#modern setting

Caitlyn Kiramman, the CEO of the highest-selling company of all of Piltover. She was known for her knowledge and skills in business and trading, her expertise is what led her to be successful and at the top.

To most eyes, she was seen as a kind and caring woman who wanted nothing more to help the public with her wealth. But to your eyes, and every other employee she's ever had, she was the complete opposite of that.

Instead of being an angel, she was a devil. She had a ‘perfectionist’ mindset which meant everything had to be flawless or you'd be out of the door as soon as you made one tiny mistake. Her employees acted as mere pawns in her game, easy to hire and definitely easy to get rid of.

Yes, it was difficult working under her name as an employee. But, it was harder working as her assistant. Caitlyn Kiramman had a long list of assistants in only a year, and it was known that they've never lasted a week with her — more so, the longest one she's ever had was a month.

Unfortunately for you, you were the next one on that long list. You had just been hired, and you were really happy to know that you achieved such a high role on your first try. Well, that is, until you heard the rumours of dealing with her wrath in the front seat.

There's a reason why all of her assistants quit. Most of them deemed her as too ‘demanding’ and receiving many, many and many commands from their CEO.

Apparently, you were basically a slave under her command. Her commands were so ridiculous, that you've heard rumours of one assistant being forced to give Caitlyn a full body massage one time — that must've been fake, right?

It was terrifying even thinking about it, working as her new assistant. Honestly, you were probably going to deal with the same fate as all of them. To suffer, to be taken advantage of and to be discarded as easily as every assistant she's ever had.

It was her hellhole.

But you had to endure it. You were in debt and the job paid surprisingly well, one paycheck would pay for three months of your rent! The job was simple, anyways. Listen. Or you'd be out in the streets begging for scraps, you needed this job really bad even if it was embarrassing and exhausting.

“I don't assume that I need to inform you about how this job goes, hm?” Caitlyn sat on her office chair, tapping a pen on her temples as she stared at you down. “Yes, Ms. Kiramman.” You bowed slightly, trying to look as composed as you could.

The rumours turned out to be true, she had a glare that looked intimidating as ever — it made your knees go weak and you wanted to apologize for existing. You were quivering in your shoes while you stood directly in front of her, not daring to speak a word until she told you so.

Caitlyn sat still on her chair, working on some files. The rumours all said she was a terrifying, mean woman so you expected someone old and raggy — not a woman in her 20’s.

Even with such a rude personality, you couldn't admit that she was attractive. Navy-blue hair that swayed through the breeze of the aircon, glasses that rested perfectly on her nose, a uniform that clung onto the curves of her body paired with a miniskirt and stockings. She was the definition of Piltovan elegance, you were starstruck and couldn't stop staring at her face.

“I have an appointment today,” She hummed, finally acknowledging your presence with her eyes. “Carry those papers for me, will you?” Her figure stood up, walking to the exit of the huge office before slamming the door shut without waiting for you.

A scoff went past your lips while your gaze drifted to the pile of papers she was talking about, a tall stack of them that you had to carry all by yourself. You sighed, before picking it up one by one and balancing it carefully.

You walked outside of her office, trying your best not to drop any of the important documents. Suddenly, you realized that you didn't even know where Caitlyn was having her meeting! She just… left and assumed that you knew, how rude.

The tower of papers rested on your hands as you saw another employee beside you, drinking a cup of coffee.

“Excuse me, do you know where Ms. Kiramman is having her appointment?” You asked him, one of the papers falling down. Your hands reached for it, bending down and placing it back on the stack clumsily. “In the meeting room, on the left side.” He responded, a cheeky smile on his face.

You thanked him, balancing the papers as you followed his directions. Suddenly, his hand patted your shoulder. "Good luck new assistant, you'll need it!” He winked, snickering while he walked away.

A sigh escaped your lips at his words. Great, you were already being teased on your first day. “Whatever.” You muttered, walking to the meeting room. You couldn't let his words get to you, after all, you were going to survive as Caitlyn Kiramman's assistant — you’ll be the first one to actually make it within a year, well hopefully.

Knock! Knock! You knocked on the door of the meeting room, spotting multiple silhouettes of people through the vague window. “Come in!” A voice shouted out, cheery.

You opened the door to the office, still carrying the stack of papers in your hands, poorly balancing it. “Wonderful timing!” Caitlyn chirped, urging you to place the papers on the table with… politeness?

Her previous intimidating stare was now replaced with a completely different one, a kind and inviting smile. More so, she was very polite to you unlike earlier this morning where she barely acknowledged your presence.

You now realize that this is definitely the reason why many people see Caitlyn as an angelic woman, rather than the terrifying one behind closed doors. It was annoying you at how good she was in playing the ‘good cop’ role, already capturing the group of businessmen’s hearts as they laughed at her jokes.

“Thank you, Y/N.” She grinned, patting your back. “You're dismissed for today.” Her voice was gentle, smiling before drifting her attention back to the group of businessmen.

For the next few days, she's been like this. From being an absolute demanding woman in the office to acting like an angel in meetings. You didn't mind it, it wasn't that bad — you just had to survive a few hours doing her chores before she turned all Ms. Nice Guy on you.

Well, that is until she got comfortable with you. Instead of dismissing you as usual during her meeting, she called you to sit beside her, giving you a towel. “It’s burning up in here.” She declared, staring directly at you.

At that statement, you knew exactly what she was implying. Your gaze averted to the drop of sweat rolling down her forehead, Caitlyn looked over back at you with an expectant expression.

You suppressed a groan about to leave your mouth, before your hands grabbed the towel and started to wipe softly at the sweat formed on her face. She continued talking about business stuff you didn't understand as you gently wiped every inch of her face — even going far enough to wipe the back of her neck.

Then, when you were satisfied, you grabbed a nearby book that wasn't being used and started fanning her. The corners of her mouth perked up ever so slightly, barely noticeable if you weren't paying attention as she darted her eyes to your DIY fan and returned it back to the group of business.

