter echoing through the downpour.

Just as you turned to look back, he splashed a wave of water right at you, soaking you completely. You retaliated, grabbing a handful of rainwater and splashing it back at him.

The playful battle raged on, and soon both of you were drenched, shivering yet exhilarated.

---

It was two weeks before the big play, and you were laser-focused on perfecting every detail. The pressure was on, and you found yourself spending more time practicing than ever. You wanted everything to be perfect, especially with the role you were playing. Seungmin, of course, was your partner in most scenes, so you had to rehearse together.

But as you delivered your lines, standing face-to-face with Seungmin, it became harder and harder to stay serious. Seungmin kept pulling funny faces behind his lines, causing you to break character and burst into laughter.

“Direct, please, punch him or something!” you whined dramatically, throwing your hands up. “He won’t stop!”

The director, seeing your exaggerated reaction, just chuckled. Meanwhile, the rest of the cast erupted in laughter.

"I’m serious now! I promise!" Seungmin said, shrugging off his antics.

You tried to continue, but the minute you looked at his serious face, you couldn’t hold back your laughter again. His deadpan expression was just too much.

“Okay, okay,” you said, wiping away a tear from laughing too hard. “Let’s take five. I need to compose myself.”

You sat down in the corner, still laughing. Seungmin joined you, shaking his head with a grin.

“Why are you always like this?” you asked, playfully slapping his arm. “We’re supposed to be professional!”

“Hey! I’m doing great! You’re the one laughing!” he protested with a smirk.

You couldn't deny it—something had shifted between you and Seungmin lately. There was this playful, easygoing dynamic now, and to your surprise, you liked it. You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but the tension between the two of you had somehow dissolved, leaving behind a strange sort of camaraderie. And it felt... right.

---

Late again. You were quietly crawling your way toward your seat, praying that Seungmin wouldn’t notice. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be too preoccupied to see you sneaking in. But no such luck. Just as you thought you were in the clear, you saw Seungmin glancing in your direction, that infamous smirk already forming on his face. You knew that look all too well—he was up to something.

Desperate, you shot him a pleading look, mouthing a dramatic “Nooo,” and shaking your head in an exaggerated fashion. But the smirk only widened as he raised his hand.

“Ma'am!”

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the inevitable scolding. This is it, you thought. I’m done.

But instead, Seungmin’s voice rang out casually, “I forgot to give you the assignments I collected from the class.”

Your eyes flew open in shock. What?

“Oh right! Thank you, Seungmin, for the reminder.” The teacher smiled at him, clearly appreciating the help.

Seungmin stood up, cool as ever, handing over the pile of papers. He sat back down, a faint smirk still on his lips as if nothing unusual had happened.

You slid into your seat cautiously, your heart still racing. You glanced over at Seungmin, who met your gaze with a quick wink before turning back to his notebook. That was... new, you thought, utterly confused.

--

Practice resumed as usual, and you started to get into the flow of things. You liked rehearsing for the play more than you thought you would, especially with the creative freedom you were given. The only downside? Seungmin never missed an opportunity to get under your skin.

As you entered the practice room, sporting your freshly cut hair, Seungmin immediately took notice.

He eyed you up and down, a teasing grin already forming on his lips. “You know,” he began, casually leaning back in his chair, “short hair doesn’t really suit you.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where this was headed. “What are you talking about? I look pretty in it,” you shot back confidently, placing your hands on your hips.

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, the playful grin still firmly in place. “Pretty? More like you look like a monkey who tried to give itself a haircut.”

“Excuse me?” You gasped, pretending to be scandalized. “I do not look like a monkey.”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,” Seungmin shrugged, clearly enjoying how flustered you were getting. He leaned closer, dropping his voice dramatically. “But just so you know, if we ever put you in a zoo, you’d fit right in.”

You gasped again, this time more dramatically, then pointed at him with a mock serious expression. “You’re just jealous because I’m out here looking cute and you can’t handle it.”

“Cute?” Seungmin laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Whatever, I know the truth. You’re just afraid to admit that I’m rocking this look,” you teased back, refusing to back down.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming, monkey,” he said, chuckling softly as you narrowed your eyes at him.

--

Another day in class, you were erasing the board when something hit the back of your head. Startled, you spun around, spotting Seungmin sitting there, whistling innocently. It was the most obvious thing ever—he didn’t even try to hide it.

You glared at him, trying to keep your cool. ‘Let it go’, you thought. ‘Don’t give him the satisfaction’. But then, another paper ball hit you.

"Seriously?" you muttered under your breath, turning to give him a sharp look.

This time, Seungmin didn’t bother pretending. He smiled and pointed to the paper ball on the floor. “Read it,” he said, nodding toward the crumpled note.

You raised your hand, ready to throw the eraser at him with full force.

“Wait!” Seungmin said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. “Just read it, will you?”

With a dramatic sigh, you picked up the paper, unfolding it. Written in his messy handwriting were the words: “Let’s eat. My treat.”

Before you could react, Jisung, who had been quietly observing the whole scene, burst into laughter. “What kind of lame drama am I witnessing?” he cackled.

You whipped around and threw the eraser at him instead, hitting him square in the shoulder. “Mind your own business, Jisung!”

“Hey! I’m just saying!” Jisung grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos.

Later that afternoon, you and Seungmin found yourselves at a seafood restaurant. Well, it was supposed to be Seungmin’s treat, but somehow the two of you ended up bickering over who would pay. Cause you wanna pay too.

“Let’s settle this the mature way—rock, paper, scissors,” Seungmin proposed, holding out his fist.

“Fine,” you agreed, thinking you had a good chance.

You both threw out your hands, and you won.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, triumph coursing through you for about five seconds. But then Seungmin began to order.

He grinned, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret that.”

You frowned, confusion creeping in as the waiter approached. Seungmin rattled off an absurd number of dishes—enough to feed an entire village.

“Seungmin,” you hissed, eyes wide in disbelief, “do you really need to order enough food for 30 people?”

Seungmin leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed. “You said it was your treat. I’m just taking full advantage.”

You pouted, crossing your arms defiantly. “This isn’t fair. You’re evil.”

“Evil? No way,” he laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I prefer the term ‘strategically gifted.’”

As the waiter left with the long list of orders, you grumbled, “You should’ve thought about that before challenging me.”

In the end, Seungmin ended up paying for most of it, but you insisted on contributing, stubbornly pushing a few bills his way. He didn’t argue too much, shaking his head with an amused smile. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“Of course! If I’m going to be broke, I might as well be happy about it,” you retorted, a grin spreading across your face.

Seungmin laughed, clearly entertained by your determination. “Fair enough. Next time, I’ll just let you win without a fight.”

“Deal! But only if you promise not to order enough food for a small army,” you teased, raising your glass in a mock toast.

“Challenge accepted,” he replied, clinking his glass against yours, both of you laughing at the absurdity of it all.

--

Another rehearsal, and you were sitting on the sidelines, legs crossed as you watched your classmates perform. You had just finished your scene and were still buzzing from the energy of it all. The lights cast a warm glow on the stage, and you found yourself quietly admiring the atmosphere, the stars of the production shining brightly in your eyes.

Suddenly, the director's voice broke through your thoughts. “Seungmin, can you step in as the main character for a bit? Our lead’s absent today.”

“Sure,” Seungmin replied, standing up with an easy confidence. He made his way to the center of the stage, and you prepared for him to be awkward or hesitant. Instead, he surprised you.

As he took his place, he transformed. His movements were smooth and assured, his voice resonating with sincerity. You couldn’t help but lean forward, captivated. He moved across the stage effortlessly, delivering his lines with an authenticity that made you forget you were watching your friend.

Wow, he was really talented.

You shook your head slightly, trying to push the thought away. No way could you think Seungmin was handsome. That was just absurd.

Then came a scene where he had to hug the female lead. As he pulled her into a gentle embrace, your heart gave a small, inexplicable flutter. The warmth of his presence seemed to radiate even from where you sat, and you felt an unfamiliar tightening in your stomach.

You tried to shrug it off, focusing on the performance, but the feeling lingered, swirling with an odd mix of admiration and something else entirely. Watching him, you realized you were seeing a different side of Seungmin—one that was undeniably charismatic and captivating.

The rehearsal continued, but you found it harder to concentrate, your thoughts drifting back to the way he had held her, how effortlessly he embodied the character. What was happening to you? You glanced away, trying to regain your composure, but the strange flutter remained, echoing in your mind long after the scene ended.

You were still lost in thought about the rehearsal when Hyunjin sat down beside you. “You look really pretty with your hair like that,” he commented with a smile.

You blushed at the compliment, glancing down. “Thanks! Seungmin said it doesn’t suit me.”

Hyunjin chuckled softly. “Seungmin? He’s just teasing you. That’s his way of telling you he likes it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Definitely,” Hyunjin replied with a smirk. “He wouldn’t bother teasing you if he didn’t like it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He always tease me.”

Hyunjin leaned back, still smiling. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

“We’re neighbors,” you explained. “Since elementary school. We were always competing—who could get the best grades, who could finish their homework first. It’s been like that forever.”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Do you hate him?”

You laughed, thinking for a moment. “If I could push him off a cliff, I probably would.”

Hyunjin grinned. “Would you really, though?”

You hesitated, suddenly unsure. “...yes,” you admitted, half-joking.

Hyunjin chuckled, clearly sensing something. “Well, I hope I don’t hear about you two pushing each other off cliffs anytime soon.”

You shrugged with a playful smile. “No promises.”

--

Later, you were eating peacefully in the cafeteria, minding your own business, when Seungmin plopped his tray down across from you. He sat down without a word, digging into his food.

You raised an eyebrow, already knowing what was coming. “Let me guess... your friends are coming?”

Seungmin glanced at you lazily, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. “No, they don’t wanna see you.”

You pouted, pretending to be offended. “I miss Hyunjin.”

“Then ask him out,” Seungmin replied lazily, taking a bite of his bread.

You paused mid-bite, your eyes narrowing as you stared at him. “You think I have a chance with him?”

Seungmin smirked, shaking his head. “No, he hates monkeys like you who throw erasers at people.”

You gasped, glaring at him. “I do not look like a monkey!”

“Sure, whatever helps you,” Seungmin teased, his grin widening. “And for the record, Hyunjin’s probably just being nice.”

You frowned, “He said I was pretty with my new haircut.”

Seungmin scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how much he lies? He probably tells that to everyone.”

You didn’t bother arguing. Instead, you decided to change tactics. “Help me get him to go out with me, then.”

Seungmin snorted. “Do it on your own. You’re big enough for that.”

You groaned dramatically, leaning across the table toward him. “If you help me, I’ll buy you something. Anything you want.”

Seungmin looked at you, considering it for a moment before shrugging. “Buy me a house."

You rolled your eyes, giving him a deadpan stare. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying how easily you gave up. “Good luck, Juliet.”

--

It was Friday again, and somehow, you found yourself seated next to Seungmin—again. This time, however, you arrived early, a full thirty minutes ahead of your usual time. Feeling tired, you laid your head on the desk, hoping to catch a quick nap.

Just as you were dozing off, you felt a sharp knock on the desk, startling you awake. You looked up to see Seungmin grinning down at you, clearly enjoying your misery.

“Missing me that much, huh?” he teased. “You’re thirty minutes earlier than usual.”

You groaned, rubbing your eyes. “We basically see each other every day. I’m already sick of it,” you replied with a shrug.

Seungmin chuckled, settling into his seat beside you. “You’ll survive. Anyway, I need to copy your assignment.”

You blinked, sitting up straight. “We had an assignment?”

“Seriously?” Seungmin raised an eyebrow, holding back a laugh. He reached into his bag and pulled out his own paper, handing it to you. “Here, just copy mine before Ma’am shows up.”

You took the paper from him, still confused. “Wait, I thought you said you didn’t do the assignment either?”

“I forgot that I had,” Seungmin said casually, smirking. “Now hurry up before it’s too late.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your pen and started copying the assignment, scribbling quickly while glancing at the door every few seconds to make sure the teacher wasn’t close. As you worked, you couldn’t help but notice the shift between you and Seungmin. There was a time when you would’ve refused to help him—or worse, argued with him endlessly. But now? It felt... different. There was a weird sense of comfort in these small moments.

"What now? does our fighting over who finish assignments first done?" you laugh,

"Then give me back my paper. I've changed my mind."

You didn’t hate it. In fact, you kind of liked it.

--

 Seungmin was sipping on his water bottle backstage when Hyunjin approached him, all casual as ever.

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin started, leaning against the wall beside him. “Do you like her?”

Seungmin paused mid-sip, glancing sideways at Hyunjin with a raised brow. “What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin gave him a knowing look. “I’ve known you for years, dude. I know when you like someone.”

Seungmin snorted, trying to brush it off. “Why would that matter to you?”

“Well,” Hyunjin said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “if I asked her out, would you get mad?”

Seungmin’s eyes widened slightly before he quickly masked it, his expression turning nonchalant. “Why would I care?”

Hyunjin tilted his head, smirking as if testing Seungmin’s reaction. “Really?”

Seungmin waved his hand dismissively, though his jaw tightened slightly. “What am I, a matchmaker for you two? Why are you even asking for my opinion? I don’t care.”

Hyunjin chuckled and slung an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders. “Thanks, bro. That’s all I needed to know.”

As Hyunjin walked away, Seungmin clenched his water bottle a little too tightly. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more—the fact that Hyunjin seemed interested in you, or the fact that you two were making him feel like some kind of third wheel. Whatever it was, it was starting to get under his skin.

--

Seungmin was making his way back to the classroom, balancing a small box of milk he’d grabbed for you from the cafeteria. He'd overheard you mention wanting one earlier, so without a second thought, he picked one up, hoping to surprise you.

As he neared the classroom door, he paused when he heard your voice. You were deep in conversation with one of your friends, and for some reason, curiosity got the better of him. He stood just outside, hidden by the doorframe, listening.

"Why do you hate Seungmin so much, anyway?" your friend asked.

Seungmin’s ears perked up at the question, his grip tightening around the milk carton. He wasn’t sure why he was still standing there, but he couldn’t move. He just waited.

You sighed before answering, "He's so annoying. Always teasing me, always acting like he’s better than me. He’s infuriating."

Each word hit him harder than he expected, like tiny jabs that made his heart sink deeper and deeper. He already knows this what you felt for him but he doesn't know why it still hurts. He could feel his chest tighten, his breath coming out a little shallower as he stayed rooted to the spot.

But then you added something else, something he missed. A quieter tone followed the harshness of your earlier words. It was softer, almost like you were reflecting on something.

"Lately though... I don’t know. I guess I’ve started to see that maybe he’s not that bad."

But Seungmin didn’t hear those words. He had already turned away, stepping back before he could catch the change in your tone. His heart, now heavier, urged him to walk in the opposite direction, so that’s exactly what he did. The milk, once meant to be a small gesture of kindness, now felt pointless in his hand.

PE class rolled around, and with no rehearsal scheduled, you entered the gym, spotting Seungmin as usual. You both ended up being partners again—something that had become routine at this point. There were no protests, no over-the-top objections. Just quiet acceptance.

The first activity was jogging, but you immediately noticed something was off. Normally, Seungmin would be teasing you the whole time, making snarky comments about how slow you were. But today, he was silent.

"One minute," you said, reading his time on the stopwatch. Normally, this would prompt a laugh from him, followed by some sarcastic remark about how you'd be the first one caught in a zombie apocalypse.

But today, he just nodded and moved on to the next activity without a word. Weird.

The next exercise was push-ups. You barely managed four before collapsing, groaning in exhaustion. Seungmin, on the other hand, breezed through twenty without breaking a sweat. You tried to compliment him in a lowkey way, but he didn’t react—just kept going like a machine.

What is up with him?

Then came the sit-ups. You held down Seungmin’s toes, though it didn’t seem like he needed any help. His form was perfect, and he didn’t even look your way. The proximity of the exercise made you search for his eyes, but every time you tried to make eye contact, he avoided looking at you.

When it was your turn, you felt exhausted by your fifth sit-up, and Seungmin held your toes firmly in place. This time, he watched you more intently, though you couldn’t see him since you were focusing on the exercise. Only when you glanced up did he quickly avert his gaze.

After class, you caught him trying to leave and stopped him in his tracks.

“Seungmin, what’s going on with you?” you asked, planting yourself in front of him.

He gave you a blank look. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re acting... weirdly weird today. Did something happen?”

Seungmin sighed, clearly not in the mood for a conversation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly, brushing past you.

You caught his arm before he could fully walk away. “Hey, you can talk to me. If something’s wrong, just tell me.”

He paused, looking at you for a moment with an unreadable expression before saying coldly, “Why would I? We’re not friends.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You froze, watching as he walked away, feeling a strange pang in your chest.

Later, you sat next to Hyunjin, watching Seungmin perform his scenes on stage. He still ignored you, going through the motions of his role flawlessly, but there was no denying the distance between you now. The way he looked past you, as if you weren’t there, made you feel... sad.

“What’s up with him?” you muttered to Hyunjin. “He’s been acting strange all day.”

Hyunjin smirked. “He’s probably mad about what I told him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What did you tell him?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, leaning closer. “I told him I like you. And that I was going to ask you out.”

You blinked in surprise, staring at him. “Wait... what?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why else would he be jealous?”

“Jealous?” you repeated, confused. “Why would he be jealous?”

Hyunjin let out a soft laugh. “I don’t know if you and Seungmin are both idiots, or if you’re just blind.”

“Ouch,” you said, feigning offense, though your mind was spinning. Jealous? Seungmin?

Hyunjin’s laugh faded into a small smile, and after a moment of silence, he sighed. “Wow, my confession really flew under the radar, huh?”

You looked at him, feeling a little guilty. Oh... right. His confession.

You smiled awkwardly. “Wait, was it serious? Or were you just joking?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “You think I’m a joker like that puppy?” He nodded toward Seungmin, who was still on stage.

Normally, this would be the moment where you’d blush, stammer, and lose your mind. But something didn’t feel right. There was something nagging at you, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I...”

Before you could respond, Hyunjin raised a hand, cutting you off. “Actually, you know what? Don’t answer me yet. I’ll wait until after the play presentation.”

He smiled, and you smiled back, though it felt forced.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m just getting my water bottle,” Seungmin’s voice broke the moment as he stepped between you two, grabbing his bottle.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he was gone before you could. You stared after him, feeling more confused than ever.

-

In the past, this type of bickering was normal between you two. You had always gotten on each other's nerves, and usually, you'd be happy to ignore him, savoring the peace and quiet. But this time felt different. Why were you so affected by his silence? Why did it feel like a hollow pit had formed in your chest, waiting for him to fill it? You hated him, didn’t you? You used to hate him—right? But now, all you felt was a growing sense of confusion and frustration, like you were waiting for something that never came.

Seungmin had been avoiding you for three days now, and at first, you brushed it off, assuming he had something on his mind. But as time went on, the weight of his silence pressed harder. It wasn’t just affecting the play—it was affecting you. His avoidance felt more personal than it ever had before, and it gnawed at you until you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

"Seungmin, let's talk." You caught up to him backstage, your voice firmer than usual, trying to mask the vulnerability you were starting to feel.

"Why?" he responded coldly, not even looking in your direction.

You blinked, taken aback by the sharpness of his tone. "What do you mean, 'why'? We obviously need to talk about something."

"I don't want to," he replied like a stubborn child, folding his arms defensively.

You groaned, frustration bubbling inside you. "Stop giving me that bratty attitude, Seungmin. Let's just talk, okay?" Without thinking, you grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the exit door for privacy.

Once you were both outside, you turned to face him, still gripping his wrist. "Are you angry at me?" you asked softly, though the edge of desperation in your voice betrayed you.

Seungmin pulled his hand away from your grasp, shrugging. "We're normally angry at each other," he muttered, staring at the ground as if avoiding your gaze would shield him from the conversation.

You furrowed your brows, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Seungmin, we both know something has changed between us. We’re… sort of friends now, right? Why are you acting like this?"

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Why? This is normal. We’ve always been like this. Why are you suddenly acting like something's different?"

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard. "So I’m still just an enemy to you?" The words slipped out, raw and vulnerable, and you hated yourself for how much it hurt. You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back quickly. "Because for me—" Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to continue. "For me, things changed. I’ll be honest with you. I hated you so much before, Seungmin. I mean, if I could’ve thrown you into the fire pit, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat." You laughed bitterly, trying to lighten the mood, but your heart ached as you realized the truth. "But now, I see you as a friend."

Seungmin's breath hitched at your confession, and for a moment, his walls seemed to crack. But then his jaw clenched, and he shook his head. "No."

You stared at him, bewildered. "No? What do you mean 'no'?"

His voice was strained, like he was forcing the words out. "Why are you doing this to me? Why can’t you just focus on Hyunjin and pretend like I’m not even here?"

"Why would I do that?" you asked, confusion lacing your words.

Seungmin's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "Because you like him," he bit out. "You like Hyunjin, and you’ve hated me since the day we met."

You stepped closer, lowering your voice, "Seungmin… I told you. We're past that stage of hating each other."

His laugh was hollow, bitter. "You’ve hated me since we were kids. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? But you know what? I preferred it that way. I’d rather you keep hating me than whatever this is."

You were silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. It hit you hard—the realization that Seungmin had always been more affected by your feelings than you’d thought. And now, he was clinging to the past because it was easier to accept your hatred than deal with the uncertainty of whatever you were becoming now.

"But I don't hate you anymore," you said softly, your voice gentle but firm.

His gaze flickered up to meet yours for the briefest second before he looked away again, a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, but instead, he shook his head, taking a deep breath.

"Then what do you feel now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

It was a question you hadn’t fully answered yourself. What did you feel? What had changed between you two? The hate had faded long ago, replaced by something warmer, something deeper. But how could you put it into words when you weren’t sure what those feelings even were?

