mei ⋆｡˚

valarr adores to corner you.

his favourite past time every time he comes round during family visits is making you increasingly uncomfortable until you find a moment to slip away. because it always gets you right where he wants you, running to a private room, or even outside. leaving yourself completely alone when he finds you.

only this time he finds you in the upstairs hallway, about to go into your bedroom but you’re too late, one hand being firmly pressed against your waist and pushing you into the room next door, your brother’s room.

even at every pathetic plea from your lips, valarr still forces you down on aerion’s bed, letting one of his hands wander underneath your skirt.

you shouldn’t of worn a skirt today, trousers would have been harder to pull off, might have given you a fighting chance to break away and you know it’s a losing match when he positions himself between your legs. you don’t fight against him, don’t dare to scream or cry out for help, but you do beg in the smallest voice for him to not do this.

at least not here. not on aerion’s bed.

but valarr chuckles, “come on, you know you’ll like it. i always take care of you, don’t i?”

you want to scream, that’s not true, but like always you bite down on your words, to scared to alert anyone to the scene of the crime.

his lips fall to your neck at your silence, taking it as your form of consent. he nips at the skin first, before letting his tongue run over the delicate spot. he can’t mark you right now, not there at least but he can let his tongue wander over the soft pulse point, teasing you with the edges of his teeth.

you suck in a harsh breath when his fingers slide over your panties, and like always when his fingers dip inside the item of clothing, he finds you slightly damp.

valarr doesn’t waste any time, he never does.

your thighs squeeze around valarr’s head at the feel of his thick tongue lapping over your folds. he takes his time, kissing and licking around your clit, and every so often flicking the tip of his tongue over the senstive nub. you know what game he’s playing, and your teeth almost draw blood as they dig into your lower lip.

you’re clenching around nothing by the time he eventually gives up, feeling the frown of his face pressed against your pussy before he dove right in. he’s still teasing, circling your clit in the slowest strokes possible but at least when he changes pace, he takes you by surprise, and your mouth accidentally falls open.

you gasp and valarr smirks against you before sliding a finger into your needy hole, earning a risky moan from you.

“not fair,” you let out between gritted teeth.

nothing is fair about this. not the way one hand is clutching at the sheets of your bed. not the way your own cousin is eating you out like your his last meal on earth. and it’s definetly not fair how he seems to know the sweet spots inside of you that have you clenching around him.

but valarr doesn’t care how fair it is. it’s his game, and there’s never been any rules, to him you just suck at playing it.

“fuck, look at you.”

your ears register the words but your mind doesn’t really register that it isn’t valarr’s voice. no, not until valarr is parting from you to look over at his cousin in the corner.

“and look at you,” aerion smirks, noting valarr’s wet lips and blown out pupils. “on my bed as well.” aerion tuts, before sliding the door closed behind him. “could have had the decency to invite me.”

you don’t know what you expected when your brother walked in, fear washed over you and sheer panic as you looked to cousin for an explanation. but you never needed to give one, finding yourself right back down on the same bed again, only with your back pressed against valarr’s chest, both of you looking down as your brother continues the assault on your soaked pussy.

it’s different with aerion, his tongue gathering your juices with gentle licks before he gulps the slick down with a heavy groan. he doesn’t seem to mean to tease like valarr, but instead seems to be genuinely enjoying taking his time with you.

your practically a babbling mess when his the muscle of his tongue slides into your hole, already a needy mess from valarr’s earlier antics, and now with aerion fucking you with his tounge and valarr pinching your nipples, the feelings overwhelming. valarr at least does you the favour of covering your mouth with his hand and muffling your noises, as much as it pains him. but your being too loud even for him when aerion’s thumb presses down on your clit, unable to contain yourself anymore.

you don’t even know what you’re feeling anymore, it’s too much. aerion between your thighs and valarr sucking at your neck, you feel that tense sensation every where. your toes curling, nails clawing at valarr’s arm that’s wrapped around you, and pussy clenching around aerion’s tongue till you feel tears flooding your eyes. till your completely spent, riding out the last bits of your high by grinding on your own brother’s face.

dividers by @/chrisssiren

as always comments and reblogs are appreciated

Being a bartender meant dealing with creeps. The kind of guys who thought the low-cut tops you wore were an invitation to flirt, to touch, to act like they owned you even when you wore them both for yourself because you liked them and because you got better tops that way. 

            Being a bartender meant that every night, you were confronted with exactly what men thought of women. Thought of you. But it paid the bills, subsidized your tuition and kept everything going. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t glamorous, but it was something and something is always better than nothing. 

            The only thing that made bartending worthwhile was your favorite customer, Valarr. He came in every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, just at the start of your shift and stayed for a few hours. Those few hours were the best that you had in your job because he was a customer, nothing more and nothing less. He didn’t make crude comments, he didn’t flirt and he didn’t leave his number scrawled on the napkins. 

            What he was, was polite and kind and a great tipper. The most he’d ask for were a few moments of conversation, something to delay his return to his table whenever he was out with his monstrous cousin, Aerion. And it was such a simple request that you obliged every time. You didn’t see the harm in it; you didn’t see the possessive glimmer in his eyes or the way his hand tightened on his glass every time someone flirted. 

            He was just a customer to you. 

            He was the one who stumbled in a few years ago, his arm looped around his cousin Daeron as he carried him to a table and you’d watched, tossing your towel over your shoulder, yelling out to the people at the bar, “two minutes!” 

            “Need help?” you’d asked, walking over to them, hands on your hips as you surveyed the scene of the impossibly drunk man whose limbs were so weak that he was practically liquid, spilling out across the booth he’d been unceremoniously dumped in by the shorter man with the dark dark hair, save for a single white streak that glimmered in the sepia tinted lights of the bar. 

            “Coffee, please,” he’d said, voice lilting with an accent, the kind you heard in the upper crust of King’s Landing, the one not heard so much among where you worked, your neighbourhood. “A lot of it.”

            “Yeah,” you’d replied, “you got it. I’ll bring a bucket too…mainly cause I don’t want to clean up his vomit at closing time.” You’d turned and ducked back behind your counter, lifting the divider up and dropping it down as you disappeared back into the kitchen, turning the coffee machine on, setting some beans up in the grinder. 

            You’d gone back out as the coffee brewed, mixing drinks and serving shots, laughing under your breath at the pickup lines some boys used at the bar on other people, pickup lines that should have been left in the vault, dusty and unused. When you heard beeping, you’d readied the pot and put it on a tray, a bucket in your hand, hip bumping the divider up as you walked back to the booth. 

            “Coffee,” you’d announced, setting the rubber, circular carrying tray down with the pot and the old, chipped white porcelain mugs. “And a bucket.” You’d set it down and turned to go when you felt fingers curling lightly around your wrist, your muscles going rigid at the touch. It wasn’t unusual for men to touch you, but never when you were outside of the bar, when you were serving, mainly because they wanted you to hurry up and get back behind the counter and make more drinks. 

            “Thank you,” you’d heard the shorter, sober boy say and you glanced over your shoulder at him, lips pressed thin as you nodded and pointedly removed your hand from his grip, walking back to the bar, back to the job you hated and enjoyed at the same time. 

            But when you were closing up that night, you found a thousand dollar tip at the booth with a note in elegant, expansive cursive. One that read I meant the thank you. The money cannot accurately express my gratitude, my feelings, but it’s an attempt.

            For you, he’d been the best customer. For him…you’d been something else. 

            For him, you’d been his. From the moment he’d laid eyes on you, he’d understood that he’d never before felt love because it was all designed for you. 

            His soul was yours; his life was yours and yours was his. He knew it and you would too, in time. He was willing to give you that even if everything in him had him needing you, needing to press you against the wall and mark your neck with his teeth, leave something that those pigs at the bar could see. So that they could understand that you were his. 

            But he refrained. 

            He refrained because he understood that, perhaps, you were too busy, worried and stressed to let yourself see what was before you. He understood that you would need time and he was willing to give you that. He was willing to give you time if that’s what you so needed because he would still remain. Always there. 

            Whether you knew it or not. 

            It was merely him protecting you, his love, that had him follow you home, set surveillance upon you so he knew where you were and what you did every moment of every day. He knew your favourite colour, favourite movie before you could tell him, but when you did in those precious few moments of conversation, he felt like the sun had smiled upon him, like the universe was telling him that soon, Valarr. Soon she will be yours. 

            And truthfully…

            He could not wait any longer for you to be ready. 

            He’d make you ready.

            “Good luck!” Red says, her hand clapping down on your shoulder as she steps out from behind the bar, untying her apron and tossing it onto the storage shelf just behind the divider. 