The rest of the meeting, you were restless. Your hands never stopped moving and occasionally you would wipe more sweat off her face, like she was royalty. You were growing tired, considering the fact that you haven't taken a break.

Annoyance tugged at your heart but then your gaze drifted to her lips, forming a divine smile. You knew it was fake, only forcing it onto her face for the business deals and how she was only playing a role to convince the businessmen. But, somehow, she's managed to lure you into her stupid trap.

A faint blush crept up your neck as you were suddenly aware of the actions you were doing, you were really close to her face while you wiped more sweat — taking in how her smile-lines showed when she put on that fake smile, that stupid charming smile that made you flustered. You were basically wiping the sweat off of a Goddess. It was frustrating, everything about her!

From how demanding and petty she can get from how your anger dissolves as soon as she smiles in the meeting room, you were supposed to be pissed at her for treating you so poorly! But.. a part of you liked being commanded, especially if it was Caitlyn doing it.

You were falling exactly into her trap.

For the next few days, she's grown bolder. You've established a routine of immediately clocking in and brewing Caitlyn’s jasmine tea.

Then, you would go to her office to help her in whatever she needed for the morning. Whether it was massaging her shoulders or fixing the wrinkles on her uniform — you swallowed your pride and followed.

It wasn't like last time where you had to survive the morning. No, you were by her side the whole day. Every second she would call you and ask you to do something in front of all the co-workers, it was embarrassing but you needed the money.

More so, since her demands have grown to be bolder, that requires you to be physically closer with her. It drove you mad, whenever you massaged her shoulders as she worked — she intrigued you, huffing in frustration while you soothed her muscles.

Sure, it was tiring doing this. But, you've adapted somehow even if it was really, really humiliating and most of your dignity is probably already gone.

Today, you were starting your ritual of brewing Caitlyn's jasmine tea in the break room, making sure everything was perfect for her taste.

You cut across through the crowd of co-workers, receiving nods of appreciation. Unlike last time where you were being teased, it felt good knowing that you've made it longer than others and that every one sorta’ respected your hustle.

“Ms. Kiramman, may I come in?” You knocked at the intimidating office door that wasn't so intimidating to you anymore. She replied with a faint hum, before you entered the office — taking in her usual position.

The jasmine tea was still hot in the teacup while you strode to stand in front of her working form. Your voice was quiet, trying your best not to distract her while you said, “Good morning, here's your tea Ms. Kiramman.” She nodded in response, a wrinkle seen on her forehead while she focused on her work, not even bothering to glance up at you like usual.

“Make sure it's the right temperature.” She ordered. You did as she said, blowing a soft gust of wind onto the steaming tea — making sure it's just right for her.

After a few seconds of pathetic blowing, you were satisfied. “It’s ready for you, Ms. Kiramman.” You muttered, about to place it on her desk until—

Splash!

Oh no.

Your hand slipped, forcing the tea cup to be tilted and fall onto the floor. Your gaze drifted down, praying that it didn't stain anything until you saw her luxurious boots were stained with a mud of coffee on top — leaking onto the quartz floor.

“I'm so sorry!” You gasped out, your hand coming to cover your mouth in fear. Those boots were probably more expensive than your life time, you were so, so dead and there's no way you're going to get out of debt — only further into debt because you had to pay for her boots! Unless…?

Her expression was filled with anger as a scoff went past her lips, a huge crease formed onto her forehead while her eyes widened, glaring at you with nothing but frustration. She opened her mouth to scold you, until... you knelt down.

You were quick to wipe the coffee stain with your clean, white uniform. It transferred the brown liquid onto yours instead. “You—!” Her protest was cut off when she saw what you were doing, using your own shirt as a tissue. For the first time, Caitlyn Kiramman couldn't form a sentence to save her life, she was astonished at how eager you were to clean your mess.

She scoffed again, before her frown turned into a smirk. Caitlyn made herself comfortable, leaning back on her chair and resting her head on her hand while she smirked at you — observing you like a wealthy person taking advantage of a peasant.

Well, that was basically what was happening right now.

You continued to wipe, and wipe while you were knelt down onto the floor. Your hand rubbed your shirt onto the stain in a circular motion, trying your best to remove the brownish puddle of coffee and if it was even possible, save your job.

It was almost gone, only a faint mud rested on the boots, barely noticeable but you still had to wipe it off — Caitlyn wanted perfection, you were determined to stay all night trying to wipe away the evidence of your clumsiness if you had to with your shirt.

While you continued doing your work, your knees aching from staying knelt down for so long, you felt her fingers tilting your chin up. “Enough.” Caitlyn commanded, her Posh accent compelling.

You were forced to look directly up at her, your neck hurting from arching so much because of her grip. But the view was… something else. One of her legs was crossed over another, the slightly stained boot in the air. Other than that, your position made it so that you could see every curve of her body — your mouth thirsted at the sight. She looked so powerful, especially with you knelt down at her mercy.

“I—I apologize Ms. Kiramman—” Your voice faltered, trying to defend yourself until her grip on your chin tightened. Her fingers squeezing your cheeks, forcing you to stop talking.

“You know your place, don't you?” She smirked, tilting her head while she continued to stare you down like you were a chew toy — her eyes darkening with lust. “I..” You trailed off, trying to speak but her gaze only weakened you.

Caitlyn let go of your chin, crossing her arms and leaning against her office chair but her eyes still remained fixated on yours, forcing you to stay in bound even if she didn't have a hold on you any more.

“You’re the only assistant I've ever had that's been so… obedient.” She raised her eyebrow, humming before she stood up and pushed her office chair away from you, the sound of its wheels rolling filling the tensioned silence.

Her figure crouched down, while you remained knelt down beneath her — Caitlyn still towering over you. Her long, ashen fingers caressed your cheek gently. “You’d do anything I'd ask you, wouldn't you? My little assistant.” She spat, taking a hold of your chin once again, this time it was tighter and filled with possessiveness.