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice trembling. "But I know I don’t want to keep ignoring it. I don’t want to keep pretending like we’re still stuck in the past. I care about you, Seungmin, and I—"

He cut you off, his voice sharp but shaky, "Stop. Don’t say it. Please."

His plea was laced with fear, and you could see it now—the fear of getting hurt, of being vulnerable. Seungmin had always hidden behind his teasing and sharp words, but now, as he stood before you, walls crumbling, you realized just how much he had been protecting himself all along.

"Seungmin..." You took a step closer, your hand hesitating before reaching out to touch his arm. "You don’t have to push me away."

He closed his eyes, his shoulders tense, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away again. But then, he sighed, the weight of his emotions too heavy to bear alone anymore. "You don’t get it," he whispered, his voice raw. "I’m scared. Scared that if you don’t hate me, you’ll realize… I’ve liked you for so long, and I don’t know how to handle that."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. The tension, the unspoken words, all of it finally made sense. You felt your chest tighten as you processed his words, the vulnerability behind them cutting deep.

Seungmin liked you.

And somehow, deep down, you’d known.

-

The day of the play had arrived, and for the first time, a tight knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. You'd performed in front of people before, but this time felt different. This time, you weren’t just performing in front of a crowd—you were performing in front of him.

As you paced backstage, waiting for the curtain to rise, you couldn’t help but glance around anxiously, searching for Seungmin. The others were already in place, getting ready for the opening act. But Seungmin… he was nowhere to be seen.

Your heart raced as minutes ticked by. What if he didn’t show up? What if his feelings, the tension between you, had driven him away? You shook your head, trying to focus, but the anxiety clung to you like a second skin.

The stage manager called for the cast to take their places, and you stepped toward the stage, dread settling deep in your chest. The lights dimmed, the curtains rustled, and the play was about to begin. But Seungmin—where was he?

Just as the opening music started and your heart sank, you heard footsteps behind you. You turned and saw him. Seungmin, slightly out of breath, his eyes locking with yours as he walked into place. He gave you a small, reassuring nod, and you felt a rush of relief. He had made it.

You took a deep breath, letting his presence calm you, and when the curtains finally rose, you stepped into your role. The lights blinded you for a second, and the sound of the audience rustled in the background, but none of that mattered. Your focus was on one person.

Seungmin.

You went through your lines, heart pounding in your chest. The audience faded away, and it was just the two of you on stage. But when you looked into Seungmin’s eyes, delivering your lines, it felt too real—like every word you spoke wasn’t part of the play but something deeper.

And then came the moment. The pivotal line.

As you reached the climax of your scene, Seungmin stepped closer, his gaze steady and intense. “I love you,” he said, his voice clear and sincere.

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words, delivered in that moment, felt electric. It wasn’t just a line; it was a declaration that cut through the scripted lines and went straight to your heart.

Tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. You weren’t supposed to cry here—not in this scene—but it was impossible to hold back the emotion. The intensity of the moment, standing before him as he revealed his feelings, overwhelmed you.

Seungmin’s gaze softened, and for a second, the audience faded away. It was just you and him, wrapped in a moment that felt like the truth finally breaking through.

You tried to respond, but the weight of his confession hung in the air, filling the space between you. You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

The play continued, but all you could think about was Seungmin’s words. He had spoken them as part of the script, but they felt so real, so genuine. Something shifted in the atmosphere between you two—something undeniable.

As the final act came to a close, and you took your bow, the audience erupted in applause. But even then, your eyes were only on Seungmin, wondering if he felt the same shift in the air between you two. Something had changed. Something profound. And while you weren’t sure where it would lead, for now, you were content just to hold on to the moment, letting it linger as the lights dimmed and the curtains closed.

For now, the stage had played its part, but what came next was something only time would tell.

-

a reblog, like, and comment is very much appreciated to keep me going. thanks for reading, love!

sorry for being inactive lately and not responding to any of your messages i appreciate you all love you sm!!

[semischarmed]

River

River was a walking enigma. 

Instagram, TikTok, Facebook- hell, I even tried looking for a yearbook. Nothing. I had nothing on the guy. Like an illusion, he merely appeared, did his work diligently and then promptly vanished. In fact, his most common phrase around the office was a “Sorry, I can’t- busy.” His distance seemed to put some people off. That only made me want him more.

When Chelsea threw a quitting party, he dropped in, chatted for a few minutes and then left without saying goodbye- except to Chelsea. He wasn’t rude by any means. I’ve only ever seen the guy be polite. I personally found it quite hot. His mysteriousness brought an allure about him.

During another quitting party- a dinner for Mark this time, I tried to make conversation, asking him why he was named River. I actually asked the question in a few roundabout ways. Most I ever got was a “just what my parents named me- they thought I’d have brown hair”. I tried to pry for his hobbies, asked what he did for fun and he only responded with a “I watch baseball, go to the gym, watch TV. I guess”, before asking me about mine. The conversation was cordial, and probably a little boring, but I was captivated. This had been the closest I ever sat next to him. 

My breathing quickened, ever so slightly, as I watched his shirt struggle to contain the form within. I traced the vascularity in his hands, the craftsmanship in the sculpt of his neck, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut when he would reach to grab a napkin. There was a full plate of food in front of me but I was only salivating at one thing.

The conditions were not ideal- but what choice did I have? The guy was like a ghost. I laughed a bit at the irony. I sat right across, trying to filter the scents and the sounds of food and camaraderie to focus on him. This would take all my brain power. I steadied my breathing and sharpened my focus, as I continued to answer and ask mundane questions about some work projects we both had. I started my work, mimicking every microexpression, every slight movement. I tailored every word from my mouth- even my delivery to slowly match his. This had to be subtle, of course- I’ve found out the hard way in the past how creepy this process could look in public if done too quickly. 

River’s eyes blinked slower, like a haze was forming in his mind. I followed suit, weaving my slight impersonation in and out of our conversation. Like a pulse, I felt our movements begin to sync. Almost there. Now came the tough part, slowly drawing him out and isolating him without lo-

“C’mon, let’s all get shots- uh… River you ok bro?” Mark asked.

He shook off his daze, surprised at himself before laughing off the weirdness. 

I was pissed the rest of the night, forcing myself to hide the permanent glare I would have worn for Mark. 

As the night drew on, River left early- of course, and I continued on, staying a bit longer to wish Mark well in one final toast for the night. 

That would be the last time in a while I’d be so close to him. The following drought was unbearable. For the next few months, no one quit. No big holidays were coming up, and our office wasn’t much for parties. Instead, I had to satiate myself with glances and the occasional short conversation.

= = = = 

“Does that work for you two?” My boss asked. I nodded readily, eyeing River’s response. Another nod.

Fuck. I practically jumped when the boss said those words. A presentation. A presentation with River. A chance.

I think I deserved an Oscar for my acting in the few weeks after we were both tasked with the presentation. A wrong font here, corrupted save there, a missed chart. I “worked” tirelessly on the presentation with River, making sure to leave enough mistakes and gaps to drag the process out. 

The guy was too polite, and I knew I had to use that against him. I ran the clock, watching the days progress into weeks and his brow furrow as stress deepened. Of course, I had to play my part, acting innocent at every step. A quick “sorry” for every mistake I planted was enough to ease suspicion. I even faked a confession about roommate drama causing my decline in performance. I thanked how private he was in that moment- I lived alone. Ever the hero, River was quick to take on the responsibility- even covering for me on few occasions. I knew I had to get inside this man.

Then came the day before the big presentation.

“I- uh… okay. Maybe we can finish this at my apartment,” He stated, clearly uncomfortable. I held back a moan.

= = = =

“You can set your stuff down there”.

It was a bit boring compared to what I expected. He was definitely put together at work, so it was a bit surprising to see some mess littering his apartment. 

A few posters dotted the walls. Some basketball guy, I guess. An action movie. A generic college banner. His furniture boxy and grey, and the carpets running through the floors were in need of cleaning. Perhaps unsurprisingly, his kitchen was pristine, practically sparkling, aside from a small collection of protein powders and supplements. 

“Uh.. sorry I don’t really have any snacks.”

He sheepishly opened the near-empty fridge and offered me a choice in drink. Some kind of pre-workout beverage and water. I took the water. 

“Okay, I need to head to the gym for a bit. You still have a few slides you wanted to add, right?” A Hoodie-wearing, duffel-toting River asked. I nodded, trying not to look too eager and straining to keep my eyes from staring at his well-defined legs. 

And then, there I was. Alone in River’s apartment. Alone with River’s apartment. I ran to his dirty laundry pile. 

“Mmmphhhh” My eyes rolled back as I took the deepest inhale of my life. These were River’s boxer briefs. The same ones he had just worn. Doused in the scent of a day’s work. It was damp- guess River was a sweaty guy, though the long walk and couple flights of stairs to get to his apartment may have also been culprit. I was paralyzed in bliss, as I took in every note of his natural musk. 

It reverberated deep in my chest as I continued to circulate every ounce of River I could inside me. The underwear was practically glued to my nose and mouth before I finally relented and drew them away, gasping for air. Exquisite. 

My dick jumped at the sight of a single strand of his pubic hair, like flickering flame. A perverse smile planted itself on my face as I gingerly pulled my clothes off. I shivered as the cold, damp fabric that had just touched his bare flesh was now touching mine. I felt his hair on my flesh, now caked in his sweat. The elastic snapped around my waist as I released, a bit tight. My breaths fell shallow, ragged as I sat there basking in his cold embrace.

Next came the tank top. I mentally hit myself for not putting it on first, as it was a significantly less erotic experience. Still, as I slipped my arms through the holes that his once filled, my dick couldn’t help but twitch in approval. 

I ran to his bed, gripped his sheets, and stifled another moan with his pillow. This man had, until today, been a full on mystery to me. And now, here I was- deep in the recesses of his apartment, nestled in the indent on his bed, buried in fabric stained with traces his scent and natural grime. I was drowning in the all aspects of his daily life. It was an intimacy with River previously unheard of and practically a miracle I hadn’t cummed yet. 

The next few moments were sluggish, mind hazy and drunk in pleasure, as I wore my jacket and pants over the River clothes I had already had on me. I mentally thanked myself for wearing tighter clothing earlier today, as I felt them compress River’s undergarments tighter on my flesh. I walked back, sitting on the dining table and pretending to work.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open and a panting River waved. He no longer had a hoodie on and left nothing to imagination. I eyed the feast before me.

I fucking knew it. This kid was ripped. 

I salivated as my eyes followed every contour of the body that would soon be mine. His flesh was flush and glistening with sweat.

“M-must have been some workout,” I mumbled. I couldn’t stop myself from staring.

“Yeah, fucking kicked my ass today,” River said with a short laugh. My dick twitched. River never swore, never gave off a jockish vibe at work, but here he was, beaten tired and unable to contain his natural state behind a facade of politeness. 

My lip quivered when his post-workout scent wafted into my nose. It was divine. True to his name, River had an earthy, deep musk about him. A delayed, almost sour afternote followed, the kind that clings to the nose. It riled me up, knowing this offensive, raw blast of testosterone had been working next to me for the past two years, hidden by layers of work clothes and pleasantries. River was cleaned, masked and sanitized for corporate America. And now I had a private showing to it. I was feral. I wanted-no, needed to be piloting this hunk for myself.

My trance was broken when River dropped to his couch, laughing slightly. This wasn’t his normal laugh- it dropped all pretense and I recoiled out of reflex, thinking back to that same laugh that emanated from the football jocks back in high school. 

A lazy pair of eyes drifted up to meet me. “Sorry bro, just new a few minutes.”

I gulped. This was my chance. No need for precision, no need for focus. River was vulnerable. In any other circumstance, I’d be syncing to his movements, slowly, imperceptibly altering his as he would start following mine. Then I could pull him into my trance, lead him to a safe area as I continued the process. This was different. River served himself up on a platter for me, beaten to near immobility by his workout. No way was I gonna miss this. I stripped quickly, abandoning my original plan.

Without a word, I walked closer to him, grabbing his wrists. 

“W-what are you”. In that instant, i jumped on top of him, allowing my body to follow the contours of his.

He grunted in defiance while I began to grind in pleasure. “Ughhh! Fuck bro. I can’t! I can’t wait. I can’t wait to be River!” 

The process was quick- his drenched, energy drained flesh practically grabbed at mine, drawn by my own energy into itself. It was osmosis. I moaned as I saw the process start, and River’ meaty form encapsulate my own. His arms and legs splayed as he screamed at the intrusion. “What the fuck are you-“ He grunted in pain as he felt our two forms begin to meld. I laughed a perverted laugh, eyeing how deep I was inside him. His lack of energy had been his downfall.

I licked the inside of his head, feeling him shiver and whimper at the intrusion. I whispered venomously. “What am I doing?” I thrusted myself deeper into his muscled form, “I’m becoming River. I’m gonna wear you like a fine red suit.” I felt my facial muscles match his and pulled him into a smile he did not intend to make. “You boring prude. This body was built for sex. You’re starving this poor thing. I bet it’s backed up.” I whined in half-whispers. “Let me take you for a ride.” River moaned in horror, kicking his legs into the sofa in discomfort as his muscled back began to close over me. Possessing the ginger felt like a warm, dank hug. “You feel that?” I teased, this time his voice mimicking mine. He could no longer respond as it had become my mouthpiece. Instead, his head repeatedly slammed the sofa in resistance, forced to wear a smile that was not his own. 

I laughed, feeling our combined chest heave in deep pleasure as I jammed my fingers deep into each bicep. I drilled into each arm, relishing in feeling his muscle fibers slip past me. Power. He shook as he tried in vain to resist my fingers filling into his. Putting on those vascular hands like well-fitted gloves. “Fuck yeah bro… that’s the stuff. Dominate me. Command me. Control my every move. My nerves are itching for their owner. Put this ginger meatsuit on…” I mock in his voice. Tears welled in my eyes, as I felt him continue to slam our slowly merging head into the sofa. I purse our lips before moaning further. “Wear my clothes…” My legs wove into his, twisting and binding into one. “Wear my personality…” the bottom half of our merged face laughs, while my new eyes blink away angered tears. I felt his memories begin to flow and surround mine. His rage and desperation flowed through me. The slamming slowed, coming to a complete halt as a reborn River’s eyes blinked into a lewd, sinful glee. “Wear my life.”

I stood up, piloting my new body towards the mirror. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?” River’s outward defiance no longer showed over his perfect flesh but his mind was a raging storm. “Good.” His body lit in searing pain, sore muscle tendon and fiber forced to flex. I felt the storm calm as he was stunned. I myself winced slightly before my arousal imprinted itself through River’s face. This was my pain now. I could feel every fiber of his musculature tearing and repairing themselves. Building back stronger with the pre-workout mix he had drunken earlier. Building back with me embedded deep inside. Our leg wobbled in pain, before I slapped it back into submission, forcing it to flex. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff.”

I roared and patted my new chest and abs. “YEEAAAH!” Just one last piece of me was left. An intentional dessert I had left not internally bonded with River. 

I let his normally stoic face relay the erotic pleasure I felt in wearing this flesh. I then pulled a “serious” face, bringing pained biceps into a flex. “We gotta live up to our name bro… gotta let the river flow”. A greedy tongue licked the dripping sweat hanging off ginger hairs of his armpit. I wanted to savor this. The tangy, salty nectar lingered in our shared tongue before I began to make out with my new reflection. With a grunt, I slammed River’s pelvis into the mirror, groaning as my growing hard-on began to fill into his dick. At first contact, I felt our senses mingle and the cold metal of the mirror. I grunted, trying to reign in the lust. With our linked sensitivity, I could feel my original body’s dick worming itself into my soon to be River-flavored cock. I thrusted my rod up, relishing in the soothing bare metal beneath the perverse cock and cock sleeve combination.

I grabbed at my new rod with one hand, while the other greedily dragged across my new body, feeling every new muscle and crevice and damp piece of the hunk. River thrashed inside me, disgusted at feeling his own flesh violate itself. At watching this new carnal entity that wore his face and name.

“S-someone’s gonna find out. Someone will fix this” He threatened in my mind. 

“No bro… you’re the perfect host. No one at work knows a thing about you”. I cooed in his voice. “When we quit, when I take this thick ginger cock for a joy ride-“ tug “No one…” tug “No one will know.” I groaned as the last of his dick bonded to mine. We were complete. “I’m River now!” I shouted before devolving into whimpers of pleasure as I felt River’s warm seed stream out of me. 

River’s softening, sore wood was forced back into full mast as I eyed the full extent of my- now his- depravity. Not wanting to waste a drop, I smeared my new lotion onto my new flesh, caking in layers of his drying sweat with layers of drying semen. I could only hear gagging in my mind as River was forced to taste his own produce. It’s my body now anyways, why shouldn’t it reek of sex and his natural musk?

[fairlyang]

Easy money I 🕷️

in which your roomie needs your help for a shoot

w/c: 3.1K

pairing: pornstaroomie!miguel x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. tension, recording, groping, fingering, squirting

notes: all my readers loved this series and might’ve been peer pressured for a part 3 but I’m kinda excited to write it :D gonna post this rn and maybe part 2 tmrw, finish up all my part 3’s soon hopefully

part two

I heard a knock on my door so I lowered my music from my airpods. "Come in!" I yell and turn to look at my laptop.

I hear the door open and Miguel clears his throat, I turn around to look at him and raise an eyebrow, "what's up?"

"I need something from you...." He says and takes a step inside.

"Like what?" I ask and he takes another step forward.

"You're gonna have to hear me out alright?" He says and I narrow my eyes at him.

"Okay..." I say and take my airpods off leaving them on my desk before turning back to look at him, giving him my full attention.

"I need you to step in for tonight's shoot..." he says and I burst out laughing.

"Are you fucking joking?" I say and shake my head. Is this man serious?

"I need your help Y/n..." he says nearing the edge of my bed and I groan.

"Why me?"

"The girl I was gonna shoot with canceled on me last minute and all the girls I usually shoot with are unavailable." He explains and I blink.

"Andddd you are already here...." He adds and i scoff.

"Not really sure I'd wanna expose myself like that Miguel." I say and stand up, walking over to my bed and plop down on it.

He sighs and sits on the edge of it and looks at me with pleading eyes. "Please? For me?"

"And the camera would hide your face, so unless you have any noticeable tattoos on your lower body then I think you'd be in the clear." He says and I bite my lip. Well there lies the problem...

I blink looking at him in silence making him scoff as he widens his eyes slightly then his lips tug into a smirk. "Where do you have it?" he asks and I feel my face heat up.

"Uh that one spot that's like lower, inner hip..." I say quietly and turn my gaze to my window.

There was really no reason for me to be acting like this- but that tattoo wasn't exactly somewhere that most people in my life know.... So maybe... just maybe...

"No face?" I ask and he nods.

"You know I don't even show my face-" he says with a small smile.

"I know but I don't know if it's different for the girls you record with." I say and shrug.

"It depends on them mainly, I'm not gonna force anyone I work with to show their face if they don't want to." He says softly and I nod slowly.

"And you wanna do this like right now?" I ask and he nods again.

"Jesus-" I mutter and run a hand over my hair.

"Up to you but you know I have a lot of loyal subscribers and make decent money off this..." he says and I chuckle.

"Because the girls love your voice and body." I say and he smirks making me regret my choice of words. And queue to him being obnoxious about it...

"I-"

"Think so huh?" he teases in a cocky tone making me groan.

"Fuck off." I say and grab a random stuffed animal from my bed and throw it at his face.

He laughs and holds it, it was so small compared to his hands. Oh god-

I mean of fucking course I've noticed how fine he is- it was the first thing I noticed when I was interviewing people to be my roommate, he was the hottest man that came in needing a place to stay.

I didn't just decide on him because he was hot but because he seemed chill and not like someone that would murder me in my sleep.

But I never made a move on him, neither did he. We've just always had some type of tension that neither of us ever paid attention to... I guess until now..

"So what exactly did you plan to shoot?" I ask and let out a sigh.

He grins and scoots closer now sitting by my legs as they were stretched out. "I was thinking fingering."

I nod and bite my lip, "hmm.."

"Up to you I won't force you but just think of the fact that you'd be getting paid to get fingered." He says and I snicker.

Sounds like easy money...

And I'd get an orgasm out of it...

"50% of whatever the video makes will go to you." He says and I bite my lip.

"You're really laying it on thick there Miguel... you that desperate?" I tease and he playfully rolls his eyes.

"Yeah actually, so just let me know within the next hour before I just decide to do a solo vid." He says and stands up.

I sigh and nod, "I'll... think about it...." He smirks and gives me a wink before opening the door and walking out, closing it behind him.

I sigh and lay down on my bed, should I?

I mean there's no denying the fact that I always listen in when he has someone over to record... or even checked out a few of his videos on pornhub...

maybe even possibly masturbated to a few of his audios... or the ones where he fucks himself with a fleshlight...

Letting out those incredible moans for everyone's very own pleasure, how selfless.

But he wanted to record for onlyfans which was for the ones who specifically pay to view his content, which apparently was a lot and the thought alone was a little nerve wrecking.

What if someone I've been with before recognized my tattoo and tells people I know? I'd be fucking done for and I'd just die on the spot of pure embarrassment.

But the money- how could I say no to that kind of money? Especially when seeing the views just his previews on pornhub get-

I'd be so fucking stupid to pass this opportunity...

Fuck it.

I get up from my bed and walk to my door quickly opening it before stepping out onto the hallway. I then do the walk of shame and walk to Miguel's room.

I made my mind up a little too fast god I'm not gonna hear the end of this from him-

I step in front of his door and knock twice before hearing a laugh. I groan and cross my arms across my chest, patiently waiting for him.

He opens the door with a wide smile but before I could even say a word my eyes trailed down his chest then to his abdomen. A small happy trail going down caught my eye as a pair of grey sweatpants hugged his hips perfectly.