            “That bad?” you ask, side-stepping her and slipping behind the bar, hands shifting, pulling down your ever rising up top, the one that shows a bit more skin than you’re comfortable with without the apron on. 

            “Worse,” she says, slipping into the back hallway, the one you just came from, the lockers there, stuff stored before shift, retrieved after shift, the back exit there, ready for your escape at the end of a long, long shift. “But you can handle it, tough girl! I have faith.” She disappears around the bend in the hallway, her long red hair the last bit of her you can see as you reach and grab your apron, the half-one that you tie around your hips, looping it back around the front, the ties far too long for any apron and you refuse to have anything that someone can pull on. Trap you. Cage you with. 

            Worse than bad was never good at this place. It meant that the creeps were in top form and wouldn’t stop no matter how many times you reiterated, not interested. 

            “Hey, pretty lady!” And so, it began. 

            “Just a minute, please, sir,” you call out, stepping into the bar area, glancing behind you, taking note of the bottles, of the ones low, high. What’s been popular and what’s been avoided. Vodka and tequila, good. Whiskey, bad. 

            “You single?” you hear someone call out and you can feel as your jaw tightens, teeth grinding together as you turn around, eyebrows raised, arms crossing. 

            “Anything I can get for anyone?” you ask, cursing yourself as soon as the words leave your mouth, a man to the right of you leaning forwards, eyes tracing your figure. You can feel his eyes on you, feel the way he’s tracing your figure with his eyes. The worst part is, is that he won’t even tip well. 

            “Your number,” he says and his voice is just as disgusting as the way his eyes feel on your body. The way his stare makes your skin crawl like a thousand spiders and their ten legs are skittering all over your skin. 

            “This is a bar, not a speed-dating exercise, sir,” you say, turning, biceps flexing against your fingers as you look at him. “I’m happy to provide you alcohol, but my number is not something on offer at this establishment.”

            You wish that had been the end of it, but the guy is relentless, making comment after comment about your body, about what he could do to you, make you feel. It doesn’t matter how many times you say no, not interested, please stop, he just keeps going. 

            Your manager is no help, never has been. He values profit over employee safety and the more the guy verbally assaults you, the more drinks he buys. 

            “Sir, no!” you yell out, his last words, last sentence having struck a chord. Something about his dick and your tits and you stopped listening because you just can’t stand it. You hate the objectification; you hate that to wear anything that you feel good in is to invite commentary from men. 

            A bit of tequila from the shot you’ve slammed down on the bar top splashes out but the group of girls here for Saturday’s karaoke night don’t notice, simply slamming them back and running all together, shiny and glamorous for now, up to the stage, Britney Spears spilling through the roughed up speakers. 

            “I believe,” a silk smooth voice calls out, the bell above the door chiming open, “that the lady said no.” You didn’t notice Valarr come in, only taking notice of the bodyguard hovering in the doorway.

            “What’s it to you, man? She yours?” Valarr steps up into the spot vacated by the gaggle of girls, flashing you a brief, heart-stopping smile before leaning his elbow on the counter, body turned to face the creep. 

            “She is hers,” he whispers, tone calm, but a kind of calm so calm that it’s terrifying. Only the creep is too drunk to notice. 

            “Then it don’t matter if I flirt or not,” he says and Valarr reaches forwards, his hand curling into the neck of the man’s white tee, pulling him forwards, mouth hovering over his ear as he whispers something that has the man blanching. He pushes forwards and the man stumbles back, looking from you to Valarr and then running off, shoving past the security guard into the cool, not-so-clean air of Flea Bottom. 

            “So sorry that happened to you, love,” Valarr says now, turning back, both elbows on the counter as he looks at you, lips drawn into a tight smile, a glimmer of seething, roiling anger in his eyes. The depth of that anger almost scares you, but he blinks and it’s gone. 

            Like it was never there at all. 

            “Happens all the time,” you tell him, nodding at a man who holds up his empty glass, asking for a refill. “Do you want something from the bar?”

            “Oh no,” he says, “I’m simply here for you.” 

            The words both make you want to smile and hide, run and yet stay, but it must just be a slip of the tongue…right?

            That man had no right to look at you, let alone speak to you! He didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air that you breathed! Occupy the same space as you! You were his! You were above all of them! Above everyone because you…you are everything!

            It was anger that loosened Valarr’s tongue, had him grabbing the man and whispering a promise, not a threat into his ear. 

            “If you are not locked up in your home at the end of the night, I will find you and I will make you pay for daring to make my love uncomfortable. Do you understand?”

            “You don’t listen well, do you?” he calls out now, the man’s form slumped against a wall, a blunt held between his fingers. 

            “I-I’m s-sorry! D-don’t hurt me!” the man calls out, his voice rising and falling, a cry contained in those words. Pathetic, he did not care that he hurt you. No, he cares not for anyone but himself. 

            “I made you a promise,” Valarr whispers, stepping forwards, hands on his knees, pulling his trouser legs up as he crouches down before the man, removing the blunt from his fingers and tossing it aside, into the gutter, removing a dagger from his jacket pocket and lifting the man’s right hand. “And I always keep my promises.”

            And then he takes his knife to the index finger, pressing the blade through the flesh, the finger falling onto the ground, blood leaking from it, spurting from the place where it had previously been on his hand, the man screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming. 

            Valarr then lifts the knife to the middle, cutting through every single finger on his right hand. Only once all the fingers rest on the ground does he step back, wiping the dagger off on the man’s pant legs and tucking the knife back into his pocket. If the occupants of Flea Bottom know one thing, it’s that a Targaryen done crime never happened at all. 

            “Take the index finger,” Valarr orders his guard. “Dispose of the rest.”

            “What do I do with the finger, sir?”

            “Put it in a fancy gift box. I have a gift for my girl.”

            It’s the doorbell that rouses you from your sleep, your dreams haunted by the remnants of the creep, of Valarr and his declaration of being there for you. The doorbell sounds through your house, ringing through the stillness as you slide out of your bed, too lazy to throw the covers back, rather slithering down and out, feet on the floor as you push to a standing, padding down the hall towards your door. 

            “COMING!” you call out, drawing your hoodie sleeves low over your hands, the heating in your house being on the fritz, meaning that you’re sleeping in a hoodie and fleece pants with socks because it’s winter and your heating sucks. You reach the door, pulling it open, to reveal a porch that has no one standing on it, rather a pretty box tied with a bright iridescent bow. 

            You crouch, lifting it up and looking left and right for the person who left it, but seeing no one. You step back into your house, bumping the door closed with your hip and walking into the kitchen, setting it on the counter. 

            There’s a card, your name in flowing calligraphy which you pull down, flipping it over, reading in Valarr’s neat, elegant and ever recognizable writing, My good girl; your loyalty delights me. It tells me that you know as I do, that we are meant to be. A forever match. Enjoy the gift. I’ll pick you up at 8 for our date. Wear the necklace and wear something in red, you look best in red.

            You can feel your stomach twist at the words on the card and you step it aside, pulling the bow open, the walls of the box falling flat, revealing the contents. The first is a pretty necklace made of silver with a deep red ruby pendant, but the chain is so short that you realize…it’s a collar. A way to mark you. 

            Something to show ownership of his good girl. 

            The second is a jar, one covered with a cloth and you lift it from the box, the cloth falling away to reveal a cut off finger suspended in liquid. 

            It’s like a horror movie, your heart is pounding, lungs constricting with your throat and you’re screaming, but you don’t even realize that you’re screaming, don’t even realize that your hand has opened, the jar slipping from your hand and shattering on the floor into a million tiny pieces, formaldehyde splashing over the gritty, yellowing tiles of your kitchen floor, the finger rocking side-to-side like a possessed talisman. 

            The only real thought in your mind is what would happen if you hadn’t been his good girl?

As you turned your back on him in the dimly lit hallway behind the lecture halls, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. He had pulled out all the stops—leaning against the wall, flashing his usual lethal smirk, casually offering you a ride in his sports car like it was the greatest privilege in the world.

And you? You had just adjusted your backpack, looked at him with complete indifference, and said, "No thanks, Aerion. I'm busy."

No hesitation. No blush. Just sheer, cold indifference as you walked past him, the soft click of your shoes echoing down the corridor.

Aerion stood frozen for a split second, his silver-blonde hair falling slightly over his eyes. His pride wasn't just wounded; it was utterly scorched. Watching your retreating back, something inside him snapped—a raw, dangerous frustration that burned away whatever patience he had left.

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the One Wish Willow box. It was cool, heavy, and pulsing with a subtle, unnatural hum against his palm. He didn't care about the warnings or how ridiculous it seemed to use it right here in the middle of campus. He just knew he couldn't let you walk away from him again.