She laughed at you, amusingly tainting her lips. You stuttered, not knowing what to say. Was she angry? Was she cocky? Or was she… turned on at your boot-polishing? Maybe it was all three of those options, you couldn't quite tell as she stood up again — waving her fingers lazily, gesturing for you to get up.

You followed out of instinctiveness, legs immediately getting up at her command. “Get on the desk.” Caitlyn pointed, her voice firm, making her intentions clear. This time, you hesitated — this was wrong, very wrong. Instead of sitting down on her desk, you cleared your throat, receiving a glare of unapproval from her.

“Ms. Kiramman, this is inappropriate…” Your voice was barely above a whisper while you whispered, trying to look not as needy as possible but the pool forming in your panties only continued to drip more at how she looked. “Do you want this or not?” She hissed, crossing her arms while she looked up at your body up and down.

Hesitation tugged at your heart, you wanted to scream 'No' at her because this was vulgar! If people found out that you were hooking up with Caitlyn Kiramman, there'd be horrible consequences, from her side and your side. But… her glare was making it harder to resist, you wanted this, so bad. She’s been nothing but a menace with her charm, indirectly teasing you every time she asks you to do something.

Suddenly, a nod came out of you. At that, you climbed on her desk and sat on the wooden surface — slightly groaning at how cold it was. Caitlyn smirked at that, her hands reaching back for the office chair she dismissed earlier and sitting down on it, hovering near your legs.

Without warning, she found the side of your hips, fingers unzipping your skirt. She dragged your skirt down, tossing it on the floor and her eyes took in your soaked panties — your arousal dripping onto her desk. “So wet for me and I haven't even touched you, pathetic.” Her warm breath ghosted over the fabric of your undergarments, fingers tracing your wetness.

She teased you, touching directly onto your clit through your panties but it wasn't enough to get you off. “Please, Ms. Kiramman.” You groaned out, looking down at her cheeky smirk. “Please what?” She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows.

It was cruel, how she was teasing you like this. “Please.. I need your touch, ma’am.” You cried out, before she hummed at your begging and removed your panties, tossing it onto the wooden desk with your glistening cunt all exposed and on display for her eyes. “Look at you.” She murmured, her breath hitting your slickness.

Now, your legs were sprawled out on the wooden desk, your bottom exposed as your top still remained on — Caitlyn not bothering to remove it as she licked her lips at your spread pussy.

Caitlyn licked your pussy, a moan escaping your lips as you gripped the edges of the desk for leverage. “Fuck.” You sighed while her eyes looked up at you from below, smirking at your reaction. Then, without permission, she shoved her tongue inside your vagina — lapping like a dog, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the room paired with your cries. “Oh!” You moaned out, your eyes shutting closed.

She started at a slow pace, licking while your walls took in her long tongue. This continued, soft moans coming out of your lips until she sucked your clit, the sensation turning your moans into a scream. “Ms. Kiramman!” You shouted out until her hand met your ass sharply, a red hand-print forming onto there.

Tears swelled up in your eyes at her slap, not expecting the harsh action. “Keep it down if you want to keep your job.” A growl vibrated through the inside of her throat, looking up at you with furrowed eyebrows until she caressed the area she slapped — soothing the sting there before she continued her sucking.

Caitlyn varied between sucking and licking. inserting her fingers at some point, stretching you a part as she put another finger and thrusted it in and out while her tongue did her work. “Ah.. Ms. Kiramman…” Your breath was uneven, barely keeping up with how overwhelming her fingers and tongue were.

Then, her fingers curled, hitting that spot at the new angle. “Mmgh, ngh! Ms. Kiramman! Oh, yes yes… please…” Her head bobbed up and down, meeting the pace of her fingers as she abused your g-spot — inserting another finger, stretching you wide open while you were getting closer, and closer to the edge with the dual sensation. “Oh, oh my god! Ms. Kiramman!”

Your walls clenched around her as your moans grew louder, she placed her free hand on your mouth in an attempt to keep you quiet. You bit it lightly, your saliva melting onto her hand while she smirked at how your teeth nipped on her hand — trying your best to keep your moans quiet as you were nearing your peak. “Getting feral are we?” She hummed against your pussy as you continued to use her hand as a gag.

Caitlyn noticed you were close, groaning while she was latched onto your pussy — the vibration humming through your vagina, the pleasure creeping through your spine as you bit down on your hand, muffling a scream. “I'm gonna… can I.. please?” You moaned in between each word, back arching off the table.

“No.” She ordered. “Hold it, until I say so.” Then, her pace increased rapidly — she didn't lick your clit anymore, only sucking it like she was a tornado hauling everything in. Other than that, she put her whole fist inside of you, filling your throbbing pussy as she continued to pound her fingers harder.

“Please, I can't… mmph.. hold it…” You whined, looking down at her with pleading eyes. “You're going to listen like the obedient employee you are..” She barked. It was all too much, you couldn't hold it… the knot building up inside you, your legs shivered at how much she was abusing your hole — you bit her harder this time, closing your eyes as you tried to focus.

“Go.” At her words, you cried out, “Oh my, fuck!” Your moan echoed through the empty room and probably heard through the whole office building but you didn't care, your orgasm crashed down as you rode out the aftershocks, thrusting softly into Caitlyn's face.

She pulled her fingers and mouth away from you, her chin soaked with your slickness. “Clean yourself up, I have a meeting.” At her words, you grabbed a tissue and wiped the evidence of your sex on her face and fixed her disheveled navy-blue hair before she gave a hum of approval — trying to suppress a smirk but the corners of her mouth perked up, betraying her while she fixed her glasses.

You finished cleaning her up, your ass still resting on the wet, wooden desk as you wore your clothes again. The sounds of Caitlyn's heels walking through the exit echoed through the room as you did what she said, cleaning her desk.

She paused her movements.