God he looked so good...

Wait- how the fuck did he change so fast?

"Did you just assume I was going to say yes?" I ask, quickly looking up at him.

He shrugs and opens his door wide, motioning for me to step inside. I roll my eyes but walk in nonetheless, seeing that he was indeed very desperate for this. And apparently eager.

"I knew it'd be something hard for you to say no to." He says and shrugs, closing the door behind him.

"And I had an idea for more anonymity..." he says and walks past me.

He walks over to his desk and picks up two masks, robber masks. "We could put these on." He says and throws me a pink one.

I catch it and look down at it, cute.

"Just casually had these huh?" I mutter and play with it between my fingertips.

It only had three holes, obviously for the eyes and mouth. It honestly didn't shock me too much that he had these especially considering he didn't make content showing his face at all.

"Alright ready?"

"Where are we doing this? Should I change? Should I put makeup on-"

"Calm down-" he says and laughs, shaking his head at my sudden worries.

"We're doing this in my bathroom, I already set the camera and lights up." He explains and I nod.

"As for your clothes if you want I can give you one of my shirts and you can just leave your panties on." He says looking me up and down.

I wearing a SZA shirt with Cookie Monster pajama pants.... Yeah I definitely could've changed but maybe got a tiny bit excited..

He walked over to his dresser and picked the first one of top and then tossed it over to me. I caught it and unfold it to reveal a Nirvana tee. I shrug and walk over to his bathroom with him right on my tail.

I walk in then stop and quickly turn around to point a finger at him, "you're waiting- you can wait a few more minutes there O'Hara." He chuckles and backs up letting me close the door.

I quickly take off my tee shirt and put the one he gave me on. I leave my shirt on the sink then I slip out of my pj pants and realize it wasn't a big deal if he watched because he was going to see it all right now anyway.....

I look in the mirror and take a deep breath, I was really going to do this.... We were really going to do this...

I then take notice of the ring light and tripod that were right in front me. This was getting so real so fast and it was making me more nervous than I expected.

I breathe in then breathe out. I do it a couple more times and feel some nerves leave my body but some still lingering around.

I turn around and walk towards the door, I open it wide and Miguel stands up from his bed and walks over. "Finally." He teased and I chuckle.

"My bad." I mutter, turning back around and walk to the sink, leaning against it as Miguel walks in.

"You're good, don't worry it'll be fine." He reassured and gives me a small smile.

He walks over to his tripod and sets his phone on it and goes to the camera. He turns to me and motions for me to stand in front of the camera. I nod and do so, leaning against the seat with my nerves growing every second.

"Alright we're gonna start, if you need me to stop at any given moment just tap my thigh or anywhere twice okay?" He says and I nod.

"Audibly please?" He says and I chuckle.

"Yes I understand."

"Okay good." He says and throws me the pink robber mask.

I move all my hair to my back then slip it on. I fix the holes to align to my mouth and eyes then see Miguel doing the same. "This'll be fun." He mutters with a slight smirk on his face then he presses the button to record.

He walks over to me and gently puts his hands on my cheeks then leans in. I lean up and he leans down removing the last amount of space between us and crashes his lips onto mine. I kiss back and put a hand to his jaw and the other on his neck.

I then feel his hands slide down my body, at first staying at my waist, gripping my skin softly through the shirt until his hands go lower and his fingertips are playing with the hem of his shirt, near my ass.

He slid his tongue in my mouth and continues toying w his shirt, bringing it up slowly as our tongues fight for dominance but I stood no chance. Suddenly I feel a hard smack against my ass making me moan in his mouth.

He smiles and pulls away just to go down and start leaving open mouthed kisses on my neck. I sigh and tilt my head to the side as he slightly moves the mask to leave a mark where he wanted. He sucked on my skin then licked it softly before leaving a kiss on it.

I smile and grab his head, making sure he stayed in place as he kept playing with the skirt. He pulls away again and this time bringing the hem of the shirt up, slowly. He turns me around slowly so my behind is what the camera will see and lifts the shirt completely over my ass.

Another smack.

Then to the other cheek.

Another smack on each one, definitely already making them red and it seemed like he wanted to keep going because of the noises that were leaving his mouth. Such delicious groans.

He keeps pulling it up, exposing my entire bare back to the camera but my tits to him. He quickly brings it up and over my head, throwing it on the floor then quickly cups my tits and squeezes.

I gasp when he pinches both nipples then quickly turns me around so my ass was on his already hard bulge. His hands continue squeezing and I felt purely at bliss, heaven on earth even.

I lay my head back against his chest which makes him lean down and leave a kiss on my neck then suck gently on the skin as his hands continued kneading my tits.

His right hand then lets go of my boob and slowly trails down my stomach, as if easing me in, making me feel comfortable first. I grab on to his left arm and try to stand still, I already felt like I was going to go crazy and maybe fall over.

My fucking roommate was doing this- and he had such a good hand for these things so this was gonna be perfect.

His hand goes between my legs, gently rubbing my pussy through my panties. I spread my legs to help him out when he starts rubbing circles on my clit. I moan and buck my hips forward, already wanting more.

And he gives me just that, he starts going faster and I could feel my wetness seeping through the fabric of my little panties. "Miguel-"

He hums then rubs along my slit, my arousal already able to soak his fingers. How embarrassing.

He then removed his fingers making me whine until he pulls my panties down and lets them slide off my legs. I step out of them and kick them farther out, out of shot.

I spread my legs again and he doesn't hesitate to immediately start rubbing my clit again, not caring to ease me in anymore. He moans into my ear and dips his fingers on to my folds, my wetness enveloping them as he teases my hole making me grip harder onto his arm.

He moved that arm to grip on to my waist while I still held on to it for dear life. I couldn't trust myself to stand I knew I'd just end up falling and he was a big boy, he could handle me.

He then slid a finger in, slow at first until he slammed it in without warning. I gasped and clung on to his arm. He then started pumping in and out, deep and slow.

He started going faster, hitting deeper now until he fully stopped and added a second finger in. He started moving again, going faster and harder, making me a moaning mess as I looked down to watch in awe.

"Look how easy you're taking me baby." He murmurs in my ear and I couldn't help the whimper that came out of me.

"Feels so good-" I moan and he hums, pumping them even faster.

I felt myself clench against his fingers and listen to how fucking soaked I am, he barely even touched me..

"Rub your clit for me." He whispers and I nod, immediately bringing my right hand down to rub my clit in fast circles.

I moan out for him and he coos dirty little nothings into my ear as he starts curling his fingers up and hitting that sweet spot every time.

I was starting to feel my orgasm creep in already which had me shocked but then realized who was the one doing this to me...

"Fuck- Miguel-" I moan and lay my head back against him, he leans down to kiss my cheek oh so sweetly.

He then brings his open hand and starts pinching my left nipple, I felt my legs shake as he continued and I was slowly down because I was feeling so fucking close.

"Don't stop baby, be a good girl and keep rubbing that clit until you cum for me sweet girl." He murmurs and I whimper, clenching against his fingers as I rub my clit faster feeling that knot in my stomach about to burst.

"Miguel please- so cl-"

I dig my nails into his arms making him groan but he didn't say to stop. I felt my eyes growing hazier by the second and my thighs were trembling more and more by the second.

Suddenly I see white, I cry out and feel my climax crash and take over my body. I closed my eyes and almost fell to my knees, had Miguel strong arm not held me. My legs were trembling and Miguel's fingers were still inside, slowly fucking me through my orgasm.

I held onto him for dear life and start to calm my breathing down as I open my eyes, then quickly widening in pure shock, I had squirted all over the place.

I gasp and move my hand away from my clit, I stood silent, still in Miguel's arms in pure embarrassment. Squirting always felt so embarrassing, especially now because I didn't even mean to-

"That was probably the most perfect shoot I've done thus far." Miguel says making me scoff.

"I'm being so serious." He says finally taking his fingers out of me slowly and brings it up to his lips.

I tilt my head and look up, watching as he sucks on his fingers covered in my juices. Holy fuck.

I blink watching him as if in a trance, then he looks me directly in my eyes making me subconsciously squeeze my thighs together.

He takes them out with a plop and gives me a wide grin, "sorry but we have to do that again in the future...."

I laugh and look down embarrassed, I shrug and straighten up, "I guess we'll have to see if the people liked it..."

"I'm sure they will." He says and laughs.

"Let's get ya cleaned up then maybe we can watch a movie, if you'd like." He suggests and I look up at him and nod.

"That'd be perfect."

[callingmelili]

A deal (part 2)

https://www.tumblr.com/callingmelili/740888816139796481/a-deal-part-2?source=share Part 1 here!!

Right where I am.

Right where I am.

I can't believe he has the gall to tell me that, I don't think before bracing myself on the floor and forcing my shaking thighs to cooperate in lifting me off the damn dildo. However hard my cunt is gripping it, it's slick with my juices and I've almost managed to find my balance on my knees when Mark shows up on the doorway. He tilts his head to the side as he strides towards me. "Did I happen to stutter, Mia?"

"Fuck you." I spit out, moving to get a foot underneath myself. He's faster, thoguh, so much so that I don't realize what he plans to du until his hands have pushed me down by the shoulders, driving the dildo base-deep into my cunt again. A ragged moan escapes my throat as it bottoms out and mark laughs. "You could at least pretend you're not enjoying this. See how easy you are with just a little help?"

I struggle against his hold, but between my exhausted legs and his physical superiority, I simply can't overcome the strength with which he's got me impaled by the dildo. "Let me go! What the fuck, Mark? This wasn't part of our agreement!" I look up at him, the distance between our eyes seeming even larger than it even is. Mark is a tall man, much taller than me when I'm standing up and a veritable giant right now, as I kneel in front of him. "Hey! Are you even listening, let me go!"

His mouth stretches into a smile. "Oh, sorry." The strength with which he's pushing me down diminishes, and I take the opportunity to surge forward before wondering why he didn't take his hands off my shoulders completely.

"I- Ah!" In a second I find myself right back where I started, speared open and writhing on the floor. Mark pushed me back down, and in the same movement he came closer, when I glare up at him I find my nose knocking into his hard, clothed cock. "Mark!" I wish it sounded less like I'm begging him for something and more like I'm annoyed but it's the best I can do at the moment.

Mark only stares down at me for a second before he bursts into laughter, hands tight around my shoulders. "Oh, you should see your face right now. You would make a good thumbnail in a porn site Mia." He grins and releases one of my shoulders to pull his phone out. "Now, smile."

I definitely don't smile, but he grabs my hair and forces my head back before snapping the picture anyways. My eyes prickle with humiliated tears as the gesture forces my center of gravity to shift and I grind down into the dildo that is spreading me open. "You're not getting away with this, you asshole."

"Yeah, yeah. You know, you can't prove you sent me that last picture. And even all the others… have you considered the fact that I could report you for prostituting yourself? Tsk, you've been so bad? I'm sure no one is going to look kindly upon this, so why don't you fill your mouth with something before it gets you into even more trouble." He glances pointedly at his own pants and my mouth falls open in realization. "Hurry up, do you want to be reported for soliciting?"

"Oh-" This time a tear does slide out of the corner of my eye. "You were-- You were planning this."

He rolls his eyes at me. "Of course I was. You've never been very smart, I guess I should have expected that you wouldn't catch on." He unbuckles his belt and glances pointedly at his thick, long cock, the imprint of which I can see pressed to the fabric. "Get with the program, will you? This is embarrassing."

"I hate you, I'm not a whore," I say, but my hands seem to have already resigned themselves to what is going to happen and undo his fly before taking out his cock. Realistically I don't have another choice. Well, I do, but it means losing my career and my future. "Do you think I don't have pride? Or dignity?"

"I have a whole camera roll that says you don't." He grips himself and slaps my cheek with his length, leaving a sticky trail to my mouth. "Don't make me mad Mia. I have a lot of patience but this is getting ridiculous. Use that dignity and pride to suck me off properly."

This is happening. I can't help but thinking incredulously as I open my mouth. This is happening, and Mark has his phone ready to document every second I spend sucking him off. This is happening and I can't stop it, this is happening and I'm so wet.

"Oh, that's a good whore. You've got a well trained mouth, don't you?" He pushes in, holding me tight by the hair. I'd initially thought of drawing it out but Mark is relentless, pushing me down on his cock until it's hitting the back of my throat. It takes all my willpower to not gag around it and let it slide in further. "C'mon baby, relax." He pulls back a little and thrusts back in. I'm dimly aware of the phone pointed at my face. "Shake those hips, alright? It's going to feel good."

Again, he thrusts in, again and again and I refuse to move until he slaps my cheek, cock still stuffing my mouth. "I said fuck yourself on that dildo, Mia. Now." He returns to fucking my face, hard enough to make my eyes water as I start clumsily grinding back on the dildo, whining around his cock at the sensation of being filled on both ends. "You look good like that." He grins, the hand that remained on my shoulder finally moving over to my head. He grips my pigtails like handlebars. "I'm going to tell you how this is going to work, you're going to nod and suck and keep fucking yourself or there will be consequences, understood?"

Wetness runs down my cheeks as I nod, somehow it's only then that I manage to nail the movement that has the dildo in my cunt hitting just the right places. My head is fuzzy, all I can hear is the wet sounds of my holes being filled again and again and Mark's voice. "That's a good whore. I expect this after every class, got it? You'll come wearing no panties and with one of your holes stuffed, when everyone's gone you're going to sit under my desk and keep your mouth around my cock unless I tell you otherwise." My eyes widen, he has office hours after class. Not that many people come by but there's no doubt I'll be sucking his cock at the same time my peers ask for academic advice. "I like to think you know your place, so from now on you will be sending me a picture of you naked in the bathrooms at college before every class. Make sure to write on your tits the time and where you're going."

His thrusts grow erratic, as do mine. I've already come once and my oversensitive cunt is clinging to the dildo."Nhhhhh" Saying no is about as useful as saying yes.

"That's right baby." he strokes my cheek. "I have a lot of ideas but we're starting gradually. You brought this on yourself by cheating after all. If you're good this will be fun but I can also make it difficult. You wouldn't want to have to dye your hair blond or get those huge tits pierced, would you?"

I'm so close, I whine around him as my hips stutter on the dildo. "Or maybe yes?" He laughs. "How about getting your lips filled? Or huge whore eyelashes? You should have just told me you were into that. We'll work it out." He groans. "Fuck I'm close. Ha. Be a good cunt and come with me, won't you Mia? It might not be as easy for you to get any sort of orgasms in the future."

It's degrading, it's terrifying. One misstep and I'll lose my career and everything I've worked for anyways on top of people considering me a pervert. He is turning me into a thing for his own amusement and I'm about to orgasm from it.

I feel Mark pulsing in my mouth at the same time that my cunt clenches around the dildo, and I feel a rush of wetness between my legs that soaks the floor while I shake int he throes of the best orgasm I've ever had.

After it passes I am mindless, still speared into the dildo as Mark tucks his cock away and wraps something around my neck. Something rich and thick that smells like him. "Fucked the words out of your head, didn't I?" He leans down to grab my tongue from where it's hanging out from my mouth. i don't remember sticking it out. His fingers pinch the soft flesh and force me to turn my head to the side, towards my mirror and then I see.

I see a whore with her owner, sitting in a puddle of her own juices, a dildo deep inside her cunt and her hips still thrusting back onto it with pathetic, little aborted movements. Mark has his belt wrapped around my throat like a leash, he's fully dressed where I'm only wearing socks and he's holding my tongue outside of my mouth, making my facial expression a sort of slutty surprise that only grows more degrading when paired with my bare breasts and pigtails.

Mark turns to press a harsh kiss to my temple and releases my tongue before lifting his phone and aiming it at the mirror. "Smile if you like our new deal, Mia."

This time I do smile as the shutter clicks.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Young Gods (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 

Summary: History has a way of repeating itself. Much like another pair before you, Aemond and you make each other worse. 

Requested: Yup. Hades!Aemond with a not so literal twist. Strong!Reader. Requests still open!

Warnings: Dark fic? Rape is mentioned a lot. People in their underwear, non-consensual touching and nudity. Beheading. Kidnapping, duh. Plenty of self harm threats. Detailed TW after the whole work. 

STORM’S END IS cold. As you dismount, the wind snaps your braid back, forcing you to grab it with one hand. You are careful to fix the flower shaped pins attached there. They were a terrible choice for today, as was your dress. It’s made of a fine red linen, bodice shaped like leaves hugging your body.

You favor botanical patterns, but it seems this keep is not the place for it. Sensing your distress, your dragon whines. 

“Everything it’s alright, girl.” You shush her, affectionately. She is a lovely dragon, although on the small side. The guards don’t seem very impressed with her, and it vexes you. She may not be what people think of when they picture a dragon, but she had been with you since you were only a couple of days old.  

Her youthfulness is seen by many as a hindrance, but not to you. Just as your brother’s dragons, your Green Lady is a daughter to Syrax. She had hatched when you were a babe, and shared your craddle until she got too big and needed to be moved to the dragonpit. The bond you shared was stronger than what older dragons could ever hope to have with second or third riders. 

Perhaps because of your derisive thoughts about older dragons, there is a sudden, loud screech. Vhagar. Of course. That was why the guards were so unimpressed with your dragon.  You chuckle, out of sheer frustration. What else could go wrong today? 

The tensions in your family had always been more on the male side. Both Helaena and you had been left out of it, both deemed too queer to truly engage in clever quips and insulting toasts. Your uncle, in particular, had never paid much attention to you. 

There had been some japes about your bastardy, but Aemond had been more focused on Luke and Jace. He preferred to single them out, take his frustrations out through humiliating your siblings. 

Some of it, you guessed, had to do with the loss of his eye. Luke had taken it from him, after all. But a secret, resentful part of you thought it had to do with the fact they were men. 

Thank the Gods your mother had sent Luke to deal with the Arryns. You shuddered to think the face Aemond would make when he saw you, but had you been Luke, you feared that he would have snapped. He would probably have ended up doing something unforgivable. 

You tell one of the guards your name. “I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.” 

The man looks at you, pity in his eyes. He knows as well as you that your mission is doomed from the start. If you had beaten Aemond there, if you had something more substantial to offer…

Thunder cracks. Rain seems about to start. You square your shoulders, and smile at him. 

“… Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” It chafes, that the knight doesn’t refer to your mother by her proper title. You bet that when he announced Aemond, they named him brother to the King. 

When you enter the hall, your eyes do not linger on any decorations or the people there. Your eyes scan over them, searching for a tall figure, dressed in all black. Aemond is looming to the side of Lord Borros’ throne. Next to him, stands a girl with a no nonsense expression, dressed in Baratheon's colors. 

“Lord Borros.” You address the man on the throne. He is big and broad, with a long beard. He is also wearing a tremendous scowl. You give him your sweetest smile. “I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen.” 

“Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King.” The man gestures at Aemond, tone dripping with condescension. “Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”

Some of the guards present and the Baratheon girl laugh. You keep your expression pleasant, unaffected by the mockery. Having grown as an unusual child, you are used to it. It had endeared you to your aunt, but unlike her, you were adept enough with social cues to know you were being laughed at. 

I’ll tell you a secret: Humiliation still tastes the same, even when you are expecting it. 

“What is your mother’s message?” Borros asks, when it is clear you will not react. You step closer and hand him the letter. “Where is the bloody maester?” 

You watch as the maester reads the letter aloud, whispering into his lord’s ear. You don’t notice how Aemond steps closer. 

“Remind me of my father’s oath. Bah.” Borros scoffs. Despite knowing your mission had been doomed from the start, you still feel disappointed. As silly as it sounded, you had been harboring a secret hope that he would change his mind. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact.” 

“If I do as your mother bids… Which one of my daughters will you wed, girl?” He mocks, and you see red. You wish to tear him to pieces, this smug man, Daemon, Jace. It comes down to that, once again. The fact that you are not a man. 

Your mother had yet to name her heir. She always excused herself by saying her throne was not yet secure, the succession issue would be settled in time. But you knew her true thoughts. Her sweet girl, she called you. The strange firstborn, who liked flowers and dressing up as a forest nymph. The one that was not fit to rule. 

There is no succession issue, you wanted to scream, sometimes, as you watched Daemon pat your twin in the back, give him secret smiles. He assumed he was to be King. The bond they had was one you envied, sometimes. Daemon had never looked at you as a daughter, having two of them already. But Jace was his first son. 

It wasn’t fair. You had come out of the womb first, wailing, before even Jacaerys was pushed out. Your mother was doing to you what her own father had done to her, refusing to recognize her as heir. But unlike what had happened to her, you doubted she would change her mind. 

“I would wed one of your sons, my lord.” You say, smoothly. The anger, the fire and blood that make you a dragon, threatens to burst through. “But I do not know if I am free to marry, for my twin brother heads North to offer my hand to Lord Stark.” 

Offer. As if it were not yours to give. You are not sure of how you will lay with a man when you despise them this much. The mere thought revolts you, tales of the birthing bed and the consummation making rage bubble up under your skin. You wish you had been born a man. 

Your brother rides North with tales of your beauty and fertility, the same you must have inherited from your mother. As if you were a breeding bitch, of impeccable stock, to produce more pups for the northern wolf. They do not see you as a person, so why should you see them like one, too?

“So you come with empty hands. Go home, girl. Go back to playing with your flower crowns and dolls.” It stings. A hand goes to your dark hair, held back in a braid adorned by marigold pins. You feel like such a silly little girl, and you hate him for it. “Tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.” 

You smile at him, coldly. You give him a curtsy, back ramrod straight, jaw hurting from clenching your teeth so hard. If you were a man, you would be allowed to be incensed at the insults being thrown your way.  Hell, if you weren’t, they would call you craven. But as a woman, if you show your anger, you will be called hysterical. 

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.” 