Taking two swift steps forward, his dark eyes locked onto your figure, Aerion held the branch tight in his grip and whispered bitterly into the cold air,

"I wish for her stop walking away. I don't care how—just make her look at only me. Make her body refuse to leave me behind."

He snapped the branch in two. The moment the last word left his lips, a sudden, heavy static filled the air.

Just ten paces ahead of him, your feet suddenly felt like lead. A strange, sharp chill ran down your spine, followed by a dizzying wave of warmth that flooded your chest. Your heart gave a violent, unnatural thud. Suddenly, the urge to keep walking completely vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, magnetic pull drawing your attention back behind you.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Your head felt heavy, filled with a sudden, intrusive image of Aerion—his eyes, his voice, his presence. The indifference you felt just five seconds ago was completely wiped clean, replaced by an intense, suffocating need to be near him.

Slowly, almost like a puppet pulled by invisible strings, you turned around.

Aerion was still standing there, holding something small in his hand before casually slipping it back into his pocket. A dark, triumphant smirk slowly spread across his lips as he saw you frozen, staring at him with wide, dazed eyes.

You took a slow step back toward him, your breath hitching as you looked up into his gaze. The words left your mouth before you could even process why you were saying them.

"...Aerion?"your voice trembled slightly, eyes glued to his. "Actually... changed my mind. Let's go home together."

Aerion took a slow step closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes burning with a dark, satisfied possession.

"I thought you'd never ask," he murmured softly, reaching out to gently take your hand.

Valarr Targaryen

Valarr was always the epitome of self-control.

​As the quiet, dutiful heir, he was used to keeping his emotions perfectly checked. But standing near the campus courtyard under the afternoon drizzle, watching you politely reject him for the third time this week, his composure was threadbare.

​He had brought you your favorite iced coffee, offered to help you carry your heavy books, and gently asked if he could drive you home.

​And as usual, you offered him a small, distant smile—the kind reserved for polite strangers—and pushed the coffee back toward him. "Thank you, Valarr, but really... I can handle it myself. You don't need to keep doing this. I'll see you around."

​You turned away, clutching your tote bag against your shoulder, your steps steady as you walked out into the rain toward the bus stop.

​Valarr stood alone under the shelter, holding the cold cup of coffee. His chest constricted with a heavy, suffocating ache. He saw how warmly you laughed with your friends, how relaxed you were around everyone else, while with him, you always built an invisible, unbreakable wall.

​I’m tired of being just a harmless background figure to her.

​His hand dropped into his coat pocket, wrapping around the cold, carved edges of the Willow box he’d been carrying for days. He pulled it out just enough to hold it in his fist, his knuckles pale. Standing right there under the awning, watching your figure get further away, Valarr let his quiet desperation take over.

​He lowered his head slightly and whispered sharply into the rain-chilled air,

​". Make her need me. I wish to be the only warmth she seeks when everything feels cold."

​The instant the wish left his lips, a sudden, unnatural shudder rippled through the courtyard air.

​A few yards ahead, you froze.

​The rain felt bitterly cold on your skin, but inside your chest, a strange, terrifying emptiness suddenly bloomed. A violent chill rushed up your spine, making your hands shake so badly you almost dropped your books. Your mind, which a second ago was thinking about your schedule, was suddenly flooded with a suffocating sense of helplessness—and an intense, magnetic urge to find Valarr.

​Your feet stopped. The bus stop was just a few feet away, but every instinct in your body screamed that you couldn't leave. You needed him.

​Slowly, as if guided by an unseen force, you turned back around.

​Through the light rain, you saw Valarr standing under the awning, his dark eyes locked onto yours, steady and unblinking. The usual soft, hesitant look on his face was replaced by a deep, unwavering intensity.

​Your breath hitched. You took a step back toward him, then another, your feet moving on their own until you were standing right in front of him again, completely drenched and trembling.

​You looked up at him with wide, helpless eyes, clutching his jacket sleeve.

​"...Valarr," your voice broke slightly, full of a sudden, desperate need you couldn't explain. "I... I don't want to go home alone. Please stay with me."

​A slow, subtle smile touched Valarr's lips as he slipped his hands around yours, his grip firm, warm, and entirely unyielding.

​"I'm right here," he murmured softly, pulling you under his umbrella. "I’m not going anywhere."

Jacaerys Velaryon

Jace had been the perfect gentleman for as long as he could remember.

He was the guy who always remembered your coffee order, stayed up late to help you study, and walked you home just to make sure you were safe. But standing near the campus library under the fading evening light, his heart hit rock bottom.

He had just offered you his umbrella, stepping out into the drizzle himself so not a single drop of rain would hit you.

You stopped, looking at him with a gentle, pitying expression that hurt more than a slap to the face. You softly pushed the umbrella back toward his chest.

"Jace, stop... please," you said softly, giving him that frustrating, gentle smile. "You’re such a good friend, but I really don't want you wasting your time on me like this. I can walk alone."

A good friend.

You turned around, pulling your hood over your head as you walked out into the open courtyard, leaving him behind in the shade.

Jace stood frozen. His bright, warm smile completely vanished, replaced by a hollow, burning ache in his chest. He was tired of being the 'safe option'. He was sick of watching you walk away while he stayed behind like a foolish, loyal dog.

His fist tightened inside his coat pocket, his fingers pressing hard against the cool, smooth surface of the Willow box. He had swore he’d never use something like this—that he’d win your heart fair and square. But watching your silhouette disappear into the fog, his patience completely snapped.

Pulling the branch out just enough to feel its faint pulse, Jace stared intently at your back and whispered, his usual gentle voice turning low, sharp, and resolute.

"I’m done being just a friend. Make her turn back. I wish she feels as desperately, hopelessly attached to me as I am to her."

A heavy, electric pulse instantly shot through the damp air.

A few yards away, you took another step— and completely froze.

A sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion crashed into your chest, making your breath catch in your throat. It felt like an invisible wire had snapped tight around your heart, tugging you violently backward. The cold rain didn't matter anymore. The schedule in your head completely evaporated. All you could feel was an intense, suffocating ache—a sudden, desperate fear of losing Jace.

Your eyes widened in confusion as tears welled up without warning. Why do I suddenly feel so terrified of leaving him?

You turned around so fast your wet sneakers squeaked on the pavement.

Jace was still standing under the awning, watching you. But the sweet, hesitant boy from two seconds ago was gone; his dark gaze was fixed on you with an intense, unwavering possessiveness.

You ran straight back through the rain, practically throwing yourself toward him. You grabbed the front of his jacket, looking up at him with wide, trembling eyes, your heart pounding wildly.

"Jace...Jace, I’m sorry," you choked out, clinging to him as if you'd drown if you let go. "Don't leave. Please... don't look at me like that. I don't want to be just friends anymore. Take me with you."

Jace dropped the umbrella onto the ground, bringing both hands up to frame your face, wrapping you tightly in his warmth as a dark, satisfied smile spread across his lips.

"I'm right here," he whispered against your forehead, his grip tightening so you could never pull away again. "I’ve got you now."

Gwayne Hightower

Gwayne was used to being the smooth-talker everyone wanted around. He had the charm, the sharp style, and the kind of easy confidence that usually made people bend to his will without him even trying.

Except for you.

You were standing near the steps outside the campus cafeteria, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Gwayne had walked up beside you, leaning in with his signature cocky smirk, tapping his fingers against the strap of your bag.

"Come on," he teased, tilting his head with an easy laugh. "You’ve been staring at your phone all afternoon. Let me take you out for dinner. I promise I’m way better company than whatever’s on that screen."

You didn't even smile. You just gently brushed his hand off your bag, giving him a weary, unimpressed look.

"Gwayne, please. I'm really not in the mood for your jokes today," you said plainly, stepping past him. "I'm going home."

No banter. No playful back-and-forth. Just a clean, effortless rejection that left him standing on the steps like a complete fool.

Gwayne’s smirk instantly melted away. His jaw set into a hard line as he watched you walk down the stairs toward the crowded courtyard. His ego was stinging, but beneath that pride was a darker, persistent frustration that had been brewing for months. He didn't want to just be the guy you brushed off with an annoyance in your eyes.

His hand darted into his jacket pocket, his fingers wrapping around the smooth, heavy surface of the Willow box he’d bought off an antique store for a joke.

Holding it tightly inside his pocket, his gaze pinned to your back, Gwayne dropped his casual facade completely. He leaned against the stone pillar and murmured under his breath, his voice laced with bitter intensity,

"Stop letting her run from me. I wish for her to realize she can’t get me out of her head, no matter how hard she tries."