“This isn't finished.” She declared, her hand resting on the doorknob. “I haven't seen all of you yet.” A smirk formed on her lips before she opened the door, the sound of it slamming echoing through the room. You were left alone, with the faint scent of sex still lingering and a soaked mess to clean up.

a/n: alright so i've been obsessed with office aus and srry if this is rlly bad, i quite literally wrote this while i was on a plane so... i had to hide my screen from the people beside me LOL. but, i will definitely write an epilogue or continuation of this — just something short that shows the aftermath cuz office au caitlyn is soooooo hot bro.

Part 19

When the truth came out that Viper was the one responsible for exposing your identity, the boys were furious.

Furious didn't even begin to cover it.

They were ready to hunt him down themselves.

It took considerable effort to talk them down, reminding them that acting on their anger would only make things worse.

As much as they wanted Viper to pay for what he'd done, the potential consequences weren't worth the risk.

Besides, no amount of retaliation would undo what had already been done.

Eventually, the boys begrudgingly accepted that fact.

You agreed with Thomas that what mattered now was moving forward and face it head-on.

…

Every day, you called home to check on your grandparents, apologizing over and over again for dragging them into such a difficult situation.

Your kindhearted grandparents, however, weren't the least bit angry. They admitted that having reporters camped outside their home and following them around had been a hassle, but they never once blamed you for it.

Thankfully, after about a week, the reporters finally gave up. The constant crowds outside the house disappeared. The security team remained for a few extra days just to be safe, before eventually leaving as well.

…

Although you didn't owe anyone an explanation, you decided to indulge the endless stream of texts flooding your phone. Message after message, you answered questions and satisfied people's curiosity until they finally left you alone.

It was exhausting.

Still, you knew that if you ignored them, they would simply turn their attention to your grandparents. They had already been dragged into enough trouble because of you and you refused to let them endure any more than they already had.

...

You distanced yourself from social media, unwilling to potentially deal with the emotional whirlwind that came with it. Seeing your private information spread across the internet was unsettling enough without reading thousands of opinions from strangers.

Slowly but surely, just as Thomas had predicted, the chaos began to die down.

It didn't disappear entirely. The news lingered, occasionally resurfacing, but you were no longer the center of everyone's attention.

After all, reporters and journalists could only devote so much time, effort and resources to a single person and a single story. Dating Rafayel, a celebrity idol, didn't make you a celebrity yourself. You were simply an ordinary person living an ordinary life. There was only so much information for them to uncover before they ran out of material.

Fans' curiosity had been piqued, then gradually satisfied. What had once been breaking news eventually became old news. The same articles, photos and recycled information no longer generated the same excitement they once had.

New stories emerged. New scandals broke. New rumors spread.

The world's attention moves on.

——————————————-————————

The boys come shuffling into your bedroom, lingering awkwardly in the space of the room, their faces etched with worry and nervous anticipation.

You eye them suspiciously.

“Who did what?” you ask, sounding like a mother questioning children who have clearly been up to no good.

The group exchanges guilty glances.

“Cutie,” Rafayel starts, taking a cautious step forward. “I...we...have something to confess”

But nobody elaborates. They just continue looking at one another as if hoping someone else will do the talking.

“If you had to pick one of us to date, who would it be?” Caleb blurts out.

You blink as your brain struggles to catch up to the question.

“Is that a trick question?” you ask slowly.

“That is not how this was supposed to go,” Zayne sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What Caleb is trying to say,” Xavier continues, “is that...we like you.”

Your brows knit together in confusion.

Sylus groans from the back of the group before pushing his way forward.

“Allow me,” he says. “We're all romantically attracted to you and would like to know how you feel about us. Our 'like' is that kind of like, kitten.”

“Oh.”

You rub the back of your neck awkwardly.

“I care about all of you,” you admit. “Equally. But I can't say whether my feelings are the same as yours.”

“Then allow us to take you on a date,” Zayne suggests.

“Separately,” he clarifies. “It may help you better understand your feelings.”

“I don't want to give any of you false hope,” you say carefully.

“We've already discussed all the possible outcomes,” Rafayel admits.

That gets your attention.

“If you choose one of us, we'll accept it. If you choose none of us, we'll accept that too. Whatever happens, it won't change how much we care about you.”

The room falls silent.

Five pairs of eyes watch you anxiously while you consider their proposal.

After a long moment, you finally nod. “...Okay.”

——————————————————————

The first person to take you out on a date is Rafayel.

You chuckle to yourself, imagining how Rafayel had most likely whined, pouted and complained long enough for everyone else to surrender and let him have the first date.

You have no idea where he's taking you.

The drive is short.

An enormous aquarium stands before you.

Rafayel takes your hand and leads you inside.

The indoor facility is massive, allowing visitors to get up close to thousands of marine creatures, walk through underwater glass tunnels and explore countless aquatic ecosystems.

You wander from tank to tank, marveling at the sea life around you.

Some fish are brilliantly colorful, darting through the water like living rainbows. Others look downright ridiculous, while a few seem as though they belong in a horror movie.

Sharks glide through the water. Stingrays drift overhead like floating kites. Sea turtles paddle lazily through the massive tanks.

The touch pools give you the chance to touch sea stars, rays, shrimp and several other small marine creatures.

You stop to read every information plaque.

The ocean has always been one of Rafayel's greatest passions and he eagerly shares facts and stories about every creature you encounter.

To your amazement, you even get to watch a mermaid show.

You lean closer to Rafayel.

“If you ever get tired of being an idol,” you whisper teasingly into his ear, “maybe you should audition to become a merman.”

...

After several hours of exploring, the two of you reach the souvenir shop near the exit.

You browse the shelves before spotting a glitter globe.

Instead of snow, shimmering glitter swirls around inside. At its center rests an open clam shell and perched upon it is a little mermaid.

...

Next, Rafayel leads you up several flights of stairs to a restaurant located on the aquarium's rooftop.

The restaurant is packed with guests, but Rafayel had reserved a table ahead of time.