You begin to exit the hall, hands tightly clenched into fists. 

“Wait… my Lady Strong.” 

You recognize that voice. You would know it anywhere. Despite it, you keep walking. Aemond moves to intersect your path, bodily placing himself between the entrance and you. 

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

You stare at him, eyes full of hatred. You wish you were wittier, that you could give him a scathing quip about using your proper title and being half cunt, as Daemon says. But you are not. Instead, you try to evade him, but he steps into your path again, smug little smirk on his face and hands clasped behind his back. The picture of confidence. 

“I will not fight you. I come as a messenger, not a warrior.” You say, voice firm. Despite it, your hand lowers to the folds of your dress. Against your thigh, you carry a dagger. A last resort, and a precaution, Daemon had said, when giving it to you. Men were cruel to beautiful maidens all the time. His eyes had lingered a tad too long when you strapped it to your leg. More than what a father’s should.

Despite your unfortunate coloring, you still were Rhaenyra’s daughter through and through. The similarities weren’t in the bone structure, but in much subtler details. The tilt of your head when you laughed. The way you walked. How your cheeks dimpled. Enough that men noticed. 

“A fight would be little challenge.” Aemond mocks, hand coming to grasp at your jaw. Something odd crosses his eye. Almost… Wishful. It scares you. You jerk out of his grip so fast your cheeks ache. “No. You love your brother, don’t you? Luke.” 

You stare at him, unmoved. Aemond stares back. His gaze feels full of disdain to you, as it draws a path from your light red skirt, to the crown of flowers in your hair. He makes you feel small and trapped, and you hate it. You are not less because your father is not Laenor Velaryon, you remind yourself. 

“I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine. One would serve. I would not blind you. Mm. Plan to make it a gift to my mother.” His eye looks crazed, face dangerously close to yours. His expression is close to the lust you have seen in Daemon’s eyes, and it terrifies you. Because Aemond doesn’t admire your resemblance to his wife. His lust is for blood. 

“No.” 

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.” And he lunges at you again, and you can’t help it, really. You shriek, rushing towards the doors and avoiding him as best as you can. 

“Not here!” Borros interferes, for the first time. He sounds worried. You would be, too, if you saw a man stalking behind a woman in the way Aemond is going after you. Your heart is in your throat, you fear it might leap out if you speak. 

“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!” And this time, he does grab you. Your hands go to cover your eyes, and you keep screaming, shrill and high, terrified. 

“Not in my hall!” And there are hands tugging at you, tugging at your dress, getting Aemond away. You open your eyes to see Borros’ knights dragging him away. “The girl came as an envoy, and I will not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Escort the Princess to her dragon.” 

You can’t believe you are still alive. Aemond looks enraged, body positioned forward as if to lunge again. He struggles against the grip the guards have on him. There are at least four holding him down. He is a man possessed. 

You do not hesitate. You hike up your skirts and run. 

BY THE TIME Aemond leaves Lord Baratheon’s hall, it has already started raining. The guards release him only after you are out of sight, but rage still flows through his arteries, warming his blood. 

His face feels hot. He is no doubt blushing. Aemond is unsure if it is from fury or shame. Holding you against him, soft skin yielding like butter under his fingers, smelling of flowers, he had gotten struck by a memory. That smell… 

You had been a girl. No older than eight. You had sat in the gardens, surrounded by flowers, their perfume lingering in your hair and skin. Searching for fairies, you had explained, with the most serious face. Helaena was searching with you, giggling in excitement. The two of you had invited him to join, but Aemond had refused, citing fairies didn’t exist.

For a moment, he felt as the rude nine years old he had been, sneering down on silly girls who smelled like flowers. The memory had hit him with the force of a war hammer, dragging him out of his thoughts of getting his revenge on your siblings through you. 

He had been jerked out of it when you had started screaming your lungs out. It was not that you dared be sweet, with your flowers and childish dresses. Nor that you had grown into an objectively pretty woman. It was that you had dared push him off you when he had only wanted to gaze upon your eyes, that you had made his stomach swoop with uncomfortable feelings, that he found you so damn irresistible. 

Some fools in the realm called you the prettiest maiden in Westeros. Once, he had thought them exaggerated tales, to please your whore of a mother. Aemond despised agreeing with the masses, and yet, he now had to admit there was a certain truth to it. 

His grandfather was right. Bastards were treacherous creatures, made only out of lust. There had to be some sorcery at play. Aemond was sure of it, and he was going to end you for daring to use your tricks on him.  

“My Prince, are you sure you must leave?” His betrothed gives him her best cow eyes. Aemond is sure they are supposed to be seductive, but he is too annoyed to care. Besides, she seems as daft as they come, and conniving too. Nothing more dangerous than an ambitious fool.  “The weather is so terrible, and all of that with that wretched girl…” 

“Dragons care not for rain.” He answers, striding towards Vhagar regardless. Hearing you being called a wretched girl only serves to rile him up more. It was not Floris’ place to criticize you, she was forgetting her position. A whore and a sorceress you might be, but you were half Targaryen. This one was plain whore. “And mind your tongue, less you bite it and poison yourself.” 

Vhagar was agitated when he mounted her. Seeing your dragon had excited her, perhaps. It encouraged her to fly faster, more daringly than usual. It meant Aemond caught up with you in no time. 

He sees your back first. Your braid is whipping against the wind, most flowers gone. The few that remain look askew. Your red dress is absolutely drenched, clinging to the curves and dips on your body in an indecent manner. It makes his blood boil. You must have worn it to attract attention. Harlot. 

Your smaller dragon is having trouble keeping up with the weather. The wind hits against her wings, and she doesn’t have the experience Vhagar has when flying in adverse conditions. Your voice is carried by the wind, sharp commands in High Valyrian, ordering to fly lower, avoid the clouds. The poor thing tries, but not even your attempts at helping her are making a difference. 

“Riiñaa…” Aemond taunts, trying to reach you. At first, you don’t hear, his voice covered by the noise of wind and rain. “Riña!”

You jump on your dragon’s back. Unlike him and his siblings, you don’t ride chained to the saddle. You look back at him, brown eyes panicked. The rain sliding down your cheeks looks eerily like tears. 

“Adere.” You order your dragon. But Aemond will not allow you to escape that easily. Not when he has you so close. He orders the same to Vhagar. 

“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā!” He shouts at you. A debt. For the eye your brothers had taken, and the trick you had played on him mere minutes ago. 

“I don’t owe you anything!” 

It’s all a blur when he later reflects on it. Some things happen too fast to be stopped, and you can only watch in horror as time seems to pause before the disaster happens. 

Vhagar screeches, excited by the thrill of the chase. Her jaws snap towards your dragon. 

“No… No…  No! Vhagar, serve me! Serve me, Vhagar!” 

But she ignores his commands. No matter how hard he tugs on the reins, Vhagar won’t budge. It is both the foreboding crackling of distant thunder, and the desperation he feels at being powerless, what makes him reach forward, and grab your arm, tightly. 

Your dragon ducks. One second you are sitting in the saddle and the next you are not. Aemond can’t feel his hands. You are screaming so loud his ears ring, and Vhagar is roaring again. There is a sickening crunch, your green dragon roaring in utter rage. You cling to his arms, grip slippery and cold, rain still pouring over the both of you. 

He pulls up, as his shoulders crack in protest. Were it not for the fact that he is chained to his saddle, you might take him with you in your fall into the abyss. Your nails dig into his skin, painfully. You are howling like you are the one being murdered, but you climb, bravely placing a foot on Vhagar’s scales and helping Aemond get you in the space between the saddle and Vhagar, in front of him. 

You start to wail. 

“No, no, no!”

Aemond doesn’t dare look. His own hands are shaking. But as you start to try to throw him off Vhagar, slapping him everywhere you can reach, he has to. He needs to know. 

Your dragon is covered in blood. It is sprayed along her belly and wings, as if Vhagar had not only bitten her, but also shook her as a dog with a bone. Her front paw is missing, and she howls in agony with every turn. But she has the same bravery as you do, and she is trying to defend her rider, about to slam against Vhagar in a suicide mission. 

“Call her off!” Aemond orders you. “Call her off, she is going to die.” 

He knows how painful the loss of an eye is. He cannot imagine losing a limb. But the great beast, your Green Lady, as you call her, is still fighting. Her devotion must be stronger than the pain she is suffering. She doesn’t seem to care that Vhagar is much bigger and could eat her whole. 

Vhagar licks her chops. Aemond shouts something. He is not even sure what is coming out of his mouth any longer, but you sob, and peer to the side. 

You had not noticed she was still alive. You howl. Your dragon responds to your cry, roaring at Vhagar. 

Aemond looks at your face. He sees the calculation in your eyes, deciding if to call your dragon off or not, if it is worth the risk. If you could jump from the saddle, from Aemond’s front and into your own mount. It’s risky. 

“Lykirī!” You finally scream, and he nearly sags in relief. Your dragon obeys much better than Vhagar, stopping on her tracks. She hovers by, as if unsure why she should not try to kill the threat that took her human and her paw. 

Things are about to get nasty. He can tell. No matter how tame she is, she is still a beast, and the urge to protect and fight will surpass her training. 

“We need to land, now.” Aemond orders, and without waiting for your permission, nudges Vhagar into dropping.  But your dragon gets in the way once more, set on headbutting Vhagar. Aemond has to do a swerve to the side to avoid his dragon eating the damn thing. 

You say nothing. Your whole body is tense, anticipating the opportunity for a rescue. Your hands let go of Vhagar and instead, start to reach forward. 

Aemond snarls. He grabs at your braid and tugs back, sharply. 

“Don’t you dare!” 

“Lykirī.” You shout. Aemond’s mind is racing. What to do now? He almost killed you, he thinks, and cannot help himself. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, until you are flinching in his grip. 

Seven Hells, what is he supposed to do? He can’t land. Bringing whatever is going on between your two dragons to land is risky. If allowed, Vhagar would eat yours whole. And that is not considering they might as well take to the skies on their own and leave you stranded. There is nothing for miles, not even a Keep. 

You have family in the Vale. He could fly there and… What would he even say? I accidentally almost killed my niece? Your kinsmen would slaughter him.

There are a few heath leaves in your hair, pink and glorious against the dark backdrop of your braid. Solitude, Aemond thinks. Are you as lonely as him, or do you simply like pink? 

The memory comes back, unprompted. You, laughing in the gardens, smelling like flowers. A crown of marigolds in your hair, running among the tulips barefoot, sun kissing your skin. Searching for fairies. 

He has never gotten anything pretty for himself. But maybe… He touches a pink petal, watching how the rain clings to it. It’s almost like dew. 

Your mother had sent you away on your own. She didn’t value as she did your siblings, clearly. For any princess, no matter how loyal her dragon, should travel with her guards. 

He had wanted your eye. But it would be too cruel, wouldn’t it? To scar such a beautiful face. If he took something else instead… 

No one would notice. No one had to know if he just…

“Where are we going? You said we were going to land.” You ask, turning to look over your shoulder. The tilt of your head is enchanting, and he finds himself fascinated by it. 

You huff, annoyed by his lack of response. He observes how your brows pinch together, and thinks of the debt your family owes him. His eye. The eye of a prince for the maidenhead of a bastard girl. It wouldn’t even scar you forever, even when it would forever haunt you. It seemed like a fair exchange. 

“To the Vale.” Aemond lies, as smoothly as he can. “You have family there, and can no longer be my problem.” 

You keep an alert position, but you relax against him. You are too trusting for your own good. It is precisely why a woman, you, shouldn’t inherit the Iron Throne. 

When the two of you fly past the Vale, you do not notice at first. Your eyes are trained on your dragon, dutifully flying at Vhagar’s right, slightly behind. Just unreachable enough for you to jump on her, but also just unreachable enough for Vhagar to bite. Freedom in exchange for safety. 

You have not said a word during the whole journey. Perhaps you fancy yourself irritated at him. 

“Prince Aemond!” You scream, once you notice the terrain under you is no longer the green hills the Vale is known for. “What…?” 

“I lied. We are going to the Red Keep.” 

You call your Green Lady to you, high and panicked. Aemond grabs your braid, making a fist close to your skull and forcing you to arch your back. You yelp in pain. 

“Don’t you dare! Tell her to fly behind Vhagar. One wrong move on your part and your dragon dies.” Aemond warns. You get the same calculating look in your eyes, lowering them to the clouds under you. The fall would be fatal. 

“I will never forgive this.” It comes out from behind clenched teeth. Your back is still arched, Aemond’s grip still strong. He tugs a little more, if only to see you take it, pretty little body making a perfect bow. 

He thinks of his rage, and how he is starved for death and blood. He thinks of himself as Vhagar, biting down on your paw and shaking his head until his own mouth is covered by blood. Of your dark hair spread over white sheets, a halo. Of a boy’s dark hair, and a knife. The stench of blood, your wet body, your smile, the sinful urges. 

Maidenheads were just blood, too. 

YOU CAN HEAR your dragon screeching as the dragonkeepers drag her away. They prod at her, as she cries her distress, mirroring your own. Just as Syrax cries when your mother is in the birthing bed, your Green Lady cries with your despair. You scream, trying to get to her, and Aemond’s hands tug at your dress, your thighs, anything he can reach to keep you. 

When he tires of you, he throws you over his shoulder, hands digging into your thighs so hard it hurts. You are sure that there will be bruises left in the aftermath of his grip.

You do not stop screaming. All the way to the entrance of the keep, you scream for help. Every servant you see is one you ask to help you, the same for the guards. But while some of them pause in their duties to stare, Aemond doesn’t. 

He strides confidently, despite being in wet clothes and with a woman hanging upside down in his arms. You get glimpses of the Red Keep as you pass, tapestries and dragon motifs gone and replaced by the Seven Pointed Star. Gone are the crimson and black banners your grandfather had favored, replaced by green ones. The call to war is not missed on you. 

You are familiar enough with the layout of the building to know that the room you are shoved in is his. The door slams after you, Aemond not even caring to check if you landed on your feet.  You don’t waste your time looking around, choosing instead to try to force the door open. 

“Let me out!” 

No one answers. You scream and scream, but no one comes. You are unable to tell if Aemond has walked away or is still in the hallway. After a while, you begin to hear hurried footsteps. 

“Was that…?” The usurper dares ask. 

“That’s Rhaenyra’s heir! You will undo everything this family has…” Alicent. At least she is being reasonable, you suppose. Perhaps she will convince them of sending you back. 

“I have gained us a hostage, you mean.” You can almost picture Aemond’s haughty expression. His tone is cold, as if he finds Alicent’s concerns dumb. 

“Your grandfather..!” 

“…Just because you are not ruthless enough to do what…” 

A slap, hard. Aegon laughs, a bit hysterical. You wonder what Aemond had been suggesting, what Alicent had seen in his eyes to prompt the slap. 

“Do not take that tone with me. Dishonor the girl, Aemond and the Seven help you..!” 

Dishonor. Oh. Did she think the two of you were involved? You frown. You don’t like this. Anxiety begins to pool in your stomach, a sense of dread so strong it makes you feel dizzy. 

“One would think, with how often you called her mother whore…” Aemond argues. Instead of making you bristle, though, it only heightens your uneasiness. You are more focused on his tone than his words, and he sounds wrong. Like he had sounded when he was laughing after Vhagar bit your dragon. 

“A highborn woman can be two things: A maiden or a mother.” Alicent cuts him again, and the feeling of wrongness intensifies. Unable to see them, you feel like you are missing half the conversation, but your gut tells you it is bad. 

“Are you suggesting..?” Aegon sounds as confused and horrified as you feel.

“No! You will not use rape to terrorize our enemies.” 

Rape. Rape. You feel as if you are underwater. Everything sounds muffled, except from the thump of blood in your ears. You can’t breathe. In your mind, rape is not something that happens to Princesses like you. It’s something you read about in your history books, something that happens to servants or lowborn women. 

No one would dare touch you, you had thought once. For you were a good maiden, one that didn’t dress too provocatively and who was kind to everyone around her. But most importantly, your mother was going to be Queen. No one would touch you. They couldn’t. 

Men’s lustful glances were nothing new to you. As a princess, you were a coveted prize. You knew they lusted after your blood, the Valyrian children and the dragons you could provide. But never had you caught one lusting after your body. You still dressed like a girl, running around Dragonstone with flowers tangled in your hair and no shoes. 

If any man had looked, Daemon disposed of them. And while the glances your stepfather gave you were charged, you never thought he would act on them. 

“… The bannermen will think us fools!” 

Men who raped women weren’t princes. They were commoners, soldiers drunk on power, dirty beggars who pounced on strangers in alleyways. Drunkards in taverns, that smelled like piss. If there were any lords that partook in those horrid acts, you always thought they were cruel ones, like the Boltons, and always on serving girls. 

You had never felt unsafe near Aemond. He was a prince, he was part of your family. It had never occurred to you that you could be stripped naked and forced to share his bed, not even imprisoned as you are. 

You imagine him, ordering one of the guards to remove your clothes. You imagine yourself, naked, trying to preserve your modesty, and being beaten for it. Aemond’s hands, touching you, forcing your legs apart, hitting you when you do not comply. Your uncle, your uncle who preferred books to people, who was always so quiet, being no different from those terrible men at all. 

It's impossible, you think. He is only doing it to rile up his mother, to seem more manly in front of his brother. He has always felt the need to compensate for something. Yes, Aemond is incapable of it. 

Your entrails turn to ice. If it is so impossible, you think, why does it scare you so much? Why are your palms sweating, why are there acrid tears burning through your cheekbones, leaving a scorched path down to your jaw? 

Where is this fear coming from?

“I could send her back, broken. As a warning.” Aemond taunts. You feel like a giant fist is squeezing your heart, until it turns into a bloodied pulp. You taste the blood on your throat. 

Who is this man, that has taken you from a safe world and dragged you into this hell? This man, who talks of breaking you, of sending you back dishonored and beaten. You do not recognize Aemond. Not even after all the years of taunts and resentment you would have expected anything like this. 

Like a prey animal, you freeze next to the door, hands wringing together anxiously. 

“A lesson.” Another voice joins. Otto Hightower. “But there are more efficient ways to bring down our foes. No. You will take her to wife. Rhaenyra will have to be Queen, of course, but then it shall be her turn…” 

It all turns into static in your ears after that. You probably won’t be raped today, but you might still be. Who knows if Aemond will give up his plan because his mother and grandfather say so? Once, when you thought you knew him, you would have thought you were safe. He would never dare disobey them. But he would never dare suggest raping a woman either, right?

“… Running to a brothel no doubt. Essos, was it?” 

You no longer care about the conversation, but you guess they are speaking of Aegon. It is a mystery how he will fit in their plans. Be it as it may, you don’t intend to find up.  You grab your dagger, and sit on the bed. 

When Aemond enters, this is what he finds. 

You, still wet, dripping water into his bed. Hand holding a dagger to your own throat. 

“Take one step further, I dare you.” You whisper, eyes cold. 

Aemond’s expression darkens. He stands straighter, looking every inch the warrior. His eye moves from your dagger, to your eyes, then back at the dagger.  

“I could take that from you in a moment.” 

“I swear to you, if you step any closer, I will slit my throat and bleed to death right here in your bed.” You tilt your chin up, letting the cold kiss of the blade caress your skin. 

You had heard once of a culture where women would jump into fire pits when their men were defeated in battle, to avoid being dishonored by the conquering armies. It’s not a bad way to die, you think. Sounds less painful than the horrors that await you in this bed. You, too, would prefer death to being brutalized. 

“You are nothing more than a little girl playing pretend.” 

“This is not a game to me.” Aemond steps closer, and you make a slashing motion with the dagger. Blood starts to pool at the cut you make, barely deep enough to leave a mark. You lift the dagger again, set in your grim choice. Death before dishonor. Death before betraying your Queen and becoming a pawn in the Greens desperate bid for power. 

“Wait!” He cries out, eye wide with anger and fear. You imagine his heart must be thumping as loudly as yours was when you heard him proposing to break you as if you were an unwilling mare. “Stop! I will take the blade from you, you stupid…” 

“I’ll be dead before you reach me.” You taunt, with a vicious smile. It feels good, seeing him feel the terror you had felt mere moments before. The dagger rises again, your hand trembling slightly. 

It is not fear. Only an acute feeling of satisfaction, that feels close to sexual arousal, with how good it is. You are under control now. He has taken everything away from you, but he will never be able to take this. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Aemond’s nostrils widen, face twisting into absolute rage. You had thought him a man possessed before, a devil wearing your uncle’s face. But now, he looks beastly, a bull ready to charge and ram anything on his path. You don’t waver. “You are a woman, and you only possess the amount of courage women have.” 

You think of your mother, who took six times to the birthing bed. You think of yourself, all the old hurts that made you who you are. The times you had felt less, the times you had felt scared. And you think of how good it will feel, how much it will scar him if you die in this very room. 

“Put me to the test, then. If you dare. You know nothing of courage, you might surprise yourself.” 

Aemond examines your face. You do not know what he finds there, but it must terrify him, for his hands raise in surrender. 

“Fine. You win. You win, my Princess.” He takes a step back, and then another. You do not lower the blade, still holding it against your throat. You fear he is about to trick you. 

His hand goes to his belt, where his own dagger hangs. Your body coils, ready to spring up into action, but Aemond merely takes the sheat off it and throws it at you. 

“You win. Keep that as your prize.” And he is turning on his heel, and leaving the room. Before he exits, he shouts at you. “I'll send for clothes and a bath, less you catch your death.” 

Without taking your eyes off the door, you lean down and pick up the sheat. You catch a glimpse of your reflection on the metal. For a second, you think you see a woman watching you back, eyes cold as obsidian and a crown of dead flowers in her head. Her hair is loose over her shoulders, chopped off roughly. But when you blink again, the familiar brown eyes you are used to stare back at you. Your braid is slowly coming undone. 