A heavy, static charge rippled through the air the second the words left his mouth.

Down at the bottom of the stairs, your steps suddenly faltered.

A sharp, dizzying pulse hit the back of your brain, followed by a sudden rush of heat that made your breath catch in your throat. The frustration you felt a second ago vanished, completely replaced by an intense, overwhelming urge that made your knees feel weak. Your mind felt utterly consumed by Gwayne—his voice, his laugh, the way he looked at you.

You stopped dead in your tracks in the middle of the crowded walk.

Why was I walking away? The thought hit you with terrifying force. The idea of leaving him behind suddenly felt entirely wrong, almost unbearable.

Slowly, you spun around on your heel, looking back up the stairs.

Gwayne was still standing up there, his hands pulled out of his pockets, watching you with dark, burning eyes. Seeing you stop and turn around, a slow, dangerous smirk crept back onto his face—this time, far more triumphant.

You practically sprinted back up a few steps toward him, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs, eyes wide as you looked up at him.

"Gwayne..." you breathed out, clutching the lapel of his jacket without even realizing it. "Wait... don't go yet. Can we... can we go somewhere together? Just the two of us?"

Gwayne wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him with a low, satisfied chuckle.

"Now that," he whispered against your ear, his grip tightening possessively, "is much more like it."

Ormund hightower

Ormund was a man accustomed to authority.

He was refined, structured, and used to having people listen whenever he spoke. Yet, standing outside the law building’s lecture hall, all that polish meant absolute zero to you.

He had walked alongside you down the hallway, keeping a respectful distance while offering his help with a dark, composed tone. "I noticed you were struggling with the case study earlier. Let's get coffee—I can walk you through the arguments before tomorrow."

You didn't even slow down your pace. You just hugged your binder tighter against your chest, giving him a flat, distant look.

"I've already figured it out, Ormund," you replied evenly, not a single trace of emotion in your voice. "Thanks, but I don't need your help. Excuse me, my ride is here."

Without another word, you stepped around him and headed straight for the glass exit doors, leaving him standing alone under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Ormund didn't flinch, but his jaw clenched until the muscle ticked. The sheer dismissiveness in your tone hit him harder than any open insult. You treated him like an inconvenience—an unnecessary distraction.

His hand slipped smoothly into the pocket of his tailored coat, his long fingers closing around the intricate, heavy wood of the Willow branch he always kept on him. He didn't raise his voice or make a scene. Instead, he stood tall, his dark eyes tracking your movement through the glass doors with icy precision.

He took a slow, deliberate breath and whispered into the quiet hallway, his voice thick with unyielding authority:

"I'm done letting her act like she has a choice. Make her turn around. i wish she belongs by my side—and nowhere else."

The instant the command left his lips, an eerie, heavy pressure settled over the air.

Out on the front steps, just as your hand reached for the door handle of your ride, your body completely locked up.

A sudden, dizzying wave of heat rushed to your head, making your vision blur for a fraction of a second. A sharp, suffocating sense of panic spiked in your chest—not because of danger, but because of an terrifyingly strong realization that leaving Ormund was a grave mistake. Every instinct in your mind suddenly screamed that the only safe, correct place for you to be was right back next to him.

Your hand slid off the door handle.

Your heart thudded violently against your ribs as you pulled back, your feet moving in reverse as if compelled by an invisible command.

You turned back toward the glass doors and walked straight back inside.

Ormund was still standing in the center of the foyer, his hands resting casually in his coat pockets, watching your return with a cold, triumphant calmness.

You hurried over to him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you looked up into his eyes, completely unable to break eye contact.

"Ormund..." you murmured, your voice trembling as you reached out to grab his sleeve. "I... I made a mistake. Please don't let me leave. Take me with you."

Ormund leaned down slightly, his hand coming up to gently cup the side of your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline with dark, possessive satisfaction.

You were absolutely everything to him. The reason for his existence he thought often. His heart walking around, blessing everyone for your mere existence.

You danced around the floor with Aegon, a wide grin pulling at your beauty lips as your head was tilted back your laugh spilling out into the loud hall. It would have gone unnoticed to anyone else due to all the other sounds, but not to Valarr. Never to Valarr.

He stood on the outskirts watching, waiting patiently for his turn after you made it through your younger siblings. That was always the deal, and Valarr would have waited years to simply have the pleasure of dancing with you.

Though he much proffered when you would drag him off into the gardens, slipping past all the guards. Not because you would kiss him, though that was always a plus. He liked the quiet. When the two of you could exist without the watchful eyes and the pleasured of the crown.

Your eyes looked with his again, and you smiled at him. He could feel his own lips turn up slightly before Aegon pulled you once more attempting to spin you.

Valarr was so lost in his thoughts that he did not even notice the presence next to him. Though he probably should have due to the loud drunken steps, and the stench of wine that never quite left the man.

"If you stare any longer you might scare her off," Daeron mused, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. "Though I think she does like your attention."

He rolled his eyes, "I am admiring my future wife is all."

"Are you sure about that?"

The mismatched eyes turned meeting his violet ones. "What?" he asked, in confusion.

"My father has been speaking to Lord Tyrell about marrying his grandson," he answered with a shrug.

Valarr's eyes widened in horror. This was the worse possible thing he had ever heard in his entire existent. The thought of you married to anyone that was not him. That just would not do!

There had never been a formal betrothal, but he thought he did not need one. It was not secret how fond you were of the other, and he thought…His eyes then moved to the high table looking to Maekar who sat beside Baelor.

He would make this right. He then decided.

The Prince was moving through the crowd without a second thought, pausing before you to alert you of his intentions. You looked up as if you had felt his presence meeting his eyes. You beamed at him and he lost his train of thought pausing monetarily in his place as he simply stared at you, "Have you finally come to dance with me, Val?" you asked.

He could hear his heartbeat picking up. Your smile, your beauty, your angelic voice and the way you said his name. "No not yet, my love," he told you gently.

You frowned slightly, and it almost made him forget the task at hand due to how much he hated that sight. He moved forward cupping your face gently. No one in the crowd even paused to look at you continuing to spin around the pair of you, "I have to go have a talk with your father," he said.

The disappointment from only a moment ago, replaced by something that he had seen so often with you. In the quite moments when it was only you and him. No loud noises. No distractions.

It was the love you held for him. The one you confessed so loudly compared to his quieter admissions. It was the all consuming feeling that filled you both.

"Are you…" you trailed off, but you did not need to finish. He knew you better than that, as if you were an extension of his own thoughts and you never needed to complete yours, because he always knew.

"I am," he nodded in agreement. He reached down gripping your hand before pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"Do not leave me waiting long," you told him.

He grinned at you, "I wouldn't dream of it."

With a strength he did not quite know he possessed he pulled himself away from you, and began toward your father. He sat talking about something with his eldest brother, Valarr's father. The younger's face was a gruff as always as he rolled his eyes at something the elder said.

And before he knew it he was standing in front of the two men, "Valarr

"I request an audience with you," he suddenly declared, looking at his uncle.

Maekar turned looking to his brother, "What the fuck is he talking about?"

Baelor shrugged, "It is Valarr than requests an audience, Maekar. Not I," he reminded the younger.

He scoffed then turned back toward his nephew, "What the fuck do you want?" he then asked, not moving from his seat.

Valarr was undettered. This was Maekar's typical personality. Cold, stern, and harsh with his words, but underneath all that was a man who loved his children. Who loved you his first born, his precious girl, and only wanted the best for her.

And he believed he was that for you.

He puffed his chest out slight, trying to appear bigger than he was. He wanted to seem impressive, to seem worthy, but that was harder to do with a man that had earned the name of the Anvil.

"I wish to marry your daughter,"

"No," he answered immediately.

The young man's face immediately fell, but he was not going to take rejection that easily, "I will get on my knees and beg," he said.

The uncle's mouth turned into a grin as if he was tempted to see just how far he was willing to go. "Maekar," Baelor warned, knowing his son would do exactly as he said.

"I will do it," he repeated.

"You will get down on your knees in front of all these guests? The heir to the heir on his knees begging for my daughter's hand like an insolent child?" the stern man asked, leaning forward.

Baelor's eyes flickered around watching half in intrigued,and the other. making sure no one was witnessing this scene, because his brother was being his stubborn self.

Valarr nodded immediately, "Yes I will," he took a deep breath steadying himself, "I love your daughter more than anything in this world, and I will work every day to be the man she deserves. Getting on my knees and begging seems inadequate to the love I hold for her so if that is what you need I will l do it."