Soon, dish after dish begins arriving - lobster, spicy crab pasta, grilled octopus, oysters, sautéed shrimp.

The list seems endless.

As you stare at the feast spread across the table.

“This feels kind of illegal,” you say, lifting your glass toward Rafayel. “We literally just spent hours looking at live fish.”

Rafayel raises his glass.

“Oh well.” You say, happily digging into the seafood.

...

Rafayel drives you back to the villa, but neither of you goes inside.

Instead, you're walking along the shoreline.

Eventually, the two of you settle onto the beach, wrapped comfortably in each other's arms as you watch the sunset in comfortable silence.

Slowly, he lifts a hand and tilts your chin upward with a single finger.

When his lips meet yours, you find yourself smiling against his lips before returning the kiss.

The kisses become more heated as you both fall backwards into the soft, warm sand.

——————————————————————

Sylus doesn't tell you where he's taking you for your date. The only hint he gives is that you should wear something comfortable and easy to move around in.

You cling tightly to him as his motorcycle glides through the city streets.

When he finally parks and you remove your helmet, your eyes focus on the bowling center before you.

“I've always wanted to go bowling!” you exclaim, clapping your hands together excitedly.

Of course, most people simply rented shoes and picked a bowling ball from the rack.

Not Sylus.

Sylus has brought his own equipment. For both of you.

He leads you to your assigned lane. As you sit in the booth to change your shoes, you notice your names displayed above the alley.

“I'll go first,” Sylus announces, picking up his bowling ball. “Watch how it's done, kitten.”

After a smooth run-up, he releases the ball.

It glides down the lane and crashes into the pins.

Strike.

Sylus turns toward you with a smug expression.

You're smiling brightly at him.

“Are you that happy to watch me score, kitten?”

You lean back against the booth, draping an arm across the backrest.

“Actually,” you drawl, “I'm quite content just watching you play.”

You punctuate the statement with a wink.

Sylus throws his head back and laughs - a deep laugh that rumbles from his chest.

Then he extends a hand toward you.

You grab your own bowling ball. You realize it's heavier than you expected.

He positions you in front of him as patiently he walks you through the proper technique.

When you're finally ready, you release the ball.

It rolls down the lane and three pins fall.

“How about a challenge?” you suggest knowing Sylus loves challenges.

“If I win, you teach me how to ride a motorcycle.”

“I would've done that regardless if you'd asked, kitten.”

He chuckles. “But sure.”

Then he leans closer. “And if I win…” His voice drops lower. “...I will teach you how to ride…me.”

A thrill runs down your spine.

You suddenly aren't sure whether you want to win or lose.

Lifting your chin, you meet his sharp gaze.

“Deal,” you say confidently. Then a teasing smile tugs at your lips. “Although, I don't really think I need the lessons.”

…

Sylus wins.

By a lot.

A staff member approaches you to inform you your food is ready.

The two of you head toward a table near the entrance.

Waiting there is an assortment of diner-style comfort food - burgers, fries, onions rings, milkshakes and more.

“This isn't exactly gourmet dining,” Sylus says. “But I know you've been craving it.”

...

Later, you're back on the motorcycle, your arms wrapped securely around Sylus's waist as he cruises through the city at a leisurely pace.

At a red light, several motorcycles pull up beside and behind you.

The riders begin exchanging hand signals with Sylus.

“What do they want?” you ask through the helmet's microphone.

“This area is notorious for biker gangs. They're challenging us to a race.”

His voice carries an unmistakable hint of amusement. “What do you say, kitten?”

Your grip tightens around his waist. “I say let's show them what you've got.”

The instant the light turns green, every motorcycle launches forward.

Sylus accelerates smoothly, effortlessly with confidence.

It’s obvious this isn't his first race.

He weaves through traffic with practiced precision while the other riders struggle to keep up.

Soon, their headlights are nothing more than distant specks behind you.

You laugh loudly and punch a fist into the air.

...

Sylus eventually parks on a dirt hill overlooking the skyline.

You remove your helmet and glance at him. “You're not going to murder me up here, are you?”

Sylus shakes his head, laughing quietly. “No. But I am going to kiss you breathless.”

Before you can register his words, his lips are claiming yours.

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

Unlike Rafayel’s colorful, educational date or Sylus’s adrenaline-filled challenges, Zayne’s date is quiet and comforting.

He takes you to the largest bookstore you’ve ever seen.

Shelf after shelf stretches endlessly, lined with thousands upon thousands of books.

“Is there a limit to how many I can buy?” you ask, still staring in awe.

“Not per se,” Zayne replies slowly. “However, the car is only so large.”

But before he can even finish, you’re making a beeline for the nearest shelf.

...

The two of you wander through the aisles together, occasionally pulling books off the shelves to inspect them more closely.

You stay close to each other, never drifting too far apart.

You glance sideways at Zayne and a small idea forms.

You pick up a random book and open it, holding it up in front of your face as you walk toward him.

You "accidentally" bump into his shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to get his attention.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say quickly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Zayne looks at you with confusion at first. Then he gazes at your playful smile.

A faint smile tugs at his lips.

“It’s alright, miss,” he says, playing along. “Though I think you’ll enjoy the book more if you read it the right way up.”

You glance down and sure enough the book is upside down.

You cough lightly to hide your embarrassment.

“So…” you continue, “do you come here often?”

Zayne’s eyes glint with amusement.

“Occasionally.”

“In that case, can you recommend something?”

“Depends,” he replies. “What are you looking for?”

“Something like…how to ask a handsome man with glasses and a very nice smile on a date.”

The tips of his ears turn pink and you just grin.

...

At the counter, Zayne watches as the cashier scans the towering pile of books you’ve gathered.

His gaze shifts to you.

“There’s no such thing as too many books,” you say innocently, batting your lashes.

He doesn’t argue and pays without hesitation.

...

Later, you both go upstairs to the café where every dessert is inspired by a popular literary character that looks almost too beautiful to eat.