THE SCREAMS YOU let out as Ser Arryk holds you down are more than enough satisfaction for Aemond. He might not be able to break you fully yet, but it's more than enough of a substitute. He imagines what it will be like, chipping your resistance away little by little, and cannot stop the smirk spreading on his face. 

He might not be allowed to rape you, but no one said anything about breaking you. It was fine, really. Rape was nasty business, despite its effectiveness in breaking a person. Aemond could testify to that.

Your dagger had been taken from you early on by the Kingsguard, when you had tried to stab him for holding you down. This time, Aemond wasn’t going to repeat his mistake of allowing you to keep the dagger. 

He strips you down to your chemise, just for the sake of it. He takes a good look at your teats, barely covered by the wet cloth, and trusted outwards with the way Ser Arryk is holding you. At the way your poor little buds stand to attention, even if unwilling. At how the white chemise looks obscenely sheer, clinging to all the curves and dips of your body. 

“No, please. No. I rather die. Don’t… Don’t… No.” You start to cry when your dress is peeled away from you, terrified. Your eyes are wide as saucers. They glint with your tears, highlighting their offending color. Poor little bastard girl, thinking Aemond will get enjoyment out of your body. 

He might. Just not in the way you think. 

“You are pretty when you beg, riñitsos.” 

“Aemond, please. No. I am still a maiden, I can’t…” You choke on a sob, next words unintelligible. 

Ser Arryk looks vaguely uncomfortable. He averts his eyes from the scene unfolding in front of him and stares to the wall, past Aemond, and over your head. 

“They call you the most beautiful maiden in the Seven Kingdoms.” Aemond comments, idly. He unpins your braid, letting it fall down your back. With Ser Arryk behind you, and him pressing close on your front, there is nowhere for you to run. It’s delightful, the fear on your face. 

Unable to help himself, he pinches one of your breasts, making you yowl like a cat. 

“I like your teats best.” He leers, doing his best to imitate Aegon with the serving girls. It’s not that he is actually getting any sexual satisfaction out of this. This is about control and fear, and you have shown this is what you fear most.  It would be foolish not to take advantage of it. “Do you think they will call you the most beautiful woman, once I am done with you?” 

Ser Arryk looks at you with pity. He leans his head down, perhaps thinking he is being subtle. 

“At ease, Princess. You won’t be harmed.” He whispers. If Aemond had not lost his eye, he might not have heard him. But thanks to your beloved sibling, his hearing is more acute than a normal man’s. “Prince Aemond won’t disobey the Queen. He is only trying to frighten you.” 

Aemond smirks. He tugs at your hair. 

“I am not allowed to dishonor you, of course.” He smiles, pressing the dagger to the part of the braid that lays over your nape. You don’t notice, too busy hiccuping and recoiling in fear. “But I understand nothing done on the marriage bed is dishonorable. We might even call for a bedding, wouldn’t that be nice?” 

“I know no other queen but Rhaenyra Targaryen, queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. And she won’t allow her daughter to marry a craven cripple.” You stand up straighter as you speak, no matter that Ser Arryk is holding you. Your words are as much for the knight as they are for him. 

The urge to slap you, or stab you with the dagger is strong. For a terrifying moment, Aemond fears he might actually go through it, and ruin his grandsire’s plans. Impudent little bitch.

The dagger is so sharp it cuts through your braid in one pass. You howl when you hear something ripping, thinking it might be your chemise, by how you struggle. Aemond smugly presents it to you, some withering marigolds still weaved into the dark hair. 

“Something to send my dear sister.” He says, as he places the two long braids in a silk bag. You cry harder. Aemond wasn’t exposed to you much during your teenage years, but he remembered that as a little girl, your brown, glossy hair had been your pride and joy. A shameful proof of your bastardy, no doubt, but one that everyone complimented. 

You had taken to flaunting it, when older. Wearing flower crowns, and embellishments on it, keeping it long. A girl in the bloom of her maidenhood, more forest nymph than Targaryen Princess. 

And it was all gone. Packed neatly into a silk bag, along with your dagger and red dress. He hoped the old whore howled with the same agony when she opened it.

When Ser Arryk lets go of you, the first thing you do is reach up to feel your hair. A few locks fall from it still, chopped off badly. It is now about the same length as Aegon’s, cut in a way more suitable for men. Your hands are shaking. 

“I’ll never marry you.” You shout. Your eyes are hurt. It doesn’t feel good to be tricked, it seems. “I wish you were dead! I wish Luke had plunged the dagger deep, and cracked open your skull!” 

“You will.” Aemond answers, coldly. He hopes to hurt you as much as your words have hurt him. “For what is a girl to the Iron Throne?” 

He leaves you to your grieving. He would rather not admit it, but deprived of any blades, your words have still managed to cut him. You can be his mother’s problem from now on. 

The next two days are spent into lingering guilt and extraneous exercise. Every time Aemond’s thoughts go back to you, he spars with whoever is available. His whole body hurts by the end of it, and you still haunt him. He might have gone overboard, but he will never admit it out loud. 

There is a dark sense of satisfaction in his stomach. It slips past his guilt, sometimes. The terror on your eyes had been exquisite, worth every reprimand he had gotten afterwards. As he hurt you, putting the fear of the Seven in you, he imagined hurting your bastard of a sibling and finally felt peace. 

It’s best not to think of you. You bring up conflicting feelings and memories, the girl you once were, kind and sweet and the woman you now were, indifferent to him and easily frightened. The images superposed in his mind, betrayed eyes as he proclaimed he was going to dishonor you, crying at the funeral of Laena Velaryon, worried as Daemon whisked away with your mother, as Lucerys appeared covered in blood. 

It is easier to punish keep himself occupied in the training yard. He doesn’t think of you when he spars with the knights or when he swings his sword until his arms feel like they will fall off. Nor when he falls asleep out of sheer exhaustion, bruised black and blue.

Not until his mother comes looking for him. 

At first, he doesn’t notice her presence, busy hacking at straw figures until his arms ache. But she clears his throat many times, forcing him to turn. He does so while still holding the sword. 

His mother looks odd in the training grounds. She is small, almost dainty looking, a flame of green standing among the mud. Aemond approaches her in four short strides. 

“Mother. Is something the matter?” 

“The girl is sick.” She says, a troubled frown on her beautiful face. Aemond has always admired her grace and beauty, and even though life has been cruel to her, she has only cultivated it more. She is what she thinks all women should be, gracious and pious. If it had been up to him, he would have married someone like her, he thinks. Her only flaw is her sentimentality.

“Get her a Maester.” Aemond says, annoyed at being interrupted by something so trivial. You probably have a cold, foolish girl that you are, having insisted on staying in your wet clothes and refusing a hot bath. 

“I got her plenty. She nearly scratched the eyes off one, and when they tried to give her Milk of the Poppy��” His mother makes a pained face. Aemond doesn’t want to know. Truly, whatever you had done was probably willful and cruel. Gods, why did he have to marry you? You weren’t demure, you weren’t pious and you certainly weren’t gracious. “She is now refusing food.” 

“Let her starve off. When she is hungry enough, she will eat.” 

“The girl can’t die, Aemond.” His mother grabs his arm, brown eyes filled with mania.  “It would mean war. They say Rhaenyra has scoured the Seven Kingdoms each night on dragonback since she disappeared. She has only calmed after receiving the package, but negotiations are not going well.” 

He stays quiet. His mother glares. 

Aemond hates that his mother is still so attached to his sister, even after all the time that has gone by. He had never intended to be a part of this hare-brained scheme to save them all, much less her. He had not taken you because he had some great political ploy to put in place and needed you as his figurehead. 

Aemond had been thinking of something much more simple. Your family owed him a debt, and it was going to be paid in fire and blood. If he couldn’t have Lucerys’ eye, he would have yours. Or your maidenhead. Or any blood he could draw out of you, he wasn’t picky. 

If someone had asked him, he would have preferred Aegon as King. It was much simpler and the way things should be. 

“What am I supposed to do?” He asks after a while because he is sure you will not listen to him. 

“Convince her.” His mother orders, and Aemond sets down his sword and goes to your room. 

To get inside, he has to enlist two Kingsguard and a blacksmith. You have not spent your time free from his mother idle, it seems. Instead, you have moved a dresser or some sort of heavy furniture in front of the door. 

The blacksmith has to pop the hinges off the door, and only then, Aemond and the Kingsguard get to move the dresser and unblock the path inside. How you managed on your own, he has no idea. 

When he steps in, the smell of vomit and old sweat hits his nose. It’s revolting. There are several plates and cups upturned and laying in disarray over the rug, staining what once was pure white fur. A pomegranate, cut in half, has rolled to a corner. It is your favorite, but it lies untouched. 

Aemond’s annoyance spikes. He knows you are aware he has you situated on what were his personal chambers. The careless destruction you have left on your wake irks him. 

“Lady Strong.” He mocks. “Where are you?” 

His bed is unmade, missing the covers. Aemond checks inside the dresser that had taken three men to move and finds nothing. He then checks under the bed. Nothing either. 

It is only when he checks the bathing chamber that he finds you, sprawled on the floor. The covers are forming a cocoon around you, and your forehead is pressed tightly to the cold tiles. You only wear a sleeping shift. 

Your eyes are open and feverish, face sweaty and tinted red. You don’t seem to recognize him, but your head lifts slightly at the sound of the door opening. 

“Seven Hells.” 

The looking glass is smashed on the floor. You clutch a shard in your fist, tight enough to bleed as it digs into your skin. 

“I will not be drugged again.” You say, voice barely more than a rasp. “And I do not want a Maester.” 

“You are in no position to make demands.” 

“If you force me again to do something I do not want…” You trail off, clutching the shard more tightly. He should take it from you, but you look half mad already. If he hands you back to your mother like this, war will be inevitable. He doesn’t dare push you farther. 

“May I touch you?” Aemond asks, instead. 

“Since when do you ask for permission?” You lay your head down, once again pressing it to the tiles. 

“Come.” He grabs your arms, pulling you to your feet. Your skin is concerningly hot. Burning up, truly. “I’ll send for a lukewarm bath. And this time, you will take it.” 

You stagger. Your movements are sluggish, and your eyes are glassy. 

“I do not want anything from you.” But you lean on him, allowing Aemond to take you away from the broken shards on the floor. You are not wearing slippers or socks. 

“Let me get you a Maester.” Aemond offers, getting you to the bed. You land on it without any grace, and promptly begin to kick the covers away.

“I do not want a Maester. I want… My mother has a midwife.” It is as puzzling as it is unexpected. A midwife tending to a princess. His mother would have kittens.

“Are you pregnant?” You had thrown up, after all. The room smelled like bile, so much it was upsetting even Aemond’s stomach. He fought the urge to gag himself. 

“No. But she knows how to cure other ailments. Upset stomachs, colds.” 

“Do you feel nauseous?” 

You shake your head. Aemond’s grip on you tightens. 

“Don’t lie to me. It reeks of vomit here.” 

“Your mother put Milk of the Poppy in my food. I threw it up.” You deadpan. 

“You induced…?” Aemond is not sure which one is more interesting. His mother drugging you? Oh, you must have been throwing a spectacular tantrum. The fact that you were ruthless enough to force yourself to retch shouldn't be so surprising, though. You had been ruthless enough to threaten to kill yourself, twice. 

“Yes. And I won’t eat or drink anything else after that, you snake. Bitch. Alicent is… Daemon used a word…” You mumble to yourself. 

“What do you want me to do?” Aemond asks, frustrated. Why must women give him such grief? First Vhagar, with her willfulness and refusal to heed commands. Then his mother and her hare brained schemes to protect Rhaenyra. And now you. He must be cursed. 

You ignore him, eyelids growing heavy. 

“Cunt.” You say, after a while. You laugh. 

Aemond sighs. He sends for a lukewarm bath and some servants to tidy up the room. It will not be an easy night, it seems. 

“PRINCESS, PRINCE AEMOND is requesting entrance.” Ellia says, softly. You turn to look at her, from your place on the bed. You close the book on your lap.

The girl has been your constant companion ever since the incident. To ensure nothing untoward happens, said Aemond, and that you feel safe. She had kept watch over you as your fever broke, her hawk eyes following Aemond as he tended to you.

“Tell him I wish to bathe first.” You decide to test him, once again. Your uncle seems more in control of himself lately, but you still feel on edge around him. Aemond had shattered your trust in him and in men in general. 

You cannot bear to look at Ser Arryk. Your shame is too great. To think he had held you, and looked as Aemond…

No. You cannot think like that. Not with the news from Dragonstone. The negotiations are going better, it seems. Your mother has been considering leaving you here, from what Aemond says. 

Her betrayal hurts. You have always known Jacaerys was her favorite, but this is low, even for her. She is probably making more children with Daemon, trueborn and ready to contest your claim. Your suffering will mean nothing in the end, not even with Alicent’s plans. 

It is beyond cruel, to allow you to hope that you will get the Iron Throne. Not when she is throwing you to Aemond as a sacrifice. Is this what maidens in your tales had felt, when they were used to appease an ancient deity that asks for a price in blood?

Your mother has abandoned you. You are alone in this world. 

“The Princess says you cannot come in now, for she wishes to bathe.” You hear Ellia speak, her voice hard. You do not listen to Aemond’s answer, but considering Ellia comes back in and starts getting things ready for your bath, you guess he was not angered. 

“He asked that you not get dressed yet. He wishes to examine you.” Ellia says, helping you sink into the water. You keep your eyes on the ceiling, not wishing to look at your reflection. You already know what you will find. Dark circles under your eyes, unflattering haircut, skin waxy and pale.  As if all life had been robbed off you. 

You try to avoid her, this stranger wearing your face. She looks like the woman you had seen reflected on metal during your first day here. More ghoul than woman, all hail the Queen of the Seven Hells.  

That Aemond wishes to examine you doesn’t surprise you. He has been taking care of you since you have gotten sick. You were quite fearful of Maesters, both for being men and for what you had seen them do to your grandfather. Even in a feverish daze, you had refused them. 

Alicent hadn’t respected your choice then. But unexpectedly, Aemond had. Considering his uncouth and terrifying behavior before, you weren’t inclined to trust him, but had little choice. The feverish version of you was as weak as a kitten, and unable to resist his tender care. You feel lucky that you survived with your maidenhead intact. 

Once you are done with your bath, you dress in another shift, a cotton one that buttons all the way to your neck. You sit primly on your bed, covers drawn up to your waist. Ellia brushes your short hair, making tears well up in your eyes. 

Your mother had called it once the crown you never took off. A lion’s mane, for her brave girl. You had never imagined it could be taken away so easily. Gone were the elaborate braids adorned with flowers. You couldn’t even pin it back now. 

Aemond knocks. You brush your tears away. When he enters, you look perfectly composed. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, sitting on the side of the bed. He places a parcel down next to you. “I brought you a gift. Thought it may cheer you up.” 

You ignore him. Aemond sighs. 

“It’s a dress. And a cloak. The dress comes from Highgarden, it has flowers embroidered on it. I got you a brooch to wear with the cloak, too. It’s a silver marigold. You like marigolds.” He explains. Your expression doesn’t change. You stare resolutely at the wall. It is not the first time he tries to bribe you with presents.

His regret is not sincere. Not when he takes advantage of every chance to touch you, and make your skin crawl. Yet again, you have to get used to it. 

No way out in the underworld but through. Best to not look back. If he wishes to exercise casual cruelty to feel better about himself, good for him. You would do the same if you were allowed. 

“I am going to check your lungs now.” Aemond says, and you tense. His hands slowly open your nightgown, with great care. Your breasts are exposed, so you cross your arms over your chest to cover them. 

Shame and fear make you feel like you are about to throw up. You remember his hands, and the way he had cruelly pinched you, as Ser Arryk forced you into position. You jerk your head away. 

You will marry him. That is what Alicunt says. You must endure his touch, and provide heirs for the Iron Throne. The thought sickens you. 

Aemond grabs at your wrists, pulling them away. To your utter embarrassment, the thought of being restrained makes you freeze with fear, and begin to tear up. 

“I think you can listen to her back.” Ellia says, sharply. She draws your shift closed, with a harsh tug. The girl is a few years younger than you, but she is fierce and outspoken. You wonder who chose her for this job. She is perfect for it.  

“I…” Aemond stammers, taken aback. He isn’t very used to being told off by the help. “You are right. I apologize, Princess.” 

He buttons your shift again. You stay very still, waiting for him to push you forward and press his ear to your back. But nothing happens. Ellia’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, clutching you tightly.

“I have made a right mess of things, haven’t I?” Aemond asks, after a while. You are unsure if he is speaking to Ellia or to you. His lips form a bitter smile. “Fuck. What have I done?” 

He rubs his good eye, almost punishingly. You feel very numb. Something broke in you that night, something that you do not think can be fixed. He had not taken your maidenhood, but he had certainly taken your innocence. 

“I apologize. I behaved in ways that are not befitting of my station, and much less…” 

“I don’t think I can forgive you.” You interrupt, before Aemond thinks he can begin spouting out some remorseful tirade and get things to how they were before. Your relationship with him cannot be mended. 

There was once a string connecting the two of you. It had been pulled tight by the years and disagreements among your families. Despite it, the thread gave. It stretched, and tensed, and never snapped. But Aemond had pulled it too hard this time.

The string is no more. It lays broken between you two. He is no longer the boy who had played with your brothers. Now, he is just a cruel man. A small, bitter, man. 

“It is one of those things you don’t really forget, I suppose. I know a bit about that.” He gestures to his eye patch. You wonder if his string with Luke had been cut by your brother that night. You wonder if your pain and his are comparable. 

The both of you stare at each other. You place your hands on your lap. 

“You will be pleased to know your Green Lady is doing well. She will be able to travel in about a week.” He comments, seemingly out of nowhere. A way out. Ellia doesn’t notice, still standing behind you.

“I wish to be Queen.” You answer him, also seemingly out of nowhere. Your heart aches for a whole different reason. All of your suffering would be in vain if you heed his advice. You would be another Queen that never was. 

“Would you like some jewelry, next time I visit you?” 

“My mother prefers Jace over me.” You have nowhere to go. You look up at him, and try to convey that no matter how much you may wish it, your mother would never forgive you. Not after being so close to getting everything she wants. 

“Aegon is in Essos.” Aemond suggests, a strange look on his face. It is then you realize this is his attempt at doing you a kindness. Sparing you. Apologizing. 

Have you grown so used to cruelty you do not recognize kindness anymore? 

“I wish to be Queen.” You repeat. You wonder what he thinks of this cold woman that you have become. The one that only wishes for a single thing: A crown. “I will think of travels then.” 

Your mother appears on King’s Landing a few days after. She comes with Daemon, your siblings, Rhaena and Baela and even Princess Rhaenys. It seems she has taken every dragonrider available with her, to show both the common folk and the Greens that the might of House Targaryen stands behind her. 

You have dressed today, which is a miracle on itself. You have not really been feeling up for anything. The dress you wear is a sober, red velvet gown. There are no flowers in sight. 

“Mother.” You greet when she dismounts from Syrax. For a second, you think of running towards her dragon and taking to the skies. Your mother used to take you riding with her as a child. Perhaps Syrax will still recognize you now. 

“My wonderful girl.” The endearment is new. She looks half mad with worry, crossing the courtyard in one long stride. You curtsy, but she grabs your hands before you can sink into it, and pulls you for a hug. 

Her hands shake as she smooths the short strands down. 

“What have they done to you? Your hair… And you are much too thin.” She sobs into your shoulder. Her embrace is comforting, making you melt into her. You start to chastise yourself for judging her too harshly. She must have been doing her best to get you back, but wars were difficult. More so among kin. “I am so sorry, I never intended for any of this to happen.” 

You think of your imminent wedding. Of the six moons you will spend at Dragonstone, with only Aemond to keep you company. Of Alicent’s cruel eyes as she told you to get used to it, for Aemond would have a right to touch you from now on. I have suffered, her brown eyes seemed to say, so every woman must too. 

“Why did you agree?” You ask her, brown eyes meeting lilac. You need to know.

“To save your life.” She whispers. “To stop a war.” 

But her eyes tell a different story.  When you look over her shoulder, you see Daemon being greeted by the Goldcloaks, a smug smile on his face. 

What is a girl to the Iron Throne?

Your smile falls. There is a terrible feeling on your chest, as if your heart, which had been beating so merrily, has just about turned into stone. 

You remove yourself from your mother’s embrace. The pomegranate you had for breakfast tastes like ashes on your tongue.

YOU SPEND MOST of your time reading. Hiding away in the library, where you enjoy pretending Aemond can’t reach you. 

Aemond doesn’t understand it. Dragonstone is so big you could go on with your day as normal and never cross paths with him. But he leaves you be, just as he had left you be during the wedding night. It seems to help you. 

He dedicates his time to exploring the island instead. Unlike you, Aemond won’t get to leave it while you go back to King’s Landing. Nor is he allowed any visits. It feels suspiciously like a punishment, perhaps for what he almost dared do to you. 

He is sure his uncle is behind this. It reeks of him. Exile with only you for company? Surely, your mother wouldn’t be so cruel, more thoughtful of what he could do to her precious daughter. But Daemon? He would find it outrageously funny. 

The island is very intriguing to walk. There are several dragons here, and Aemond recognizes them all. There is the Cannibal, and the Sheepstealer, Silverwing, Verminthor. He had been fascinated by them as a child, when he had no dragon of his own. 

Vhagar seems happier here. He supposes it is much better than the confinement of the dragonpit. But your dragon, the pampered green thing, seems to hate it. Competing for food is not something she cares for. 

Aemond wonders if he will get to see the dragons reproduce. With all the spare time he has, he might as well solve the mystery. He could do some research, but the library is your domain. He would have to wait for you to retire for the day. You spend almost all your waking hours there.