He then went to sink to his knees, but his uncle's hand shot out stopping him, "Do not get on your fucking knees. Maekar let out a sigh, shaking his head, "I will discuss it with your father. Now go and dance with my daughter so she will stop glaring at me," he instructed.

Valarr grinned widely, "Thank you," he said, with a bow before practically sprinting off toward you. As you awaited him, your hand already extending indicating exactly what you wanted. Both men watched as he complied, as you both danced around, matching grins on your face.

"Is there even much to discuss?" Baelor asked, once his eldest was out of ear shot.

"Oh, no. She already asked, but told me not to do anything until he did himself. I do not possess the ability to tell her no, and neither does he it seems."

a knight of the seven kingdoms tags: @kyvillasstuff @goldengirl86 @scarletwolfxox @witch-of-letters @confusedwhitegirl10 @itspbjellytime

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Three weeks they had said, your fate will be decided in twenty one days. They made it sound so simple. You will be theirs. You will prove yourself worthy to be theirs, and if you can't? Six feet under along with the rest of their victims will be your new address!

You knew since you were a child you were different. You didn't flinch when you first saw your first horror film as a child at a sleep over. People dying fascinated you to no end. Unlike others who flinched away, you leaned forward, trying to get a better look at it. The darkness making the death vague. You remember biting your tongue, wishing you could be there, inside the movie, watching the woman wither, and steal her life.

And then you had turned to look at the rest of the kids. They were staring at you like you were the monster, like you were the killer with your huge grin of excitement and eyes filled with wonder. Your body had turned ice cold when your mind figured out you were born wrong. That that wasn't the norm. So you rebranded yourself a horror fan. You said you enjoyed the psychological aspect of it, and it had absolutely nothing to do with your desire to break bones for your pleasure and learn the exact frequencies of the snap.

So you knew it wasn't a fluke, it was your self control failing you. And they had seen it, and now they wanted to play with it like a fiddle. So here you are, trapped between two monsters trying to rip apart your human skin, to peer inside and see if they liked what they saw, so you could be at their side. This was their first attempt, and oh were they succeeding.

You couldn't bring yourself to panic even in the situation you're in now. Tied, and gagged, next to Aerion no less. Valarr was still sharpening his blades. Different kinds. Medical ones. Scalpels of different lengths and what not. One of them caught your eyes, a beautiful dagger, with dragons carved on it's hilt.

"Valyrian steel. An heirloom of old Valyria, proof of our conquests." Aerion explained, his tone prideful of his heritage. "He always makes the first cut with it."

And Valarr does. A line of deep red made on the throat of the man. Crimson spills all over. The man wakes up with a snap, straining against his bounds, gasping, causing more red to ooze out of him. But it's not deep enough, not to kill. No, that would be too quick. Too easy, and not the show they want put up for you.

Despite being on the staircase, you could see Valarr and his choice of toy clearly. He had picked up a scalpel next, the blade sharp, catching the warm light of the room. And then so it begins. You feel the heat between your legs throb, your walls twitching around nothing, trying to get your attention with how wet you were becoming.

A whine comes out of you, muffled due to the piece of clothing in your mouth. But you don't thrash around like you want, nor stand up and go to Valarr, to see what he's doing more clearly. To learn. Because Aerion is right there, his head resting on your shoulder, his arm wrapped around you like a serpent. His other hand held a knife, ready to be plunged into you if you misbehave.

You can hear him breath. He's so close to you, and he runs hot. Hotter than most. Like he had lava coursing in his veins instead of blood. He listens to the sharp intake of air you take, memorising how your skin feels under his fingers. "Enjoying the show, sweetheart?" He asked, his lips brushing against your neck. He pressed a kiss on your skin. It didn't feel sweet or kind. It felt possessive, it felt like a brand. An invisible tattoo on your neck. His hand goes up under your shirt, fingers edging close to your bra. Another in take of breath, but it's not due to watching Valarr mutilate the man, but due to feeling the touch of Aerion.

"I wonder how wet a freak like you is right now."

His hand skims down, fingers hooking into the fabric of your panties. Aerion snaps the elastic of your waistband, making you flinch. The metal cuffs pulls against your wrists as you do. You try to twist your face towards Aerion, but like lightening your jaw is redirected to look at Valarr and Valarr only.

"Don't." It was the first and last warning you'll receive.

He pulls your panties down. It's a bit of a struggle but Aerion gets it done. The sudden cold air of the basement hits your cunt, making you shiver. The dragon laughs, his head back on your shoulder. "Let's see if your body speaks the truth, baby."

Your eyes nearly roll back when you feel the first touch of his fingertips between your legs, a stark difference from the frigid air of this room. His index and ring finger pulls apart your folds, exposing your insides for everyone in this room. You weren't even sure if Valarr has realized what was happening, if he heard his brother's jeer, and knew of his actions.

The plastic sheened with crimson under his ministration. It seemed like a lot of red, dripping down the table, one drop at a time. Tip top, tip top. One of the only sounds other than Aerion's mocking voice in the room. Valarr was methodical, utterly relaxed in what he was doing. If he weren't dissecting a man, you would have described watching him calming. He did it like it didn't take much from him. Gently, and with care. Even said action was the slowest way of causing a passing you had ever seen. Even with all the sticky metallic scarlet on the floor, you reckoned whoever was on the table hadn't crossed the gate for the afterlife yet.

Aerion steals back your attention, as his middle finger sinks inside of your warmth without a warning. A single digit of his messaging your gummy walls, trying to reach as deep as possible. Your cries get swallowed by your gag, and the silver haired boy nuzzles into your neck, pressing his lips on your skin, right up until he reaches your jaw. The dragon reveals his teeth, and sinks them into your flesh without a warning. At the same time, another of his fingers has joined their rightful place inside you. You closed your eyes, muffled moans spilling out of you, your hips twitching forward to have more of him.

"You're wetter than a well paid whore, baby." Aerion remarks, his tone tinged with innate darkness and lust. Mocking your pleasure, yet pulling it out of you with each deep thrust of his fingers. His digits press deep into you, making sure your walls got accustomeded to their shape and thickness, and then the tip of his finger touches the soft, hidden spot inside of you. You see white, clenching around him, your insides squeezing him without mercy. You're rewarded with another bite, this time on your neck.

The pain overshadows your pleasure, but in a way that is perfect. Simply delicious. It burned having him inside, pulling you apart, his fingers scissoring, spreading you wide open. Your juices make a mess of his hand. He kept whispering dirty little things in your ear, of what he wanted, of what Valarr wanted. Each whisper a promise they both meant to keep. He keeps pushing in, fucking in and out of you, his pace never faltering, never slowing down. It's fast and erratic, just like he is.

You can feel it build inside of you in layers, each time he twisted his fingers, you went closer to the edge. What tipped you over was his thumb rubbing at your pearl, hard and fast. In small, tight circles. His lips whispering how he's going to fuck his cock into you later. His teeth biting your ear lobe, and Valarr. Valarr. The older targaryen finally turning to look at the both of you. His mismatched eyes trail down, focusing his gaze between the space of your legs, drinking in the sight of Aerion's fingers thrusting in and out of you. Then his eyes raise up, meeting yours, one an ocean and another a deep melted chocolate looking right into you.

You can't hold it back anymore. You spill all over his hand. Your cunt closing in around his fingers, spasming as you finish. Hot white ecstasy crashes over you. You moan Aerion's name, you moan Valarr's name. They can't hear it, and a part of you is grateful for that. Valarr walks in front of the both of you in measured steps. Aerion is grinning, presenting his glistening fingers to his brother, proud of what he's done. They're coated in your juices. Valarr doesn't hesitate, taking Aerion fingers inside his mouth, his tongue swirling around to clean his digits of your essence. However, his eyes are focused on you, on how the shirt clinged to you with sweat, your hair sticking to your forehead. The drool all over your chin, the cloth around your mouth fucking sloppy wet. It felt disgusting, you realise, as you come down from your high.

Valarr does you a mercy. His crimson hand reaches behind your head to undo the knot. You don't beg. You don't cry. The first thing you do is a make desperate demand, as the man leans down, his thumb painting your bottom lip scarlet.

"Kiss me."

And he does. His lips finds yours, tongues battling against each other as if you were fighting a civil war to conquer westeros. It's filthy, and fast. Nothing like how Valarr would have kissed you any other day, but he also was calming down from a high of his own. Both of you were breathing hard when the kiss broke. Aerion tsks besides you, his arm wrapping around your shoulder, pulling you up.

"Come, my little fright," he said, "it's time for bed," Aerion nodded towards Valarr, "and he has a bloody mess to clean."

Your panties remain on the stairs as you walk up ahead. Your head turns to look at Valarr pick the ruined cloth up, his hard length straining against his trousers, before bringing it up to his nose, letting your intoxicating scent inside his lungs.