Unsure what to order, Zayne simply orders one of everything.

By the time you’ve eaten your way through far too many desserts, you're in a state of a sugar high.

Your teeth are probably cursing at you,

Neither of you cares.

Back in the car, Zayne glances at you.

“There’s one more dessert I’d like to try,” he says quietly.

The kiss is soft and unhurried, carrying the faint taste of sugar and pastries still lingering on his lips.

——————————————————————

When Caleb drives you to a towering skyscraper reminiscent of the luxury hotel Sylus owns for your date, you can't help but feel confused.

This kind of setting seems much more like something Sylus would plan than Caleb.

Your confusion only grows when he leads you to the rooftop.

Then you see it.

A sleek black helicopter sits waiting on the landing pad.

Your eyes widen.

“I know you're okay flying in planes,” Caleb says casually, “so I'm hoping you can handle a helicopter.”

“Are we really flying in that?” you exclaim.

Caleb grins and nods.

You glance around the rooftop.

“I don't see the pilot.”

“The pilot's right here.” He points at himself with a boyish grin.

“You mean…” You stare at him in disbelief. “You know how to fly this thing?”

Caleb grabs your hand and gently tugs you toward the helicopter.

He helps you climb inside before circling around to the pilot's seat.

After making sure your seatbelt is secure and your headset is fitted properly, he settles into his own seat.

His voice crackles through your headset.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.”

You start giggling

“The weather is perfect for flying today and I hope you enjoy your flight.”

Caleb pulls on the controls and slowly, the helicopter lifts into the air.

...

You spend most of the flight glued to the window.

The city looks completely different from above.

Buildings that seemed enormous now look miniature. The late-afternoon sunlight breaks through the clouds, casting everything in gold.

“Agent Double 02, target spotted ahead," you suddenly announce into your microphone.

Caleb doesn't miss a beat. “Copy that, Agent Double 01. Approaching target.”

“Ready missiles. Fire on my signal.”

“Copy.”

“Oh no!” you gasp dramatically. “We've been hit!”

“Affirmative,” Caleb says. “We're going down. I repeat, we're going down. Requesting permission for emergency landing.”

“Negative!” you bark. “We can't let them escape with the briefcase. The country is depending on us.”

Caleb's shoulders begin shaking. “What are your orders, Agent Double 01?”

You narrow your eyes at the imaginary enemy. “If we're going down, then we're taking them down with us.”

That finally breaks him. Caleb bursts out laughing.

...

After the helicopter ride, Caleb drives you to the next part of your date.

By evening, you're sitting in the back of a pickup truck on a pile of blankets and pillows at an open-air cinema.

“ I can't believe drive-in cinemas are still a thing,” you admit.

“Makes sense, honestly,” Caleb says beside you. “Most places can't rely on the weather enough. But we live on a tropical island where it's warm most of the year. Perfect conditions.”

After several minutes of comfortable silence, Caleb speaks again. “Do you have a bucket list?”

“Of course I do. What about you?”

“I do,” he says. “Actually, there's something on it I'd like your help crossing off.”

That catches your attention. “Oooh?”

You turn toward him. “And what would that be?”

A smile slowly spreads across Caleb's face.

He gently nudges you backward onto the blankets.

He hovers above you, mere centimeters from your face.

“To kiss the girl I like during a movie date.”

You laugh at his ridiculousness, giving into his request.

——————————————————————

The last date that awaits you is with Xavier.

He takes you to an arcade - another place you've always wanted to visit with friends someday. Now, you finally get to experience it with him.

Xavier exchanges a generous amount of cash for the arcade's golden tokens. He returns carrying a bucket full of them.

You begin with a zombie shooting game. Side by side, you blast through waves of undead enemies. Xavier's reactions are frighteningly fast, but you manage to keep up.

Next are the motorcycle racing simulators. Sitting atop the plastic bikes, you grip the handlebars and speed through the virtual tracks.

When the race ends, your name sits proudly as the winner.

You guess all those rides on Sylus's motorcycle paid off.

The claw machines prove far less forgiving.

After several attempts, with a single win, both of you admit defeat.

The two of you move on to Whack-a-Mole.

When your round ends, you gently bonk Xavier on the head with the foam hammer.

“Missed one,” you tease.

The electronic dartboard goes horribly.

Most of your darts miss the board entirely, bouncing across the floor.

After a while, you decide it might be safer for everyone if you retire.

The dance machine, however, is the most fun.

Xavier and you move perfectly in sync.

It isn't until the song ends that you realize a crowd has gathered around the machine and the spectators break into applause.

Of course, you can't forget the photo booth.

Every pose grows sillier than the last.

Hours later, after trying every game the arcade has to offer, you finally make your way to the prize counter.

The staff member feeds your mountain of tickets into a counting machine that sounds similar to a paper shredder.

The total is enough to claim one of the top prizes.

“Go ahead and pick,” Xavier says, noticing your hesitation.

Your attention is drawn to a young boy standing nearby clutching a small bundle of tickets.

“If you could pick any prize, what would it be?”, you ask him

“That's easy.” He points. “The keyboard.”

“I'll take the keyboard,” you tell the employee.

The staff member nods and removes the last keyboard from the display.

You take it, kneel and hold it out to the boy.

“Here you go.”

His eyes widen. “C-can I really have it?”

“It's yours," you smile gently.

His face lights up, hugging the keyboard tightly against his chest. “Thank you, miss! Thank you, thank you!”

He bounces excitedly in place before running off.

“You're a lucky guy to have such a kindhearted girlfriend.” The employee says to Xavier.

“That I am”, Xavier agrees, looking at you with hearts in his eyes.

….

All that gaming has worked up an appetite.

Xavier leads you to a restaurant a short walk away.

“I used to come here often when I was still a student,” he explains while opening the door. “They have an all-you-can-eat menu.”

A cheerful man greets you. “Welcome!”

His smile falters the second he notices Xavier.

“Xavier,” he says slowly. “Long time no see.”