What in the Seven Hells could you be doing? You had not been the studious type as a child. Nor had you been energetic like your brothers. You reminded him more of Helaena, but instead of insects, your obsession was flowers. 

He tries to think of something else, but he is so bored and his curiosity is piqued. His feet lead him to the library almost without meaning to. 

Aemond often does things out of sheer curiosity that he later regrets. The first time he had fucked a woman had been the product of that, and it had left him feeling ashamed and unsure, but wanting more. It had been the oddest thing. 

He had claimed Vhagar only to see if he could, too. He had made that cursed toast, wanting to hurt the four of you, but also curious about what your reactions would be. Watching Aegon slam Lucerys against the table would be forever one of his fondest memories, but the scolding after… 

You are sitting at a table near the window. Sunlight hits you from the side, giving your brown hair an almost golden glow and bathing your features in a soft chiaroscuro. Thick tomes are spread around you, bearing oddly familiar titles. 

“The art of war. Seven accounts of the battle for Dragonstone. Ten thousand ships. The first dornish war, a treaty.” He whistles, unable to help himself. It is quite the collection. “Are you planning on declaring war already, niece?” 

You startle. The quill you are holding falls from your hand. 

“Husband.” You say, tone haughty. “If you must know, I am trying to learn strategy.”

“Strategy?” Aemond echoes. It’s not something he is very well acquainted with himself. He has some knowledge about it, from books and listening to his grandfather and Cole, but he is nowhere near an expert. His intellectual pursuits had been centered around philosophy and history, more than this. When he read about wars, he often glossed over the accounts about formations and such, more interested in the economical and political ramifications of them. 

Strategy was also something a father should teach. Viserys had never been too interested in it, having not seen battle himself. What he had learned had come from observing Cole. Never having been at war, it was challenging to conclude if he had the right of things. 

“I plan to be a good Queen.” You answer him, closing your book. Your tone is awfully civil. “And education is the greatest equalizer.” You give him a pointed look. Equals. You want to even the playing field between the two of you, so he can never frighten you again. How funny this is the topic you choose to learn. 

“You shouldn’t worry about that.” Aemond snorts. “I hardly know about it myself.” 

“But you are a man.” You say, astonished. “Surely, you were taught! Daemon taught Jace, someone had to…” 

“My father was never interested.” He leans against the window, observing you. You observe him back, eyes glued to his hands as if you expect him to lunge at you and stab you. “How come Daemon didn’t teach you too?” He stresses your stepfather’s name. 

“I am a woman.” You say, bitterly. “He thought my time was best spent learning to sing and play an instrument, so I could secure a good match.” 

“He never seems to disapprove of the womanliness of your mother.” He arches an eyebrow because while his uncle might not be a good role model, he is exemplary when it comes to marital devotion. 

“Doesn’t he? He has her popping out babes like there is no tomorrow.” You start gathering your parchment and quills. You have a small bound book inside which everything goes. Aemond had seen you with it before, but he had thought it a diary, not a set of instructions on how to go about a siege. 

Showed how much he knew you. Go figure. 

“You find having babes demeaning?” 

Your expression turns positively murderous. Children seem not to be a good topic of conversation. This will probably become a problem later on, when the two of you need children of your own. He makes a mental note of it and moves on. 

“His word is law. Or used to be, in our home. She defers to him.” You say, tone bitter. Daemon has fallen out of your good graces. Aemond almost wishes to travel to the Red Keep with you when spring starts, to see what you will do to him. Almost. 

There would be nothing that could prompt him to enjoy his sister’s court. He refuses. 

“Perhaps they are partners, and she seeks his counsel.” Aemond offers if only to irritate you. He is starved for intelligent conversation, and if he has to defend Daemon to keep you talking, he will. His boredom is driving him mad. There is nothing to do here beyond eat, sleep and train. 

“He is great at it, just like you.” You say, coldly. Then, you say something very interesting. You repeat the same words that he had said to you once. “What is a girl to the Iron Throne?” 

“Ah.” 

So your resentment towards Daemon wasn’t about favoring your brother, or fucking more brats into your mother, but rather much more simplistic. You felt as if he had chosen to sacrifice you, so your mother could get her throne. Fascinating. 

An angel passes between the two of you. Aemond can almost feel its wings brushing against him. Then, you inhale, sharply, and break the silence.

“So. Strategy. You should learn too.”

“You think war will come for us? And here I thought you trusted Jacaerys.” Aemond mocks.

“Let’s not delude ourselves.” You say, touching a strand of your hair. Brown. Strong brown. “There are new players in the game.”

Your mother’s babes, Aemond thinks. Daemon’s trueborn sons. Like a monster of myths, you cut one head and two more appear. You had disarmed your opponents in this generation, making them toothless dragons. Aemond was chained to you, Aegon in Essos, Helaena in Oldtown with her children. But as dragons tended to do, there were new ones hatching already.

War would come for you. And him. Aemond had never truly imagined himself sitting on the Iron Throne, he had been born a supporter. He had always thought he would stand behind a King.

But just as Daemon Targaryen, he could stand behind a Queen instead.

“So we learn, wife. And we fight.” Aemond sits across you and reaches for his own tome. Prince consort of Westeros had a nice ring to it. Perhaps his uncle was onto something.

You eye him warily. But you go back to pouring over your book, shoulders relaxing slightly.

It takes a few weeks of repeating the same routine, the two of you reading side by side during the afternoon, for you to warm up to him. Timidly, you show up to break your fast with him one day and never leave.

He is an early riser, always making use of the training yard before the sun is out. You never wake as early, but you need to do it if you wish to catch him before he starts his day. You manage to be out of bed at sunrise every morning that week. Aemond doesn’t comment on your change of habits. He is not sure that he wants to stop it.

“Aemond.” You say, one day, as he peels a pomegranate for you. It’s not like he is doing you a favor, really. It is for his own good. Your hands are small, and you press too hard to break the seeds out, making a mess of the whole table. It’s best if he does it and saves himself from being sprayed with the red liquid. He finds it stains terribly. Your tiny hands always end up red for days, and it’s not proper at all for the future Queen of Westeros. “Could you…?”

“What?” He cuts the pomegranate into quarters and pops the seeds out, placing them in a bowl. He slides them towards you, with a spoon. Savage thing that you are, you might end up digging right in with your hands.

“You owe me a debt.”

“I do?” He startles. Aemond is unsure what you are talking about, but his guts twists. You have a long memory, he has come to learn. And an intrinsic ability to quote his own words back at him at the most inopportune moments.

“What you did was awful, and while our truce has been pleasant, I wish to forgive you. And for that to happen, you will do something for me.” Your voice is careful and steady. There are no tears in your eyes. Only the slight shaking of your hands as you reach for the spoon betrays the scars that evening had left in you.

Aemond doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. He wipes his hands with a napkin. The stains on his hands look awfully like blood, and they won’t come out, no matter how hard he tries.

“Who says I want your forgiveness?” He deflects. He does want it. But this past few weeks, pretending to be a normal marriage, have been too blissful to risking upsetting the delicate balance the two of you had found by ignoring the past.

“I do.”

Aemond looks at you. You are a bit pale, but your expression is calm. It relaxes him slightly, knowing that you are at ease.

“What I want is to get out of this damn island.” And it is true. He needs to get out of here, or he fears he might go mad. Seven Hells, Aemond fears he might already be. When had he started worrying about how you felt? Thinking of you as an ally and not a ball and chain?

“That won’t happen in the near future.”

“You are not my jailer.”

“Am I not?” You smile at him, deliciously wicked. It seems the little dragon is waking up, ready to torch everything in her path. Aemond’s scar starts to throb. He can tell something bad is about to happen. This doesn’t feel like your usual banter. “You want to rule. But before me, you were nothing. Only a second son.”

“And before me, you were nothing. Just a whore to throw at Cregan Stark and see if the damn dog was led by his cock enough to support your cunt of a mother.” Aemond’s mouth works faster than his brain. He is just so angry at hearing you say he was only a second son that his words come out before he can stop them.

You laugh. It only irritates him further. He feels as if he is unraveling, coming apart at the seams, but he just can’t stop it.

“Well, look at us. We made each other worse.” There is a smile in your lips, a coy, infuriating little thing. Insolent, impudent, just as your mother. He had been so wrong calling you a bastard. You are all dragon. “But you will earn my forgiveness, if you wish to share my bed.”

And it infuriates him, your presumption. That he will fall at your feet like a lovesick fool because you paid him some attention. Aemond half lunges at you, barely managing to stop himself from throttling you.

“You whore! I could just use you.”

You jump too. Your cutlery falls to the floor. Your eyes are alarmed. It is only then he notices what he has said. Aemond has crossed the line he had sworn he would never touch again.

“I am sorry. I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking. It was in poor taste, of course.”

Your eyes keep darting from him towards the exit. You are terrified, eyes both looking at him and somewhere far away. Are you there again, Aemond wonders? In that room with Ser Arryk and a version of him consumed by his bloodlust?

The next time you speak, your voice is but a whisper.

“You never think. That’s the issue.”

Aemond swallows. He has broken things once again, but he doesn’t know how to mend them. He needs to fix it.

“What did you need? The favor, what were you going to ask?”

Your lips turn white with the force you are using to keep them pressed together.

“It’s best I don’t.”

He thinks of you sitting in the library, hands smoothing down your parchment. Education is the greatest equalizer, you had said. An idea sprouts, half formed. As always, his mouth is speaking before his mind has time to catch up.

“If you knew how to wield a sword, would you feel safer? If I taught you to defend yourself?”

“I do not think…”

“I will let you trash me around the training yard, even.” Aemond offers because maybe wearing some of your bruises will help him feel better. Punish himself by letting you have a go at him.

“Fine.”

You are a good student. Despite an initial hesitance to be near him, you thrive on the training yard. You use your smaller form to your advantage, twisting and ducking in impossible ways. All those dance lessons seem to have paid off. You are light on your feet. He might make a swordswoman out of you yet.

“Do you think I could find Rhaenys’ sword?” You ask him, one day, as you laze on a rock. You are watching him hack at a straw opponent. The sun is hitting you just right, and lazy cat that you are, you are soaking it all up. “She had to have one.”

“Probably. But you think it is here?” Aemond pauses, out of breath. He sets his sword down and wipes the sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt. Your eyes trail his movements with barely concealed interest. It is a recent development.

“Where else?”

“Essos? Sold by pirates?” He offers, very reasonably. You have a tendency to daydream, he knows. Despite being a cold, calculating thinker, ready to go to war for your crown, you are still a young woman. Aemond doesn’t have the heart to tell you Rhaenys might not have even had a sword. It would shatter you.

You huff.

“You lack a sense of adventure.”

It is how he ends up joining you in a chase around Dragonstone. The castle is scoured from top to bottom, running up flights of stairs, scandalizing the servants and opening up secret passages. You force him out of his boredom and actually get him interested in discovering the castle’s secrets.

Aemond's chest hurts when he thinks of what he will do when spring comes, and you are not there to distract him. It is probably the sappy thought that distracts him, truly.

He falls down a flight of stairs, over his ankle. It hurts like the Seven Hells. It’s nothing compared to the loss of his eye, but it does make him cry out in surprise.

“Sprained.” The Maester says, as you fuzz over him. It bars him from running around the island, so you invite him to listen to your tenants.

Aemond finds holding court in Dragonstone is not as dreadfully boring as he had feared. He supposes he will have to do it in your stead when you travel. He despises the thought.

But what he finds he enjoys more, is being your sword. No matter that you are growing more adept with yours, Aemond rather likes standing menacingly behind you to intimidate the men that dare interrupt you.

It spirals out of control when winter starts. Aemond has commissioned you a small diadem in the shape of a flower crown, and he gifts it to you just as the last leave falls from the trees in your garden. Dragonstone is hard-pressed for flowers during summer as it is, much more in autumn.

“You have not worn flower crowns in a while.” He offers, as the only explanation, when he places it on your hair. You smile, admiring the glittering jewels on the top of your head in the looking glass.

“I love it.” And your eyes meet his in the reflection, and Aemond has to look away because he fears what he will say if you look at him a moment longer.

He focuses his gaze on your shoulders instead. You aren’t tense any longer, and you seem unburdened for the first time in a long time. He is slowly starting to see flashes of the girl you used to be, the one that would fill rooms with laughter and sunlight.

He finds himself drawing strength from the memory as the morning progresses. The petitioners today have been especially irritating, and a gruesome case has been presented for the Princess to pass her judgement.

A woman with a scarred back is brought before you, still bleeding from a lashing. The wounds seem to have cured badly, due to her lack of access to a Maester. As you had sent her to the one in the castle, the husband had been brought in front of you, and Aemond knew with just a look that he was going to be trouble.

He had tuned out the words you were speaking, choosing instead to stand behind you, a hand in the back of your chair. But it is as you sentence the man to a week in the dungeons, that he hears it.

“… You are a child. I won’t allow a child, wearing a flower crown, to dictate how to discipline my wife!” He bellows out, and makes to lunge at you.

You flinch. Your expression, relaxed, turns into a frown. He can tell you are embarrassed about it, your crown of flowers. You had not worn them ever since that meeting in Storm’s End.

The guards step forward, ready to intervene. But Aemond’s blood is boiling because how this did man dare mock his gift to you? Who was he to mock you for who you were, when it had taken you so much effort to go back to a semblance of normalcy?

“My wife may wear all the flower crowns she wishes, for she is to be Queen of Westeros.” He says, stepping forward before the guards can do anything. He unsheats his sword. Aemond cannot hurt him, not yet, but putting the fear of the Seven in him will be delightful regardless.

“If you think anyone will support this… This…” The man argues, pushing him and trying to intimidate Aemond with his bulk. Aemond lets himself be shoved, smirking. Got you, he thinks.

“That is treason. Do you know the punishment for treason?” He asks, very calmly. He raises his sword. The man, busy glaring at him, doesn’t see it.

“It’s the truth! She is as touched in the head as…” But before the man can finish his comparison, Aemond beheads him.

“Aemond!” You scream. He smirks.

“He was growing tiresome.”

Aemond goes back to standing behind you, feeling rather pleased with himself. After that, no man dares raise their voice at you.

Spring and summer are unbearable months in Dragonstone. Aemond entertains himself with keeping your lands in order. He patrols the island daily, and makes sure to handle petitions the way you would like it done.

The day the first leaf falls, you arrive on dragonback. You jump out of your saddle as soon as you see him, tumbling out into his arms.

By the Seven, if Aemond hadn’t caught you, you would have broken a bone.

“You are back.” He says, a bit perplexed by your enthusiasm.

“It is my home, is it not?” You say, smile bright and smelling of flowers. The diadem he has gifted you with shines on your dark hair.

“Oh.” Aemond says, as if struck by lighting. “I…” He has been a fool, hasn’t he?

You surge forward, placing one of your hands on his shoulder and tangling the other in his hair, and you crash your lips to his. You are so warm against him, so small, and there is fire in his veins instead of blood, spreading through his body, reaching his heart and setting him aflame with just one touch.

You smile against his mouth, a smug, infuriating thing. He kisses back, harder, crowding you against your dragon. You fall back against her, and he follows, giving a teasing squeeze to your waist.

You pull back.

“It is good to be home.”

“Indeed.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

DETAILED TW: Aemond knows reader is scared of rape, he feigns he is about to do it to her to scare her. He has thought of the reader in sexual ways, but it is clear in the scene he doesn’t intend to go through it since it is told from his pov. He does grope the reader. Reader threatens with suicide to avoid rape. Twice. Pretty much dark fic.

[coldfanbou]

Manor: Parting

The new part of the Manor series involves Umji and Taeyeon!

Length 2.1K

Umji x Taeyeon x Mreader

It was the day after. You sit in your room packing a backpack full of clothes and other things you might need. Nayeon was doing the same. You had pulled out a good amount of money from your bank account, and it would last you a couple of months if you were wise with it. Nayeon was doing the same. You’re both nervous; you don’t know exactly what Moonbyul could do for the two of you, but at the moment, you feel like it’s your only choice. Once everything is packed, you hide your backpack in a closet and head out into the manor, taking a walk around the area so you can remember it well.

“Young Master!” You hear from behind you the quick steps of the person, telling you it was Taeyeon. “I have something I have to talk to you about. Could you spare me some time?” 

“Sure, what is it, Taeyeon?” 

“You’ll have to excuse me, but it's something that we should talk about in private.”

“I- alright.” Taeyeon leads you to her room. She opened the door and stepped to the side to reveal Umji sitting on the bed. You hadn’t had too much interaction with her in the time she worked here. “What is this about Taeyeon?”

“You see, Young Master. Umji managed to overhear something about Yuna and Chuu that I thought you should be aware of. Umji, please go ahead.”

The young woman stood up, fiddling with her hands. “I overheard them saying something about Yuna not ending up pregnant and that they would need to try again with you, Master.”

“This is very concerning, Young Master. It seems like they may be trying to force a marriage.” A knock on the door interrupts Taeyeon; she goes to check it. Opening the door just a crack, she sees Moonbyul on the other side.

“Taeyeon, I finished my task. Is there…” Moonbyul goes quiet as she manages to spot you over Taeyeon’s head.

“Moonbyul, you can- can.” Taeyeon struggles to think of a task for Moonbyul when you manage to see who it is. 

“She knows Taeyeon. You can let her in.” You grab the door handle and open the door for Moonbyul. You close the door behind her. “Well, Moonbyul. It looks like you were on the money, but I think Yuna took a different path. According to Umji here, Yuna just planned on getting pregnant to force a marriage.”

Moonbyul nods her head. “I guess that is the fastest way.”

The confused expression on Taeyeon and Umji’s faces is enough for you to explain the situation. “So Moonbyul heard something similar and saw Chuu heading in and out of my father’s office. We have come to the conclusion that it’s my father’s wish.”

“I see.” Taeyeon looks slightly concerned at the prospect. “I’ll talk with him.”

“No, Taeyeon. I’m planning on running away with Nayeon.”

“I don’t understand. If you’re running away with her, why not tell your father? You two could become a couple, and this would all stop.” Taeyeon makes a good point, but this wasn’t as much about marrying and more about wanting your freedom.

“Taeyeon, that’s not what I meant. I meant that we both want to get out of this life. I want my freedom; I don’t want to have my parents watch over me my entire life. Nayeon has her own reasons.” 

“That’s his call, and I’m helping him,” Moonbyul says, stepping back into the conversation.

“I think I should leave,” Umji says as she approaches the door. Taeyeon holds her at the door. “Miss Taeyeon?”

“Young Master. I don’t think you should leave. I think we should have a longer talk about this.”

You sigh in response, “Taeyeon, I don’t think there’s anything you can do to keep me here.” 

“Let’s just talk this out. I’d like you to leave us, Moonbyul.”

Moonbyul stands there for a moment, “What about Umji?” 

“I need her to stay here for a moment. Please leave us. Now.” Moonbyul bows and leaves the room. “Young Master, please reconsider this. If you talk to your father, I'm sure we could get him to stop all this nonsense.” 

You put your hand up. “Taeyeon, I just need to leave.” She looks to the floor, considering her options.

In a quiet voice, she says, “You wanted me, right?” Taeyeon slips the straps of her maid dress off her shoulders and forces it off her body, leaving her in her bra and panties. “You can have sex with me whenever you want. Umji, you want him to stay here too, right?” She whispers something into Umji’s ears, and soon, she’s stripping down, too. Your body reacts the only way it can after seeing the two beautiful women strip down. 

“Taeyeon,” You whisper before she rushes in and plants her lips on yours. She places your hands on her ass and rubs your bulge. 

“Let me do this, Young Master.” She pulls your cock out of your pants and strokes it gently. Taeyeon looks over her shoulder and nods at Umji. The young woman steps up to you and takes your cock from Taeyeon’s hand, continuing to stroke your shaft. Taeyeon’s kiss muffles your grunt. She starts stripping you of your clothes, starting with your shirt, before dragging you onto her bed to take your pants.

On her bed, Taeyeon continues to kiss you. You feel her fingertip move across your chest, but your focus is soon on Umji’s tongue as she drags it along your shaft. You groan from the pleasure. “Just stay quiet and enjoy this Young Master,” Taeyeon says before moving down your body to join Umji. You stare at them, watching each woman take their turn licking your shaft. Taeyeon cups your balls, moving them in her hand as she plants her lips on your cock and runs them along your shaft. On the other side, Umji is doing the same thing; her cute face and dirty act turn you on. “I’ll let you have it first,” Taeyeon whispers before kissing Umji’s cheek. You see the smile on Umji’s face grow as she moves toward the head and swallows it. Her small warm tongue playfully moves up and down over the head of your cock. Taeyeon strips off her remaining pieces of clothing and straddles your leg, rocking on it. Small moans escape her. She uses one hand to balance herself and uses the other to pinch her nipple. You can feel her nectar rubbing off against your leg. “We can take good care of you here. Always and forever.” She moans. 

You switch between watching Umji and Taeyeon, unable to keep your attention on a single person. Umji begins bobbing her head, taking in half your shaft. She looks pleased with herself as she glances at you. You moan her name; Umji rubs the tip against the inside of her cheek. It’s soft and warm, but soon you feel something else. Umji reaches your pelvis, your cock down her throat. Her voice is garbled as she mouths something. You unconsciously move your hand down and caress her cheek, feeling the skin around her mouth pull as she smiles. Her tongue taps the underside of your cock as she slowly pulls back. She lets go of your cock with a pop, smiling to herself as she kisses the tip. Umji gently sucks on it, involuntarily making you thrust your hips. She’s surprised and giggles before going back to your cock. You’re getting close to your orgasm, your cock beginning to throb in the young woman’s mouth. “He’s cumming.” Umji mumbles for Taeyeon to hear.  