The targaryen besides you whispers with a twisted smile on his face. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure he has his share of fun too."

The last thought you have as you leave the basement is that you're so utterly fucked.

when he makes it to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he knows from the way you're orbiting around him so frantically that you aren't calming down any time soon. this continues into the bedroom, too, poking at him every chance you get, asking him nonsensical questions that are hard to answer in his sluggish state.

"now what has gotten into you, hm? aren't you tired?" he questions as you bite at his bicep, amusement hidden beneath his drowsy gruffness.

"i dunno…" you mumble, voice muffled as you remain latched onto leon's arm. "why? you struggling 'cause it's past your bedtime, old man?" the mischievous glint in your eyes has not dulled in the slightest, and leon knows if he wants to sleep any time soon, he has to meet you where you are.

"old man, huh?" he raises a brow at you. before you can quip back at him, he pounces on you. you squeal in surprise as he cages you in with his body, squirming beneath him in an attempt to break free.

"leon!" you shriek amidst giggles, wiggling out of his grasp just enough to get a taste of freedom before he drags you right back.

"surely you can take on an old man, right?" he taunts, his large hands clasping around your wrists and pinning them against the mattress. no matter how much you writhe beneath him, his grip is vice-like and you know you're not going anywhere now.

"not fair, you caught me by surprise." you groan, looking away in feigned annoyance.

"oh, i'm sure that's why you lost."

you're breathless, airy giggles filling the silence. when your gaze shifts to look ahead of you, the ceiling is barely visible, most of your vision taken up by the broadness of your boyfriend. he's got that look on his face, a shift from playful to something else that you've become so familiar with. leon admires you beneath him, eyes hooded and hazy. he still has you pinned, but you can tell he's not even trying to keep you in place. he knows you're right where you want to be.

"so… come here often?" he jokes, earning an eye roll from you.

"i'm kind of a regular, yeah." you humour him. "i'm hopefully the only regular here."

"of course, baby. this right here's a vip spot." he leans down closer to you and begins trailing slow, deliberate kisses up your neck. "you know there's no one else i'd rather have under me like this, right?"

once again, he catches you off guard, only with his words this time. you nod slightly delayed, a small and breathy mhm leaving your lips. your breathing gets a little heavier, and leon can feel you go pliant beneath him as he kisses your skin - oh, he's got you now.

"think it's safe to say that i won this fight, hm?" he says proudly, retreating from the crook of your neck to admire how flustered he's gotten you. failing to break from your leon-induced trance, you shoot him what is supposed to be a pointed look, the small smile you can't bite back completely giving you away.

"only 'cause you cheated…" you grumble.

"not sure that matters now, you don't seem too unhappy where you are." you have no retaliation to that, every thought in your head rapidly being replaced by how good leon looks on top of you.

despite his smugness, leon is also struggling to keep his thoughts at bay, your lustful, half-lidded stare and the straining against his boxers clouding his mind. he could never get tired of seeing you beneath him like this, watching the fire in you dwindle until you're warm and willowy, your determination to provoke him long forgotten.

"kiss me," you ask abruptly, "please."

leon wastes no more time after that, releasing your wrists and leaning down to connect his lips with yours. he sighs in what sounds like relief as you exchange messy kisses, goosebumps raising across his skin as your nails scratch at the nape of his neck. your hips absentmindedly chase after is own, rolling into him like you just can't help it.

one of leon's hands sneaks its way beneath your shirt, gently grabbing at the soft skin of your waist. a particularly pretty grunt escapes his throat as you grind against him just right.

"fuck, that feels good, huh?" he groans at the sight of you rubbing yourself against his bulge.

"mhm, want you so bad." you whine, reaching down to tug at the waistband of his sweatpants. this makes him snicker softly, so endeared by how needy you get for him.

"i know, baby, i know." leon coos, pressing gentle kisses along your jaw as he continues to rock against you. his hand tugs at your clothing, slowly riding up the fabric of your t-shirt. he reaches higher and higher until it sits bunched up above your chest, revealing your breasts. he tries not to let out a guttural groan at the sight of you, your chest rising and falling at a quickened pace as he greedily rakes his eyes across your body.

"swear you keep getting prettier." he mumbles, almost in disbelief. seeing you like this sucks the air from his lungs every time; his memory of your every ridge and curve never living up to the real you. he inches down your body with a trail of kisses, your whimper of protest at the loss of friction between your thighs quickly cut off as his lips latch onto your tit.

a dreamy gasp floats from your mouth as his tongue swirls around your areola, his lips sucking at your hardened nipple. you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair, nails dragging across his scalp in the way that makes his eyes flutter. he goes back and forth between your tits, drawing pretty noises from you until his teasing becomes too much.

"please…" you whisper shyly, "need you to touch me."

"touch you where?" he asks simply, though he knows getting an answer out of you will be anything but.

"you know where…"

"nah, i think you're gonna have to spell it out for me." he has that stupidly attractive grin on his face, taking such joy in watching you squirm.

"under my… panties." your voice grows quieter, and you can't look at him while you ask. he thinks you're adorable, still so shy with him despite how long you've been together.

"good girl, i can do that for you."

he reaches his hand into your panties agonisingly slow, only for him to simply rest his palm over your vulva. the initial contact has you clenching around nothing, a fluttery feeling blooming between your legs. but then a few seconds pass, nothing. he hasn't moved an inch.

"what are you doing?" your brows furrow in confusion.

"what you asked, aren't i?" he replies as if it is painfully obvious, though a knowing smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. "my hand's in your panties, isn't it? 'm touching you right where you asked me to." his voice is low and gravelly, the sound of it almost distracting you from how infuriating he is being.

you huff in frustration, which only adds to leon's amusement. he knows you're not really mad at him, especially not with how drenched his fingers are only after a short while spent stuffed inside your underwear.

"i think you need to be a little more specific." embarrassment burned at your cheeks, your gaze averting his eyes. to this day, there is something about leon that made you so flustered when it came to asking for what you want. fortunately for you, leon loves it. it makes you so easy to rile up, and if you wanted to bother him so bad, then it's only fair that he returns the favour, right?

"i want you to…" your voice trails off. if you had known asking if he'd love you as a worm one too many times would result in such torture, you perhaps would have bit your tongue. "please play with my clit." the words leave you a little whinier than intended, a poor attempt at containing your attitude in hopes of getting what you want.

leon hums in satisfaction, finally letting his fingers run between your slick folds before they stop at your clit. he rubs steady circles over the bundle of nerves, reaching with his other hand to gently pull back the hood of your clit. shaky moans fall past your lips, your legs spreading wider whilst his hand works against you.

"thaaat's it, wasn't so hard, was it?" leon feels dizzy at the sight of you beneath him, hips bucking into his hand as you indulge in the pleasure he'd so cruelly denied you. your underwear grows messier with every precise caress of your clit, and the tent in leon's sweatpants is becoming harder for either of you to ignore.

"leon- ah, i need you so bad." you plead.

"i know, baby. gonna need to tell me exactly what you want though." you let out a mix between an irritated groan and a pathetic whimper at his refusual to give you what you want, despite knowing exactly what it is. it's hard to seem truly irritated when he's rubbing against you so good.

"i need your cock, pleasepleaseplease- i wanna feel you." a pleased glint flashes in leon's eyes at your eagerness, his determination to fluster you faltering.

"yeah? show me that pretty pussy then." he removes his hand from your sticky underwear, the loss of friction only fuelling your impatience. hurriedly, you pull the damp fabric to the side, not bothering to undress any further. leon's dick throbs at the sight, the glistening between your legs a view he couldn't get enough of.

he hooks his thumbs under his waistband, tugging down his boxers along with his sweatpants. you visibly perk up at the sight of his cock standing proudly just for you, precum beading at his flushed tip. crawling towards you, he settles between your legs before leaning down to capture your lips with his own. gently, he runs his hand up your torso, the ticklish sensation making you shiver under his touch. he grabs at your boob, squeezing softly while thumbing at your nipple. the gasp you let out makes him chuckle.

"you're so cute, princess."

pulling away from you, he shifts to line his dick up against your pussy. leon thrusts experimentally, his shaft sliding against your slippery folds and rubbing against your clit in a way that makes your lashes flutter. then he does it again, and again, and again, never once moving to push the head of his cock into your needy hole. it feels good, really good, but there is an ache inside of you that you desperately wanted him to soothe.

"leonnn…" you whine, exasperation creeping up on you. he tilts his head in faux confusion, maintaining the steady pace of his grinding against your cunt.