“Hello,” Xavier replies politely. “Do you still offer all-you-can-eat?”

“We...do.” The owner hesitates. “But the time limit is sixty minutes now instead of ninety.”

Xavier leads you to a table before heading for the buffet, bringing plate after plate of food back.

The realization hits all at once.

The owner's horrified expression.

The shortened time limit.

The mountain of food currently occupying your table.

You burst out laughing.

“Xavier,” you manage between breaths, “I think you've eaten this place out of house and home.”

Shaking your head, you stand and walk around the table.

Taking the seat beside him, you gently cup his face and kiss him.

——————————————————————

Five guys.

Five dates.

Five choices.

Even though none of the boys had pressured you for an answer, you knew they deserved one.

You clasped your hands together.

“Each and every one of you put so much time, thought and effort into our dates,” you begin. “Every date was completely different, but I loved them all.”

“If I had to pick a favorite…” You shake your head. “I can't.”

You lowered your gaze. “I know I'm being unreasonable. I know I'm being unfair. And downright greedy.”

Your heart is pounding. “But, can I choose the option of not choosing?”

You press forward. “So…”

You offer them a pleasing smile. “…Can I offer my love to all five of you?”

The silence stretches as the boys look at one another. A silent conversation seems to pass between them.

Five different expressions softened as they looked at you.

A weight lifts from your stomach when the boys confirm they are okay with your decision.

Relief washes over you, the tension melts away, replaced by warmth and happiness.

Customizable Female (or: female-presenting) MC: Build your BB Survivor your way! Pronouns, appearance, disposition, former profession -- all are yours to customize! Each option gives its own benefits (and: consequences 👀) + leads to special situations!

That's so - Gay: Lesbian, Bi, Pansexual, Polysexual, Ace -- whatever flavor of 'sapphic' you choose to be, you can be~ <3

Rep Your Disability (or - go without!): Choose from mental or physical disabilities that are more than flavor text! Are you neurospicy? Hard of hearing? Deal with chronic pain? Each will impact your MC's experience in a wholly unique way!

MC's Got Talent: Select up to two skills that will further enhance your personal playthrough! Are you Self-Assured and Well-Packaged? An empathetic Listener with a penchant for playing Devil's Advocate? Mix and match to discover your favs!

Pick Your MC's Connection + Relationship: Do you have a successful single working mother? Two loving foster parents? A ride-or-die godparent? The messiest best friend? Or: Will you brave hardcore mode and - go it completely on your own?

4 ROs to Smooch: Will you forge a deeper relationship with a fellow homeless guest? Or maybe you prefer a bit of taboo to your woo and have your eyes on a member of staff~? (Either way, keep in mind: They're perfect for you, but have their issues too. ;))

Complex + Dynamic Romances: No stat-chasing -- rack up approval or don't, you will always have access to romance the available ROs in either approval-mance (approval based romance) or rival-mance (rivalry based romance). However! The lower your approval, the harder you'll have to work to get your boo!

Big Shelter is Watching: Will you work within the system or make your own path? Follow the rules or consistently challenge? Argue with staff or befriend the volunteers? You decide! (...but, be careful: Cause too much trouble and you might end up banned. ❌🫣)

Nerisa Bernard 🌼🐝 (she/her)

Sweet, charming and with a gorgeous smile that could stop anyone in their tracks, Nerisa exudes natural leader energy -- and takes the position graciously. She's the one all the girls go to in the shelter for advice -- and the one who greets each new arrival, personally. Rarely is she seen alone: there's almost always a group of (fawning)women trailing behind as if she's attending court. Always with a kind word and even kinder brown eyes, the staff at Safe Harbor see Nerisa as a glowing example all guests in their care should aspire to emulate. Nerisa is mixed, has golden brown skin (with honey undertones) and long, kinky bronze-caramel hair that falls to mid-back. Attractive twin dimples show whenever she smiles. She has a dragonfly tattoo just below her right clavicle.

Page Liška 📄🎧 (she/her)

Introverted, short-tempered and with messy bed hair you can spot a mile away, Page just wants to be left the fuck alone. She's not into the whole 'namaste' - 'join hands with your fellow sister' scene; she'd rather use her hands for greater things. On any given day, you'll find her locked in a janitor's closet with headphones, sniping at staff members on the conditions of the shelter, or -- out on the streets. Being cooped up with depressing-ass women who moan and bitch all day? No thanks. Page is eastern European, has tanned, sunspot speckled beige skin and choppy, shoulder-length platinum-blonde and purple dyed hair (with dark natural roots). Large silver glasses cover her gunmetal grey eyes. She has multiple piercings and many tattoos - her favorite being a female version of 'The Hanged Man' tarot on her thigh.

Cleo Thompson 📋✅ (...she/her)

Professional, organized and impeccably dressed, Cleo takes her position as a junior staff member at Safe Harbor - NYC very seriously(some would say - 'too' seriously). She knows it's so much more than a nine to five; that her -- every action -- could have a direct impact on those she's here to serve. She doesn't understate her position of privilege and does her best to meet every guest's needs as efficiently and sympathetically as possible... yet. Often comes off as 'clinical', instead. It's a hard line: drawing the boundary between guest and staff--yet still wanting to know each homeless woman as human. Not just a name on a sheet. Cleo is Black, with dark brown skin and ebony, waist-length braids she often wears tied or half-tied up in some fashion. She has a small, nearly indistinct scar on her left cheekbone and heterochromia iridis - two-toned eyes; the top half dark brown; the bottom half blue.