“Go ahead, Umji. Drink it all; you deserve it.” Taeyeon replies before moving to your side. “Let her have it, Young Master.” She whispers into your ear. You give in, pouring your cum onto Umji’s tongue. A happy hum comes from Umji as she greedily drinks every drop. She laps at your tip as your orgasm comes to an end. Opening her mouth, Umji shows you how she drank it all with a smug smile. Taeyeon looks just as happy. She sits up and caresses Umji’s cheek. “I’ll take it from here. You can ride him after.” The two switch places. Taeyeon is between your legs, stroking your cock, getting it hard again while Umji kisses your neck and presses her body against yours. You feel her modest breasts rub against your side. 

Once you’re hard, Taeyeon straddles you aligning herself with your cock. “We love you, Young Master.” She says before pushing your cock inside. Taeyeon throws her head back and moans as she slowly stuffs herself with your cock. “You’re so big. I feel so full.” You see a slight bulge where your cock is inside her. Taeyeon rests for a moment, nearly at her end, despite just putting it in. Umji sits up and attaches herself to Taeyeon’s nipple, running her tongue around her areola. “Ah, Umji, don’t do that. I’ll cum.” Taeyeon moans as she starts grinding on your cock. “It feels so good.” She mumbles as she slowly rises. You grab her hips and pull her back down. “Shit,” You feel Taeyeon’s walls tighten around your cock. She leans forward, biting her lip. Taeyeon’s body goes stiff as she hits her orgasm.

You didn’t realize much you missed being inside Taeyeon; you moan and start thrusting into her tightening pussy. “Y-young Master, wait,” Taeyeon mumbles as she becomes overloaded with pleasure. Your thrusts were driving her crazy; add in Umji teasing her breasts, and Taeyeon was becoming lost in pure bliss. Taeyeon struggled to keep herself up as she felt your cock being slammed inside her. Taeyeon was being pushed toward another climax. “I’m cumming again!” Taeyeon cries out. You hold onto her waist, continuing to piston in and out of her as she cums again. Her tight pussy pushes you slowly toward your orgasm, but you hold on for now. 

Umji detaches herself from Taeyeon, watching as her superior collapses on top of you after her orgasm ends. “Let me rest, let me…” Taeyeon mumbles on about needing to rest. You lift her off your cock and move her to the side. Umji immediately replaces Taeyeon, rolling over you. Her back was to you, you could feel her soft ass against you, and your cock was trapped between her thighs for the moment. She rubs her legs together, making you groan. Umji’s thighs were beyond soft. You hold onto her waist and begin thrusting; after a minor adjustment, you’re cock in rubbing against her slit. Umji releases a small whine; she reaches up and plays with her tits as she watches your cock slide between her folds. 

“Put it in, please, Master. I want your cock.” Umji’s pleas are heard, and you give her what she wants. You slide your cock inside; Umji is tighter than Taeyeon. You both moan loudly. Umji turns her head toward you, and you do the same, kissing her as you begin thrusting. Your hands dig into her soft flesh as you push every inch of your cock inside her. Umji moves one hand down, rubbing her clit. “Harder Master, Harder.” Umji whines. You drive your cock deep inside Umji with every thrust; you can see her body jiggle when you put a lot of strength into it. Umji grabs one of your hands and moves it up toward her breast. Knowing what she wants, you squeeze; you find her nipple between your fingers and try to pinch it. She holds your hand over yours, helping you. Umji’s whines continue to flow as she feels your cock begin to throb inside her. “Master! Cum inside me, please!” You feel Umji walls wrapping around your cock, rubbing every part as she nears her climax. 

“Fuck, I’m going to cum.” You groan. You pull Umji down, impaling her on your cock as you cum. She feels your thick baby batter pour into her. Umji rests against you, her hand slowly rubbing her clit as she comes down from her orgasm. 

“Master’s cum feels so nice. It’s warm,” Umji mumbles blissfully. You kiss Umji, her lips melting into yours. You slip your tongue inside her mouth as your hands wander her body, running over her smooth skin.  “Master can use me whenever he likes,” Umji giggles. You stay inside Umji, letting her be a cockwarmer as you look over at Taeyeon, who’s fallen asleep. You think to yourself about how you still need to go. You decide you’ll at least leave her a note. For now, though, you choose to enjoy Umji for a little while longer.

[jesswritesthat]

Oikawa Tōru: Doubt

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~0.9k, fluff

• You never minded Oikawas fans, but one in particular gets a little too confident.

Warnings: None

>>>>——————————>

Dating one of the most beautiful people to have ever graced the halls of Aoba-Johsai was no easy task, and by the gods, sometimes you’d jokingly highlight that you wished it was Iwaizumi Hajime. However, your heart was defective and had fallen for his best friend instead - who forever agrees with wishing for Iwaizumi himself. The namesake irritably stating you were idiotically perfect for each other.

You’d been together for some time and not once had Oikawa Tōru done anything for you to doubt his love or loyalty. It was in the soft smiles he’d give you, or the looks that spoke a conversation, it was in the playful jokes, and the thoughtless touches when he was excited. Volleyball was a massive part of his life you understood, and it took up a lot of his time, but never were you forgotten.

An open invite was always presented for his practices, for his out of school training, and for his games - and always were you given the choice to go. Though he would over-dramatically whine if you declined, he wouldn’t hold it against you and instead insist you have fun without him (assuring you it’d be more fun if he was there obviously).

Tōru greeted you before and after every game you attended with Seijoh, and he made sure to find his way to your classroom to see you every school day. His team knew who you were and would treat you as one of their own, they’d playfully mock his mistakes if ever they arose and support you if he was absent. There was never a reason to doubt him and he made sure of that, and even if your relationship was common knowledge, there were some who doubted.

Today was one of those days. This girl was undeniably attractive, and you’d hold no ill will under regular circumstances considering you’d seen her in the cluster of Seijoh fans frequently enough. You’d grown accustomed to others flirting with Oikawa and even confessing to him on occasion, it came as a side affect to his natural charm and handsome looks, he was also receptive toward his fans which made him all the more approachable.

Like most she’d touched his bicep, laughed a little too hard at his jokes, and approached him when presented the opportunity. Until today, where such fan behaviour involved you rather than your boyfriend.

“Have you seen Oikawa-san yet Saki? He should be out by now!” One of her friends commented, the trio looking around the reception for him.

Admittedly it wasn’t your place butting in to their conversation, and maybe that was why this Saki girl had spoken so ‘confidently’, but you only intended to provide an answer for their qualms.

“He said he’d be out in a second so shouldn’t be much longer.” Came your polite tone, placing your phone back into your pocket after relaying your recent message.

The trio of fans looked to you, one tilting their head with a welcoming smile.

“Ah (L/n), you’re his partner right? Thanks!”

When you nodded in response, both to her question and as a silent ‘you’re welcome’, this Saki girl suddenly spun to meet your gaze with hands on her hips.

"Oh are you gonna tell me to stay away from your man?"

It caught you completely off guard, one of her friends smirked whilst the other (who’d greeted you previously) seemed surprised much like yourself. Unfortunely for Saki, you weren’t about to start doubting him now.

"Well if I had to do that, then he wouldn't be my man."

"I guess you've got nothing to worry abou—" Saki narrowed her eyes to a cruel glare that’d actually concern you if you cared enough, but you didn’t get another second to consider when a flash of aqua crossed your vision and you were tackled by such a force it left you stumbling for balance (still embraced in his arms).

"BABY DID YOU SEE ME?!" Tōru excitedly yelled upon entry, immediately racing into your standing figure. Naturally he had no intention of slowing down expecting you to catch him, and with a brief imbalance you always did, reciprocating his adoring smile.

“Yeah, you were amazing Tōru. Those service aces in the first match? Flawless!”

“Well of course~ I couldn’t disappoint (Y/n)-chan.” A kiss to your lips. “You okay if I greet the fans?”

“Mhm, go ahead. I’ll meet you outside.” You gently clasped his chin with your fingers, simply admiring him. “My man is inspiring.”

When walking away your fingers slipped from his skin with a flourish, your words ensuring his eyes remained on you until you were out of sight.

“And so is my lovely (Y/n)-chan.” Then he turned to his fans with a peace sign, a dangerous glance briefly landing on Saki, before returning to normal. “Thank you all for coming today, and for your support!”

“Oikawa can we have a picture?!”

“Please can you sign my journal?”

—

Dating Oikawa Tōru was difficult, but it was worth your while by a long shot. No matter how many fans or distractions he had, he always made his way back to you - for that, you were forever grateful.

“Hey (Y/n)-chan, thanks for waiting. You wanna get dinner with Iwa-chan and I to celebrate?” A familiar hand placed on the small of your back and his real breathtaking smile worn only because of you.

“Sure, thanks Tōru.”

<——————————<<<<

[angelyuji]

mr. pines

stanley pines x f!reader

reader needs a job really badly and stanford pines gives her a job... with a couple conditions.

tw // noncon, power imbalance, older man/younger woman, old man stan being gross, slight misogyny (mostly the pet names), also plss lmk if i missed anything

18+!!!!!!!! pls!!! pls!!! mind the tw and tags (also this is posted on my ao3 acc as well!)

you’ve been scrounging around for a job since you moved to gravity falls. finally, after a couple of months of begging around, the diner waitress, susan, had told you that the stan pines might be hiring at the mystery shack. you had promised the landlord that you’d give them the rent as soon as you find a job, but you can tell they were getting tired of letting you stay rent free.

you had walked to the mystery shack, only a 15-minute walk from the apartment. when you walk in, you’re hit with the smell of sandalwood and glue. you walk over to the red-headed teenager at the cashier stand.

“hey, uh- lazy susan said you guys were hiring?” she looks up from her phone to think for a second.

“oh really? um i guess you can check with stan. his office is right down the hall. he should be in there right now.” she points down the dark hallway to your right and goes right back to her phone. you thank her and she gives you a smile in response. goosebumps rise on your skin as you walk down the eerie, dark hallway. you were starting to second guess your choice of jobs, but you knock on the office door before you chicken out.

“come in.” a gruff voice calls from inside. you swallow and open the door.

“hi! i’m here to apply for a job at the mystery shack.” you smile and shut the door behind you. the only light in the room from the windows in the office. he hums and doesn’t say anything. he gestures to the chair next to him. you sit down and look around the messy office. a taxidermized animal head, a statue of an owl, a huge safe, all sorts of odd things litter the office.

“what are some of your qualifications?” he grunts out, surprising you. you list out your old jobs and hand over the resume that you brought. he gives it a once-over before tossing it into the trash can next to him.

“oh i needed that ba-” he holds a hand up and you shut your mouth. you don’t say anything as he leans back in his chair.

“you’ve got potential, (y/n).” he nods, “but… i don’t really want to pay anyone and it doesn’t seem like we really need the people all that much.” he shrugs.

you start to panic, reaching out and grabbing his hand, “please, mr. pines. i really need this job.” you beg and you watch him think for a couple minutes before smiling.

he clears his throat, “you know what, sweetheart? come back after the shack is closed, then we’ll talk about a job.” he stands up, your hands falling back to your sides, and you realize how much taller he was than you, how much more intimidating he was.

you pause to think, but realizing you have no other choice, “sure, i guess i’ll be back around 10 then.” he opens the door, but takes up most of the exit. you squeeze out from around him.

“i’ll see you then, sweetcheeks.” you feel eyes on your ass as you leave the shack. unfortunately, time goes by quickly and you’re back at the mystery shack. your stomach turns, warning you to make the right choice. you quietly go inside and notice that only the lights in stan’s office were on.

you fumble through the shop to the closed door. “hello?” you knock. mr. pines calls out for you to come in. you enter and you see him sitting on his desk, waiting for you. you clear your throat, “hi mr. pines.” he quirks an eyebrow at you and gets up. you force yourself to not back away as he comes closer to you. he walks past you and closes the door. you hear the quiet click of the lock and you feel chills go down your spine. alarms start going off in your head as he goes back and collapses into the chair. he leans back in his chair, groaning.

“so, you want a job here?” stan raises an eyebrow. you nod, “hmm… maybe i can help you, dollface.”

you let out a sigh in relief, “thank you so much, mr. pines. i’ll do anything, i really need this job.”

“anything, huh.” he nods with a smirk. you nod, eagerly.

“i’ll scrub walls, wash your car, or work from open to close! i will do literally anything!”

“you don’t have to do anything like that, sugarpie” you tilt your head, suddenly hearing the pet names. “you’ll just have to do a small little favor for me.” you don’t respond, hoping he’d explain. he gestures for you to come closer. you walk over to his desk and he turns the chair to face you. “kneel down for me.”

you awkwardly giggle, “what?” mr. pines looks at you with an expression you couldn’t read.

“kneel down.” he stands up, you feel your heart drop. stan pines towers over you and grabs a fistful of your hair. he pushes you down and you yelp as your scalp stings. you try to crawl away, but he doesn’t let go of your hair. he uses one hand to unbuckle his belt and let his pants drop. his cock hangs, big and girthy. your eyes go wide.

“mr. pines. please, don’t. i don’t want to do this.” you beg, feeling the panic rise and tears start to well up in your eyes. he looks down at you with a smirk, but let’s go. you scramble up and back against the wall. he sits back down, nonchalantly.

“fine, you can leave, sweetheart.” he shrugs. you back away quickly, hoping to get out of the office as fast as possible. “but…” you pause as your hand touches the doorknob, “you need me, baby. suzie told me about you: new girl with no job, relentless landlord, and not a single friend in town.” he laughs, deep and unsettling.

“fuck. you. i’m going to the cops and i’ll tell them what you did.” you turn and glare, voice dripping in malice. you twist the doorknob, planning to get the hell out of the place.

he stares at you, a smirk resting on his face. you felt frozen in place. “and what then? the people of gravity falls know me, toots. they know of my… reputation. they’re gonna tell you that you should’ve known better. i mean,” he barks out a laugh, “you came to the mystery shack after hours to see me. you should’ve known.” your hand drops from the doorknob. you stare at your feet. “i could help you, (y/n). i’ll pay you good money as long as you meet my requests.” you look up, tears dripping down your face, and stan smiles. he gestures for you to come closer. you, reluctantly, come back to stand in front of him. you make sure to keep your eyes away from his undone pants.

“what-what do you want me to do?” you sniffle. with surprising gentleness, he grabs your hand and helps you to your knees. he cups your face, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“all you have to do is do what i say. it’s a win-win situation, toots.” you start to feel yourself going numb. his hand leaves your face and he leans back. you inch closer, carefully placing your hands on his thighs. you move one hand up to gingerly wrap it around his cock. you hear him grunt at your touch and your vision starts to blur as your tears flow harder. you steady yourself on his thigh and stroke his dick.

stan groans, but you hear more irritation than arousal. “you don’t have to be so gentle, sweetheart. it won’t bite.” he growls. you swallow back the bile rising in your throat and tighten your grip a little more. with each stroke, stan’s grunts progressively louder. you watch as pre-cum leaks from his tip and feel his dick get harder with every stroke. but as you feel his thighs tense, stan grabs your hand.

“come closer.” he rasped. you inch closer, “i need you to open your mouth, sweetheart.” you hold back a gag and shake your head. stan grabs you by the chin and pulls you closer, you tighten your lips. stan chuckles before letting go of your chin to pinch your nose. your eyes widen, unable to think or breathe. you open your mouth to take a breath and stan lets go of your nose to shove two fingers into your mouth. you gag around his thick fingers, “you are just so beautiful, dollface, i can’t wait to use you every day.” he whispered and you feel a sudden wave of heat in your lower belly. he pulls his fingers out and you try to look away, but stan’s hand tangles itself in your hair. your eyes trail down from his face to his other hand, gripping his thick cock.

“wait-” you choke out, but stan pulls your head forward and plows himself into your mouth. he moves your head frantically, you choke and gargle as saliva and pre-cum drips down your throat and face. tears flow freely from your eyes as you were used as a worthless sex toy. you can feel yourself getting wetter and you feel disgusted.

“oh god, sugar, you feel so good. so. fucking. good.” he groans out, punctuating each word with a rough thrust. you could feel the tip of his dick almost going down your throat. you could see black spots dancing in your vision and you hit stan’s thighs, praying for a reprieve. you swallow around stan’s cock, trying to bring yourself back to consciousness, and stan moans. “oh, fuck,” stan’s hips stutter and he pushes your head down. your nose hits his springy, gray, pubic hair and you can feel his cock pulse as he cums down your throat. his hand loosens from your hair and you lurch backwards, gagging at the leftover taste of his bitter, salty, hot cum. you stumbled to the ground, leaning back against the wall, with your knees pressed to your chest.

“oh god, oh god.” you sob. stan gets up, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. he gets his wallet out and tosses forward a couple hundred-dollar bills. “consider this your signing bonus.” he pulls something out of his drawer and tosses a contract in front of you. “once you sign this, you’re a full-time mystery shack employee.” he walks to the door and opens it to leave, but looks back at you, “you’re a good lay, toots. i’ll see you tomorrow at 6. don’t be late.” he turns and walks out, leaving you shivering and humiliated.

[jenscx]

ATTENTION 60 — attention (half-written)

the other girls had gone to get ice cream, leaving just you and minji on the sandy beach. the outing was suggested by danielle and somehow you were dragged into it as well. you wiped your clammy hands on the mat below you, leaning your head onto minji’s shoulder. the girl softened at your touch and placed her head onto yours.

slowly, your hand reached for hers, intertwining your fingers together as you watched the sunset. you were sufficiently tired out. hyein had managed to make you chase her around the beach the whole day, draining your energy. even after chasing hyein, you were forced to swim with hanni and danielle, discussing the newest idol drama shows. and after that, you had an intense debate with haerin about dogs and cats. safe to say, you were ready to pass out. minji had brought you to the shore, laying a mat out and bringing fruit juice to you.

“yn unnie, are you sleepy?” minji mumbles. your eyelids fluttered open, eyes crinkling into a smile and nodding.

“yeah, hyein tired me out so much.”

minji scoffs, laughing, “it’s not too late to back out.”

you frown, pinching her arm, “don’t say that, jinnie. i won’t leave you so easily.”

“why won’t you?”

“because i love you, minji. what type of question is that?” you ask, suddenly straightening up. minji winces, sighing and untangling your fingers from hers.

“i treated you like shit, unnie. i still don’t understand why you forgave me. seriously, if i were you, i would have never gave myself a second chance,” minji says, running her fingers through her hair, “i guess, i’m still unsure why you still want me.”

your gaze softens. to be frank, you had no idea why you forgave her either. if it was anyone else that came back begging, you would have gotten a restraining order and more.

“do i need a reason?” minji nods. “because you’re kim minji,” you place a hand on her cheek, caressing it softly, “we all make mistakes, especially since it’s our first. you’ve already apologised, why should i delay my happiness any longer?”

“but… unnie, i admitted to wanting to hurt you.”

you smile, “i know. and i still forgive you, because i’ve had those same thoughts before. when you came to talk things out, i was tempted to make you chase after me. but i don’t gain anything out of that.”

minji still looks unsure, uncertainty filling her eyes as she continues, “how could you have trusted me so easily?”

“can it be called love if there aren’t any risks? i was willing to risk my feelings and security to be with you, minji. in every universe, i’ll do the same. i gave you the benefit of doubt then, to enjoy every day after with you. i have no idea why i forgive you either, maybe it’s because you’re minji. maybe it was fate that brought you back to me. but do the reasons matter, when i have you in my arms again?”

the soft sounds of the waves crashing at the shore fade into the back. there’s no distinct chatter anymore. it’s just you and minji, staring at each other. her hair swirls in the wind, eyebrows furrowed as she takes in your every word. it’s moments like this that you gave up your guard for. you think about all the memories you shared with minji. it was all worth it.

“i can’t say that i’ve given myself to you completely, but just know i’m halfway there. let me be your other half for now,” you whisper, “to complete you.”

minji groans, “you can’t say these type of things. it makes me feel… i don’t know, feelings?”

“i make you feel feelings?” you grin, admiring the blush that slowly spreads across minji’s cheeks.

“yes?”

“that’s good,” you take minji’s hands into yours, “since you make me feel feelings too.”

your girlfriend smiles, one filled with affection. she brings your hands to her lips, placing one single kiss on them.

“i won’t let you regret your choice, ever.”

you feel warmth bubble inside you. your heart feels full. full of love and adoration.

“i’ll never make you feel that way ever again.” another kiss.

“i’ll give you my everything. my love, my patience, my body, soul, my heart. i’ll give you all my attention.” she leaves one more kiss on your hands, staring up at you with hooded eyes. you receive her signal, smirking and pulling her in for minji to place a final kiss on your lips.

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[darlingshane]

Professor Castle

Frank Castle x F!Reader

Summary: Frank has a weakness and it's named after you. No matter how much he tries to push you away he always returns to the same point.

CW: 18+. Explicit, Smut, Angst, Oral Sex (f. receiving), Fingering, Making out, Professor/Student relationships, Age Gap, Reader is an undergrad student in her early 20s. [I know this is very problematic. Don't come at me. It's just fiction.]

Word Count: 2.8k // AO3 Link.

A/N: This was inspired by this picture of Jon in Origin. I couldn't write for that character in particular, so I thought Frank was the best choice for it, even if it's a lot OOC.

As you muster the courage to enter and confront Professor Castle, you observe him through the cracked door of his office. He looks as good as ever, freshly shaved, in one of his Bexley plaid shirts in white with blue plaid lines, and a dark tweed blazer on top. His hair has slightly curled from the humid weather. His glasses slip a little over the bridge of his nose when he looks down, and he pushes them back in place before tucking a folder in his leather case. You haven't seen him in a few days. Even when you submitted the form to drop his class you managed to leave it on his desk yesterday after he left home. And just early this morning before getting to campus you got an email from him from his uni account, formally denying your request to drop. You don't give a fuck about failing and having to take another course with a different teacher but after what he told you last weekend, you can't stay in his class any longer. It'd be like torture having to see him and not being able to be with him like you desire to.