"aww, is something wrong?" he questions with a subtle moan, mock sympathy dripping from his words.

"i told you what i wanted," you huff, though you are struggling to show your irritation on your face, "you're being so mean." leon was so close to giving in, but with how pretty you look trying to be angry with him while your pussy drools on his cock, how could he stop now?

"hmm… i don't remember you being very clear with your demands." you can't decide if you want to punch him or kiss him all over. "does this not feel good, baby? if you already think i'm being mean, there's no harm in stopping, right?"

"nononono, please don't stop!" you exclaim, eyes glassy from his incessant teasing and how badly you want him. the coil low in your abdomen grows tighter with every rock of his hips, wandering hands grabbing at any part of him you can reach. "please just let me cum, leon."

"so eager for my permission to cum, but can't ask for my cock properly? oh, my silly girl." leon readjusts himself against you, the leaky head of his cock disappearing beneath your underwear. "you can cum, princess, whenever you're ready."

leon resumes his thrusts against your cunt, the head of his cock creating a wet spot of its own on your panties. he was getting close too; the way your pussy lips drag against his shaft so perfectly has his balls tightening. his pretty grunts and moans mingle with your own, his composure slipping away the closer you both get to your peaks.

"l-leon, 'm gonna- mph! i'm gonna cum-" you pant, hips bucking against him as you chase your high.

"cum with me, baby, please." he chokes out, his eyes darting between your pretty, scrunched-up face and his cock sliding against your twitching pussy. "fuuuck, 'm cumming-" staggered moans fill the air as you both hit your peak, a warm, gushing sensation flooding your underwear. ropes of leon's cum paint your skin, a perverse squelching sound reaching your ears from just how much of a mess you'd made.

you ride out your orgasms in unison, leon slumping towards you to press his forehead against yours. frantic breaths slowly turn into even exhales, the wave of euphoria you'd been swept away in now a calm ocean of bliss. you feel him softly kiss your forehead, a content hum vibrating in your throat.

"do not be mistaken, i'm still mad at you for holding out on me." you have the dopiest smile on your face, bleary eyes gazing lovingly up at him.

"oh, i bet you are." leon chuckles. "consider it your punishment for bothering me while i was trying to sleep." not that it was much of a punishment anyway.

"booo, you're no fun." you mutter drowsily, lids fluttering as exhaustion set in.

"i'll fuck you properly tomorrow, brat. and we can watch our show." you grin giddily, though your tired eyes are now closed. he sighs at the sight of you, a smile tugging at his lips, "i'm gonna have to carry you to the bathroom, aren't i?"

"yep."

𓊆❤︎𓊇 i finally finished writing something, hooray!! writer's block and brain fog are kicking my ass, but i still got it • ᴗ <⋆.˚ i hope you enjoyed! big kisses from the princess herself, mwah <3

Before either of you could continue walking, a wave of hushed squeals erupted a few feet away.

"Oh my gosh—that's Vivian Hugo!"

"He's even taller in person!"

"And he's so much more handsome than on TV..."

The group huddled together, practically vibrating with excitement as they debated who would approach him first. And after a brief round of panicked whispering, one of the girls finally stepped forward, her friends hiding behind her as moral support.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hugo?" she asked, trying not to stumble over her words. "We're really huge fans! We watched all of your matches, and... um... would it be alright if we got a picture with you?"

Hugo nodded once.

"Of course."

The girls immediately erupted into delighted squeals.

"I told you he'd say yes!"

"Oh my gosh, look at him..."

One of the girls clasped her hands together before blurting out, "This is so embarrassing to ask, but... do you happen to have a girlfriend?"

Her friends immediately gasped.

"Oh my god!"

"I'm so sorry—we tried to stop her!"

"I just had to know! He's ridiculously handsome!"

Before Hugo could answer, you slipped in beside him wearing a look that was clearly meant to be intimidating. To Hugo, however, it looked more like a cat proudly guarding its favorite sunspot.

"Sorry, everyone." You gestured toward him with your free hand. "This absurdly tall guy with an unhealthy addiction to éclairs is already spoken for."

You smiled brightly.

"By yours truly."

The girls stared for a beat.

"...Oh."

"Oh my gosh."

"Wait, that's actually so cute."

One of them laughed sheepishly, nudging her friend.

"Girls, let's give them some space."

"Yeah, we already got our picture. Let's not interrupt their date."

"Sorry for bothering you two!"

With a chorus of embarrassed giggles and quick apologies, they waved goodbye before disappearing down the street.

Hugo let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Oh là là... Do you have any idea what you looked like just now? You marched over, wrapped yourself around my arm, and looked at them like a cat proudly marking its territory."

You looked at him as though he'd just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. "I was not marking my territory!”

"You looked incredibly pleased with yourself though. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were silently celebrating because you'd scared off the competition."

"...Well," you admitted after a brief pause, "they did leave. I'd call that a successful operation."

He studied your face for another second before quietly chuckling.

"...Come here."

Before you could ask why, both of his hands found your cheeks.

"V-Vivi! What are you doing?"

"I've been trying not to do this ever since you called me your absurdly tall sweet tooth."

"You can't just squish my cheeks because I embarrassed myself!"

"I'm doing it because you were adorable." Hugo said softly, finally letting go. "I just think you're unbearably cute whenever you get possessive over me."

You rubbed your warm cheeks, refusing to meet his eyes.

"...I'm never doing that again."

A quiet chuckle escaped him.

"I sincerely hope that's not true."

˚₊‧꒰ა SAE ITOSHI

The little bell above the teahouse door chimed as Sae stepped inside, his gaze briefly sweeping across the familiar wooden interior. For the first time in years...Nothing had changed.

The elderly shop owner looked up from behind the counter before her eyes widened in recognition.

"...Sae-chan?"

Sae gave a small nod.

"It's been a while."

"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed, hurrying around the counter with a bright smile. "Look at you! You used to come in here with your little brother after practice, and now you're all over television." She clasped her hands together, looking him over proudly. "You've grown into such a fine young man."

"I've gotten taller."

"You certainly have." She laughed before suddenly narrowing her eyes. "Now, tell me... are you married yet?"

"...No."

"Engaged?"

"No."

"A girlfriend, then?"

Sae sighed almost imperceptibly.

"...Why does every visit home turn into this conversation?"

"Because you're handsome!" she replied as though the answer were obvious. "If you don't have anyone, I know a lovely young lady whose mother comes here every Thursday. She's sweet, polite, and she's been asking if I'd ever met that football player from Kamakura—"

Before she could finish, you quietly stepped beside Sae, slipping your hand into his before intertwining your fingers.

You offered the shop owner a warm smile.

"I'm afraid your matchmaking services won't be needed today."

The elderly woman blinked.

"Oh?"

You glanced up at Sae before smiling just a little wider.

"This hometown celebrity has already been claimed."

The shop owner gasped, both hands flying to her cheeks.

"Oh! So that's why you came back looking so much happier!"

The shop owner disappeared into the kitchen with a cheerful hum, leaving the two of you by the counter.

A moment later, you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind.

"...Sae?"

He rested his chin lightly atop your head, his voice as calm as ever.

"Thank you. I was starting to think I'd have to sit through another round of matchmaking proposals."

You let out a soft laugh, relaxing against him.

"So that's why you let me interrupt? I was wondering why you looked so unbothered while I practically claimed you in front of her."

"I was hoping you'd do exactly that," he admitted without the slightest hint of embarrassment. "It's considerably more effective than rejecting every recommendation she has."

You tilted your head just enough to look back at him.

"So I'm your official anti-matchmaking strategy now?"

"The only one I need," Sae replied. "Besides... you looked rather cute getting possessive over me."

Your face immediately warmed.

"...Don't get used to it."

˚₊‧꒰ა MICHAEL KAISER

The bell above the bakery door chimed softly as you wandered past rows of freshly baked pastries, the warm scent of butter and sugar filling the air.

"I still can't believe this place is open," you murmured, eyeing the display case. "You talked about these rusks so much I was convinced they only existed in your memories."

Kaiser slipped his hands into his coat pockets, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

"I have excellent taste, Liebling. Some things simply survive the test of time."

Just then, one of the bakery employees approached carrying a tray of neatly cut sample pieces.

"Good afternoon!" she greeted warmly before her eyes landed on Kaiser. There was a brief pause.

"...Oh."

Recognition flickered across her face.

"You're Michael Kaiser, aren't you?"

"The one and only."

Her smile widened almost instantly.

"I knew it! Welcome back!" She laughed nervously before holding the tray toward him. "We're handing out samples of our new honey rusks today. Please, have one—it's on the house."

You waited beside him, expecting the employee to extend the tray your way after offering Kaiser a sample.

She didn't.

Instead, she lingered in front of him with an eager smile, her entire attention fixed on the famous footballer standing before her.

"I really hope you like it," she said. "It's one of our newest recipes, and we've been recommending it to everyone today."

You glanced from the tray to her, then back again.

...I guess I'm invisible.

The faint pout that settled on your face didn't escape Kaiser.

His eyes flickered toward you for the briefest moment before a knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He plucked a honey rusk from the tray, turned toward you without the slightest hesitation, and held it just beneath your lips.

"Open, Schatz."

You looked up at him, momentarily caught off guard.

"...You're feeding me?"

"I don't see anyone else I'd rather share it with."

Your cheeks warmed instantly. Aware of the employee still standing there, you hesitated for only a second before leaning in to take a bite. Kaiser watched with quiet satisfaction, then popped the remaining half into his own mouth as if the gesture required no explanation at all.

The employee blinked several times before an embarrassed laugh slipped past her lips.

"Oh... I'm so sorry." She pressed a hand to her forehead, mortified. "I completely misunderstood. I thought you were here alone—I didn't realize you two were together."

"It's alright," you replied with a reassuring smile as your hand naturally found Kaiser's forearm. "Don't take it personally. He has a habit of collecting attention wherever he goes."

The employee disappeared behind the counter with another apologetic smile, leaving the two of you alone beside the shelves lined with warm loaves and pastries.

No sooner had she walked away than Kaiser's arm found its way around your waist, drawing you effortlessly against his side. His shoulders gave the slightest shake as a quiet laugh escaped him.

"So..." He glanced down at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Were you genuinely jealous over a complimentary bakery sample, Liebling?"

You looked up at him with an offended gasp. "I wasn't jealous. I was simply wondering why I was standing there like decorative furniture while you were being treated to free food."

"Oh?" He arched a brow, the corners of his lips lifting. "Then why did you cling to my arm the second she realized we were together?"

"Because she looked embarrassed," you defended, trying your best to sound convincing. "I was helping her recover from the awkwardness."

"How noble of you." His thumb absentmindedly traced small circles against your waist. "And here I was thinking you were reminding everyone that I'm your boyfriend."

"You already know you're my boyfriend. Everyone else was just... receiving the same information."

A satisfied grin spread across his face as he leaned down to press a quick kiss against your temple.

"My beautiful, sweet Liebling..." His blue eyes met yours, sparkling with unmistakable amusement. "Getting jealous over a complimentary bakery sample... I do hope you realize you've just made my day."

˚₊‧꒰ა JULIEN LOKI

The morning air carried just enough of a chill to make jogging pleasant. Beside you, Julien matched your pace with effortless ease, his breathing so steady it was almost insulting.

"You know," you said between breaths, "I refuse to believe you're actually running."

He glanced over with a faint smile. "I am."

"You passed three cyclists in the last five minutes."

"They were going rather slowly."

"They were on bicycles, Julien."

"They'll recover."

You laughed, giving his arm a light bump as the two of you rounded the next corner.

Just then, a young woman stepped out of a nearby café with a cardboard tray balancing two coffees in one hand and a paper bag of pastries tucked beneath the other. She looked up at the same moment Julien noticed her, both of them reacting a fraction too late.

"Oh!"

Before the drinks could topple, Julien was already moving. He caught the sliding coffee with one hand, steadied the paper bag with the other, and instinctively reached for the woman's arm to keep her from stumbling.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said at once, releasing her as soon as she regained her footing. "Are you alright?"

The woman blinked up at him, still trying to process what had happened.

"...Julien Loki?"

A small chorus of delighted gasps came from the nearby bench.

The elderly ladies who had been chatting moments ago were now watching the scene unfold with unconcealed interest.

"Oh, look at that..."

"He caught her before she fell."

"Mon Dieu, it's just like one of those romance dramas."

The poor girl's face turned scarlet.

You could practically see the imaginary opening credits rolling.

Absolutely not.

Suppressing a laugh, you walked over and slipped comfortably beside Julien, your hand finding his forearm as naturally as if it belonged there.

"I'm so sorry about that," you said with an apologetic smile. "My boyfriend has this unfortunate habit of forgetting that normal people can't react as quickly as he can. He was only trying to save your coffee."

The woman looked from your hand resting on Julien's arm to his face before letting out an embarrassed laugh.

"Oh! I... I'm sorry. I completely misunderstood."

"No harm done," you assured her. "I'm just glad nothing spilled."

One of the grandmothers smiled knowingly.

"So that's the girlfriend."

"I was wondering when she'd make her entrance."

After another round of apologies and relieved laughter, the woman excused herself, leaving the two of you to continue your jog as though nothing had happened.

You barely made it half a block.

"Eh bien..." Julien's voice was soft with amusement. "You were very quick to clarify that I was your boyfriend."

You kept your eyes ahead, pretending the conversation didn't interest you.

"I was preventing a misunderstanding."

"Were you?" He glanced at you, a knowing smile forming. "Because you repeated it with such confidence, darling. Almost as if you wanted to make certain everyone heard."

"They were already deciding who you should marry."

Julien let out a quiet laugh, his fingers slipping between yours as you walked. "So you saved me from a future arranged by strangers?"

"Exactly."

"How fortunate I am, then." His smile grew. "Saved from an imaginary marriage by my very devoted girlfriend. I should probably thank you, non?"

As if on cue, he brought your joined hands closer, pressing a small, affectionate squeeze as the two of you continued along the path.

˚₊‧꒰ა BUNNY IGLESIAS

The cameras were still flashing when Bunny Iglesias stepped out of the stadium corridor, his lavender hair slightly messy from the match and his expression as calm as ever.

A few reporters gathered around him almost immediately.

It wasn't unusual. Bunny had become someone everyone wanted a piece of—the young Spanish forward who had taken the football world by storm, the New Generation World XI player everyone expected to become one of the faces of the sport.

But tonight, they weren't asking about his goals. They were asking about her.

"So, Bunny, there has been a lot of discussion online recently regarding the rumors about you and Valeria Cruz," one reporter said, raising his microphone. "Many fans believe the two of you are more than friends. Would you like to address those rumors?"

Bunny blinked once.

"Valeria Cruz?"

The reporter nodded. "Yes. The photos of you together have caused quite a reaction. People are saying she might be the person you're dating."

For a moment, Bunny simply stared. Then a small, almost amused smile appeared.

"People seem to be very good at creating stories."

The reporters laughed softly.

"So you're saying there is nothing between you?"

"I am saying that people often see two people standing near each other and decide they already know the entire story."

"And what is the real story?"

Bunny looked thoughtful, his fingers adjusting the sleeve of his jacket.

"The real story is that I played a football match today, and I am more interested in discussing that."

A few reporters smiled, but they clearly weren't ready to let the topic go.

"But you understand why fans are curious. You're one of Spain's biggest young stars. Everyone wants to know about your personal life."

"I understand," Bunny replied calmly. "But curiosity does not always mean people are correct."

Before another question could be asked, Bunny noticed you making your way through the crowd toward him, your expression calm but familiar enough for him to recognize your quiet determination.

You didn't interrupt the interview or draw attention to yourself; you simply reached him, took hold of his arm, and gently guided him away from the reporters. The sudden movement left the media team staring as the cameras quickly followed the two of you.

Bunny allowed himself to be pulled along without protest, a small smile forming as he looked down at you.

"I believe they have their answer now."

You looked back toward the reporters and the cameras, finally realizing the conclusion everyone had reached. The rumors, the speculation, the endless guesses about Bunny's supposed girlfriend—it was no longer a mystery.

Bunny, however, seemed far more entertained than bothered. He glanced at you as the two of you continued walking away from the crowd.

"You know, cariño, I think that was the fastest way anyone has ever ended one of my interviews."

"I didn't want to wait until they finished making assumptions."

A quiet laugh escaped him. "Ah, so that was the plan? Walk in, steal me away, and let everyone figure it out themselves?"

"It seemed easier."

Bunny nodded thoughtfully, a small smile appearing. "I have to admit, mi amor, I respect the confidence. Walking into a crowd of reporters like that was bold."

"You think I was brave?"

"Very." He looked amused. "I spend my life in front of cameras, and even I don't enjoy that many people staring at me."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because you looked completely serious while doing it." His smile widened slightly. "It was cute."

He stopped walking for a moment, gently taking your hand in his before lowering himself slightly until he was at your eye level. The teasing expression on his face faded into something warmer as he looked at you.

Then he turned your hand over and pressed a quiet kiss against your palm, holding it there for a brief moment.

"Qué suerte la mía, cariño."