Of course, you don't ever want to get him in trouble either, he has a lot more to lose than you. But if he doesn't want to see you anymore, then so don't you. So, after a moment of consideration you just clench your fist as hard as you can, set your jaw straight, and storm into the office without announcing yourself. The door slamming the door behind you is what alerts him of your presence. The loud sound makes his head snap up to look at you, standing as tall as you can.

“You can't force me to stay in your class.” You say firmly without raising your voice.

His brow knits behind the thin frame of his glasses as he processes your intrusion.

“No, I guess I can't force you. But I can't let you drop either. You missed the deadline. Unless you have a good excuse like a serious medical condition or emergency the school is not going to let you withdraw at this point. It's out of my hands.”

“Does dying of heartbreak count as a medical emergency?”

“Jesus Christ, you theater kids are really dramatic.”

“Hey, you're the one who told me to join a club.”

“Yeah, but I meant something else like uh… the debate team, the honor society, the newspaper, or the fucking model UN.”

“Well, I made my choice and so did you. I can't just keep showing up at your class and pretend that nothing happened. Can you just think of something? If I meant anything to you… just give me this, Frank.”

You never said his first name before on school grounds. It sounds like a curse word as it slips out of your mouth.

“There are only two months left. That's nothing. Are you telling me you're willing to throw all of that away for me?”

“Yes, because if I can't have you then I can't see you either.”

You catch when his Adam's apple anxiously goes up and down as you say that.

“This is all my fault. I should've never… I should've put a stop to it when I had the chance.”

“Frank—” You take a step closer to his desk, but he promptly holds a placating palm in the air to push you to a stop.

“Don't. Please. Don't throw away your future for me or for anyone for that matter. You're smart and young and strong enough to endure a few more classes. You'll be getting your bachelor's next year, sweetheart. After that… you won't even remember I was ever part of your life.”

“I won't ever forget. I'm begging you. Just let me go or take me back… but…” your frustration knots in your throat. “Stop pushing me away. I know you love me.”

“It doesn't matter if I do. We both have a lot to lose if they find out.”

“Nobody will. We'll be more careful… We could just start over somewhere else, just you and me.”

“Life is not a movie. It doesn't work like that. I know it feels like a matter of life or death right but when you're older—”

“Don't patronize me. I know what I feel. Just take me out of your class or don't. I won't show up either way.”

You turn around to leave the room at once but Frank quickly shuffles behind you and as you reach to grab the handle, he holds the door closed and secures the lock before your eyes.

“So help me God, you're gonna be the end of me, sweetheart.” His tone changes to an octave graver that sends a chill through your spine.

“What are you doing?” You turn around as he steps so awfully close you can capture the strong scent of his aftershave.

“You're going to stay in my class. Front row. Every Wednesday at 10. Then, you're going to ace your final in May. I don't ever wanna hear you again saying otherwise. Is that clear?” He states as a matter of fact, as if you had no choice but to comply with his demand.

“Why are you so convinced I will?”

You watch him up close as he takes off his glasses and lifts his opposite hand to frame your jaw. With conflicted thoughts he pushes your back against the wall, as his face leans to seize your mouth. Professor Castle slowly spells with his tongue all the secrets kept between you in just one beautiful kiss that leaves you breathless.

“Is that enough?” His head pulls back as he sets his glasses back over his eyes as you smooth the lapels of his blazer.

“I'm not sure,” you draw a breath and let the bookbag hanging on your shoulder fall to the floor. “I think I'm gonna need a bigger incentive.”

“There's never enough for you, huh?” he holds your jaw again and tilts your head to the side as he buries his mouth in the crook of your neck.

His lips hold some sort of spell that enchants your body with just a few nips on your skin. The tip of his tongue is laced with poison that intoxicates each and all of your senses as it juts out to leave a wet trace from your collarbone to the back of your ear before pulling back. His eyes turn darker behind the glass as he locks eyes with you. Your pulse picks up in your chest as he licks his lips and allows lust to take over. He watches his thumb trace the shape of your mouth before fiercely succumbing to the temptation of your lips once more, with feeling.

As your arms curl around his neck, his hands travel beneath the hem of your striped, knitted sweater to bask in the warmth of your skin. The sloppy sounds of your kisses sound like sin in this room. You should stop. He should too. But neither of you have enough strength to push the other away.

One of his hands stays pressed on your spine while the other travels down your denim skirt and slips underneath the hem. Hiking it up, his large palm shamelessly grabs your ass, molds your flesh to the shape of his fingers over your panties. Your skin quickly heats up and your mind swirls along the maddening rhythm of his tongue. He presses himself so hard against you, it feels like he's already fucking you, but it's the illusion of his fingers bluntly sliding between your legs and pressing over your opening, stirring a good moan out of you.

“Sh, sh…” he breaks the kiss and whispers a millimeter away from your mouth. “Gotta be quiet now, yeah?”

You simply nod, having his eyes gauging your expression changing as his hand viciously massages your pussy.

“Like that?” His lips pull up at the corners, and you mirror his expression as you softly pant.

“Fuck yeah.”

Then, you close your eyes and press your forehead to his shoulder, keeping your hands anchored to his arms as your juices stain the fabric of your underwear.

“You're dripping, sweetheart.” His voice echoes in your ear. “Is this what you want?”

He presses harder as your grip on him tightens.

“Yeah.”

For a second you think he's going to finish you right there but all of a sudden he stops.

“C'mere,” he locks your arms around his neck before lifting your ass in his hands without much effort. You tuck your legs around his hips as he takes turns around and walks toward the desk.

Keeping you secured in one arm, Frank blindly moves the stuff in the middle before carefully lowering you down on the wooden surface. While you lay on your back, he sits on his chair and brings your ass close to the edge. Instead of letting your legs dangle, he places your feet on each arm of his chair as he kisses one of your knees.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he mumbles against your skin as he rolls down the fabric of one of your thigh-high stockings to uncover your leg. He does the same with the other stocking before letting his lips get his reward.

The inside of your thigh leads a straight road down to hell. After last weekend, he promised himself he would never cross that line again, but he has a weakness, and it’s named after you. It's taken him through a dangerous path that puts everything he ever believed into question. He could lose his job and his reputation if someone were to cross the door to his office and find you spread like a meal ready to consume. It's lunchtime after all, and he can't think of anything better to feast on other than you. His lips trail that perdition-paved road on your thigh as his fingers softly brush the back of your leg. Your skin sticks out as you pull your knees further apart to make room for his face as it gets closer to your center. The corner of his glasses gently pokes the top of your thigh when he reaches that crucial point. You bite your lip and stare at the broken fixture on the ceiling and try to keep yourself from moaning when he pulls your panties to the side. He stretches the fabric as far as it goes, it makes a tearing sound, but it doesn't break. You couldn't care less if he rips them apart. It wouldn't be the first time either. He’s ruined two pairs already. Professor Castle has a wild side that only comes untamed when he’s with you. But this is different. He's never gone down on you right in his own office on campus like he's about to do. You both know the implications of that, but rules be damned right now. All that worry floats out of your head as his tongue makes first contact with your pussy. He draws a line from your opening up to your clit ever so softly before pulling your outer lips apart and diving in. He has just an ounce of restraint himself from going too hard and making you scream out in pleasure, even though he wants so badly to suck on your clit to hear you pleading for more. To stir out of your voice call out his name and title out of sheer joy. But he holds back. He presses an array of kisses and nibbles all over your folds as you close your eyes to focus on the torturing slow pace of his tongue. Your nipples are hard as a rock under your bra, your legs strain to stay in position when Frank slowly laps around your clit, collecting your arousal as your breathing hollows. He places a palm on your stomach, right under your sweater and catches the effects of his mouth in the way your body reacts. There’s an added edge to doing this right here, it makes his cock throb in his underwear as you mumble his name.

“Frank.” It comes out as a murmur, and he hums against your tender skin before going a little harder. There’s only so much he can do to up the pace and make you come without alerting anyone behind that door of what’s happening inside.

We'll be more careful, you said. He eats out your words straight out of your sex.

To speed up the process uses his other hand to slip two fingers into your opening and press on your g-spot. Your back arches in response. Frank has to press that hand on your abdomen a little harder to keep you from squirming too much. It feels like an eternity until you reach the point of no return, once you're there you can feel that fire burning bright at your core as a mind-numbing chill settles at the back of your head. You've never felt that intense jolt sparking your body like fireworks before. Then again you don't have much to compare him to other than the one and only boyfriend you had when you started college.

You grip at his hair as he cues your orgasm. With a strong flick of his tongue and that adamant pressing of your walls you finally come undone. You bury a moan in your throat as every cell of your body is touched by that wildfire that travels from your center out in every direction. It curls your toes in your shoes, your eyes shut, your knees clench together before he can pull his face away. As the orgasm ebbs he sets himself free from your thighs and watches you descend from cloud nine. He uses a tissue to clean up your cunt and fixes your panties to their former position. Then, Frank settles your legs down as your body goes completely limp, and straightens your skirt over your thighs with such love it almost makes you cry.

“Frank,” your voice comes out watery.

“Sh, it's okay, baby. I know. Come here.” He helps you up and pulls you onto his lap.

“I missed you.”

“I know.” He smiles against your hair as he snuggles you against his chest. “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.”

You clear your throat and stay still for a minute while his hand soothes your back before noticing he’s still hard.

“Do you want me to take care of this?” You fondle his bulge over his pants.

“No, that’s okay. That’s my punishment for hurting you.” He takes your hand away, brings it up to his lip to kiss your knuckles.

“You really have a thing for punishment, huh?” You quip, lifting your head to look at him. It’s then that you notice his messed up hair and send our fingers to fix it.

“Not as much as you do.” His hand pats your ass reminding you of all those times you've begged him to spank you when you were being a brat.

You laugh as you take off his glasses and use the hem of your sweater to clean them.

“Can I come over this weekend?” You ask putting his eyewear back on.

“I have that wedding I told you about. Can't get out of it, I'm the best man.”

“Right. Of course. One of your marine buddies. Florida, right?”

“Yeah.” His stare goes down as he massages your hand thinking that maybe… “You could come with me if you want.”

“I uh… I don't think I'm ready for that.”

“No, you are. Nobody will know you there, and I don't wanna keep lying about you, at least not to my friends. They won't give a fuck, you know? I'm tired of being set up for blind dates and shit.”

“Oh, it must be really hard being you.” You mock.

“Don't laugh. Just think about it. It'll be something casual at the beach. I'll get you a ticket if you're worried about that.”

“I really changed your mind, did I? That's a full 180 from what you said the other day, Frank. Are you sure you want this?”

“Yeah, I was only fooling myself thinking that I could stay away from you. Which I would've if you hadn't shown up here with a fucking attitude. But you're right, we'll have to be more careful from now on.”

“And we can do whatever we want in Florida.”

“Yeah, you wanna come?”

“Only if you really want me there.”

“I wouldn't be asking if I didn't.”

“Then I'll go with you.”

You press your lips sweetly against his and let them bounce together for a moment before getting back to reality. You pull up your stockings all the way up and fix up your clothes before collecting your bag from the floor. But Professor Castle can't help but stall for a bit longer to kiss you once more until you have no choice but to run to your next class.

[briefalpacashark]

MILES 42 Spoils you

Warnings: None.

(Dont know who the artist it but props to them. Amazing stuff)

Miles loves to spoil me. He's got plenty of money, thanks to the buyer's market for fancy gadgets and Miles' insanely smart brain, and a few choice investments. Money was no longer a problem for him. He had paid off his mothers mortgage and the only reason why Rio still worked was because she respected her own independence. 

The gift giving started off slow. The appreciation I showed fuelled his desire to gift me anything and everything. 

I started catching onto his antics and shut it down.

“You like that one Mami?” I felt Mies place his hands on my hips from behind as he peeked over my head at the small stuffed animal on display in a window.

“No,” I flatly refused, going to step away only for him to hold on tighter pulling me back. Miles was stronger than me by a long shot. So my attempt to escape was easily foiled. I could see his smirk in the reflection as he moved to encase my body in his arms resting his chin on the top of my head.

“The green or the blue?” he asked.

“Neither,” I muttered.

“Come on Mami, Which one?” he asked, dropping his head to my shoulder.

“I was just looking at the cute cashier,” I stated without thinking.

“Who the old lady?” he asked with a smirk. Looking at the cashier, I grimace slightly.

“Come on Mi Amor,” he coaxed his lips, finding himself a sweet little spot on my neck.

“Nope,” I popped the p.

“Mi vida, Hermosa, Mi Alma, Mi Amada, Cariño, Mi Reina, Bebe,” with each pet name his gentle pecks got more intimate. Trailing down my neck and sending my cheeks a flame. Finding my sweet spot rather easily my eyes widened as he started to suck on it, fully intent on forming a hickey. Pushing the pleasant shiver it sent though my body I cleared my throat. 

“Fine!” I suddenly declared. He smirked giving the spot one last peck before straightening up.

“The blue,” I muttered trying to fix my hair pretending that the kisses had not affected me in the slightest. 

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

Staring at the blue teddy on our bed I huffed in defeat. 

Yet as I started to shut down his habit he found ways of literally forcing me to accept it. Whether it be teasing me to the point of acceptance or just flat out ignoring me as he bought the item. The honeymoon period of him actually listening to me diminished in less than a month. Hell I had even tried returning items, Miles caught on and started refusing the receipts when he purchased stuff. 

So I made it my mission to not go shopping with him anymore. I succeeded mostly yet sometimes he would still pop up. 

It was working to an extent. 

Until one day when we went to watch a live performance in the park with Jessica, my best friend and Shiro. I guess you could call him Miles' best friend. The performance was canceled last minute so Jessica decided that we should go shopping. I tried to refuse but Jessica was like Miles in a way. Wouldn't take no for an answer. So there we were walking through a clothing shop. Miles hung closer to me watching and waiting for any reaction I would have. Any slight hint that I liked something and his card was out. Luckily for me I had been practicing the art of deception. The whole time I kept a millstone smile on my face. Miles hated it.

“You're not fooling me with that smile,” he whispered into my ear. 

“Oh really? Well I wonder why your cards are nice and snug in that wallet that hasn't left your pocket,” I stated smugly, giving him a wink before turning back to Jessica that held a shirt to her chest asking for my opinion. 

“What's up with him?” Jessica asked, nodding to Miles who now wore a slight frown, more than usual.

“I won't let him buy me anything,” I muttered.

“I'm sorry. You're not letting him buy you stuff? Are you sick?” she asked, reaching for my forehead pretending to check my temperature.

“He gets me too much stuff,” I muttered with a small smile pushing her hand away as we walked to the other rack leaving a moody Miles behind. 

“And that's a problem, how?” she asked. “You have a sugar daddy and you're not using him,” she tisked going back to looking at things. I hated the feeling that settled in my gut at her words. I know she was just joking but it still hit me deep.

“Hey Mami, we're gonna go check out some things I'll be back,” Miles muttered, gently tapping the side of my hip as he stepped up behind me.

“Ok, meet you at the food court?” I suggested.

“In an hour?” he asked. I nodded and waved him off.

“Now that they're gone we can actually do some shopping,” Jessica said wagging her eyebrows. She dragged me straight towards Victoria's secret. I wasn't gonna lie, I had a good time. Trying things on. Looked at everything that caught my eye without the worry that Miles was gonna buy it. I even bought a nice jacket for Miles. Seeing him sitting down I walked up behind him reaching around to cover his eyes with one hand.

“Hands out,” I demanded with a smile. Miles put his phone down holding his hand out. Placing the bag in his hand I pulled my hand back wrapping my arms around his neck as he opened it. 

“What's this for?” he asked holding the jacket up. 

“What can't I spoil my man?” I asked, giving his cheek a quick peck before sitting down next to him. He chuckled lowly at my words absolutely loving how I called him ‘my man’

The next day I got back from work walking into our apartment.

“Miles, I’m home,” I called out rounding the kitchen and stopping upon seeing a pile of bags on the dinner table. 

“Hey mami,” he called from the couch, keeping his eyes on the television.

“Miles,” I sighed, already knowing what was in those bags. 

“I really don't see what the big deal is,” he shrugged, already knowing what my sigh was for.

“Miles,” my tone was more serious now, it snapped slightly and my anger appeared. Miles' head tilted to the side slightly at it. I rarely held this tone. But I had had enough. It was getting out of hand. Miles and I rearly fought. And our fights were mostly me ranting and Miles using a calm tone as he listened. 

“What's that tone for?” he asked. 

“You know what it's for,” I snapped, chucking my bag on the table looking over it all. Hearing the TV shut off I refused to turn around as he approached me.

“Mami,” he whispered.

“Don't Miles, I'm mad at you right now,” I shook my head walking away from him.

“Babe, come on,” he sighed.

“No Miles, you just don't listen, do you know how frustrating that is?” I ranted ripping my scarf off.

“It's not like you listen to me all the time,” he shrugged, leaning against the door frame of our room. My head snapped to him in a glare that had him sighing again.

“What's got you so wound up. Huh?” he asked softly. That stupid soft understanding tone. That one that held no anger. That's why I hated arguing with him. He never got angry. Never. Frustrated maybe.

“Jessica called you my sugar daddy,” I whispered under my breath, kicking off my shoes.

“Sugar Daddy. Well I like the sound of that,” he mused with a small smirk.

“Miles,” I huffed.

“Aight aight. Lo siento,” he held his hands up in defense.

“So am I gonna have to pry what's bothering you out of ya or?” he trailed off.

“I don't want you to think I'm with you just because of your money. I don't like it, it's so fucken stupid and it makes me feel sick,” I continued to rant moving about the room.

“Mami, hey hey, come er,” he walked forward gently grabbing me, pulling me out of my pacing. His hands rubbed up and down my upper arms as he whispered to me in spanish trying to calm me down.

“Why would you ever think that?” he asked with a frown.

“It's not just me. Other people say it,” I muttered.

“Did those other people know that you were with me when I had a whole total of two dollars to my name. Where my idea of an expensive date was a trip down to the seven eleven and a push bike ride to the lookout?” he asked reminiscing on when we had first gotten together. 

“Well no,” I muttered.

“And do they know that you work an honest job and against my wishes pay for your own things. That you pay for what you think is half the rent when really I already bought the apartment and put that money into a savings account that I would have told you about when we had our first kid so you wouldn't stress about buying stuff for em?” my eyes widened slightly at Miles casually mention of not only lying to me about the rent but the talk of a kid. I should be really angry at him for lying to me. But all that was running through my head was a kid. 

“You want kids?” I asked softly. We had never talked about kids before.

“Who wouldn't want a little you runnin round?” he asked with a small smirk. My chest flushed with warmth at the sincerity in his eyes. 

“Why don't you?” he asked.

“Of course I wan- No wait. I'm getting distracted. You've been lying to me! MIlES!” I snapped.

“Mi amor you're angry, How about  we calm down,” He suggested his arms moving to encompass me.

“No, I will not calm down,” I huffed trying to get out of his hold.

“Ok,” he shrugged before tipping us back, myself hitting the bed and him flopping down atop me.

“Miles!” I yelled trying to wiggled out from under him.

“Hum?” he hummed, not moving an inch. 

“God you can be so frustrating,” I huffed, giving up on my struggle. 

“I'll get up when you calm down,” he muttered simply. I gave one last shake before huffing again. 

“You know I read somewhere that adults who can't accept people buying nice stuff for them is because when they were a kid their parents would say stuff was too expensive. Messed with the kids mind and made them think they aren't worthy of being gifted stuff,” Miles mumbled. Hearing that my mind instantly snapped back to when I was young. Money was tight growing up. My parents tried their best to shield it from me but I was smart enough. Seeing my parents so worried about paying rent, I guess it could have left a mark.

“Stop trying to be smart,” I huffed. Miles was smart. Crazy smart. As in genius einstein smart. 

“You deserve the world Mami. And I'm the one that's gonna give it to ya,” he whispered softly.

“I don't need the word Miles. I only need you,” I whispered my arms moving around to hug him, my hand gripping the back of his shirt. Rolling us onto our sides he shifted me up so we were looking at each other. 

“Who else am I gonna spend my money on huh? I send a bunch to charities. I look after my mum as much as she will let me. At least you let me buy you stuff,” he muttered.

“Let you?” I propped an eyebrow.

“Yes Mi Vida. You let me, even though you try not to,” he grinned. I sighed, shaking my head reaching up to grab his face.

“I love you Miles. I love YOU, Not your money. Not this apartment. I would love you if you had not one penny to your name. You know that right?” I asked. I wanted him to know it. I needed him to know. For a long time he simply stared at me. In his mind he wondered what he had done to deserve the love of such an amazing woman. He knew I didn't care whether or not he had money. But the main reason why he did what he did, why he sold his tech was to make a life free of such worries.

“I know,” he whispered, his own hand reaching up to cup my face. “ So let me spoil you. The whole reason I did it all was to make a life free of the worry of money. To make a good life for us,” he whispered honestly. I pressed my lips together. He had a point.

“Fine. but only once a month,” I huffed.

“Once a month?” he asked, pretending to be appalled.

“Fine once a week,” I muttered. He grinned, pulling me into a sweet kiss. I smiled, trailing my finger down his chin as he pulled back.

“Say, you busy this evening?” he asked.

“Why?” I asked.

So there I sat. On the handlebars of Miles' old push bike. In one hand I held a slushy. I wore the biggest smile on my face as we rode through the town, my hair gently billowing in the wind. Looking back I caught a glimpse of one of Miles' genius true smiles. A smile so wide and toothy that it showed his dimples. 

“You wanna know something?” I asked, turning back to the front. He hummed, signaling for me to continue.

“This has got to be the best date yet,” I said. 

“I guess it's alright,” he mused.