Fahn Sharma 👠 🛋️ (she/her)

Colorful, vivacious and empathetic to a fault, Fahn is Safe Harbor - NYC's licensed psychotherapist, available four days each week for the guests there (though, often staying weekends regardless). Fahn is as vivid as the outfits she wears, often joining patterns that - alone - would look atrocious anywhere else -- but she gets away with it every time. She knows who she is and is proud of the journey it took to get there. Truly, there's no greater joy for her than helping other women, currently: beaten, abandoned, and unheard -- with time, recognize they're worthy of recognition, esteem, and every ounce of her respect. Fahn is south Asian, with beautifully chiseled features and golden bronze skin; her long brunette, wavy hair ends at her hips and is usually held beneath a vibrant, patterned head covering. She prefers classic, tasteful makeup; her observant, warm almond eyes glinting with clear intelligence.

Pu$$y Trauma is a fearlessly sapphic/WLW dive into imperfect characters placed in brutally unfair situations -- somehow finding love in themselves: and each other. It will be messy; it will be heartbreaking -- it will be triumphant. This story is 18+ and intended for adults, exploring potentially triggering topics, such as:

unbalanced power dynamics

unhealthy relationships

domestic violence

toxic habits

coping mechanisms

(so many…)bad decisions

manipulation/gaslighting

mental + physical disabilities

stigma against homelessness

ageism, sexism, racism - all the ‘isms’

relationships with individuals confused/questioning their gender and/or sexuality

breaking the law/grey morality(CRIMES.) 

mention of/use of drugs + alcohol

explicit language + other societally frowned upon terms

adults doing adult things in later chapters - it ain't taxes... ;) (VGVES - very gay, very explicit scenes)

⁃ And more!

🌈 Spread the word, spread the gay agenda! Reblogs appreciated! 🌈

He took a deep breath and looked around. The street was fairly quiet, with only a small group gathered near the parking lot.

The first to catch his attention was a large man with an intentionally grim expression, sharply contrasting with the broad smile of the man beside him who leaned on a cane.

Not far from them was a guy, fragments of his rapid, rambling speech drifting toward Cassian. A dark-haired girl stood nearby, her hands on her hips. Despite her small stature, she seemed more than anyone else like the unspoken leader of this mismatched group.

Moving a little closer, Cassian stopped in the designated smoking area, pulled a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and a metal lighter from his windbreaker pocket. He flicked the flint wheel several times without success before a flame finally sparked to life. As he brought the flame to his cigarette, his gaze drifted back to the girl.

She was laughing. Apparently the talkative one had just said something funny.

Cassian let out a quiet snort and frowned slightly. But the next moment he froze as their eyes met. The smile still shone on her lips, only now her gaze was directed at him.

It had taken him a while (years, actually) but he’d gotten there, he eventually found a way to become essential to the company’s operations: Whenever a sale or a person was getting difficult, he’d take them out on a night on the town and work his charm to save whatever deal was about to fall through.

The grand majority of these suits really just needed someone to facilitate their behavior, and Lyonel would facilitate away. The harsh and erratic climate of the Storm’s End made for some good spots to get entertainment both indoors and outdoors, and Lyonel had spent his 20s exploring them all, he was the perfect guy for the job.

One day he walked into his office to an envelope on the desk, a brand-new, no-limit Iron Bank corporate black card inside it and a note in his dad’s handwriting, ‘Don’t make me regret it’.

So he perfected the art of schmoozing clients and potential partners/investors, sparing no expense to show them a good time when they partied with the heir of Yellow Stag. It was a walk in the park, taking otherwise boring men to underground clubs, facilitating the purest cocaine or ketamine for the finance bros, taking the older guys to the good strip clubs or surprising them with rare finds he knew would be appreciated; he was even good at finding alternatives at the drop of a hat if his target was more on the conservative side, fine cigars and imported alcohol would do the trick for those most of the time. He could read those men like a book, whatever they needed to have fun he’d get for them.

It worked so well, he worked so well that his partying on the company’s dime became a preventative measure instead of a desperate last resort… being a lead whisperer was now the main reason why he was on the payroll, not the fact that he was set to inherit everything.

The realization that he loved his newfound power hit him almost immediately. It was the first thing he really earned in his life, and it’d gotten him enough of his father’s respect as a bonus. Things changed even more when he realized that at some point he started to care about the company that would eventually be his and, about the fact he was actually capable of contributing something to it.

He now lived in the balance he never dared to dream of reaching: keeping his dad happy without having to give up any parts of himself, parts he always feared he’d have to put away for the sake authority or credibility when his dad eventually died. Even better, those outings gave him the kind of dirt that not even the best corporate spy could ever dream of ever delivering, and while some of the men started the night with cold feet, they would almost always email with newfound confidence in their investment the morning after.

The high of paternal approval lasted longer than he’d ever predicted, a part of him half-expected for his dad to suddenly cancel the account and embarrass him in the middle of a night out, but his 36th birthday came and went, and the other shoe never dropped.

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

His father had been saying to him for years that he should start taking things more seriously in his personal life and find a good woman to marry, that the tabloids nicknaming him ‘The Laughing Storm’ was fun PR that could turn into bad optics on a dime. He’d even suggested Lyonely marry the only girl he’d ever been in a relationship with, causing precisely the opposite effect when Lyonel broke up with her just a few days after the comment.

The constant partying was fine when it related to Yellow Stag, but Lyonel partied for the love of the game too, and his playboy reputation was starting to make him more of a liability than a manageable nuisance. Even an empire focused on fun and entertainment, an empire that had encouraged its heir’s activities, can only take so much before shareholders began to feel antsy.

He’d even proven himself capable enough at work, convincing the board on his own that he could spearhead a brand new videogame division at Yellow Stag and tap into an (albeit related) whole new market.

But the partying was still a problem for Simon Baratheon. Lyonel’s name was constantly in the tabloids, and therefore, his father’s.

One day, Simon gave his only son, his heir, his legacy, an ultimatum: Within a year, Lyonel would be cut off, lose his inheritance and whatever stake he had in Yellow Stag. His baby, the videogame division, would be shut down before it could even take off: the smallest team in the company, the one he’d put together almost completely on his own, would lose their jobs and it would all be his fault. Then, the board would lose all confidence in him as future CEO and would eventually strip him of his title and board sit, he’d stay on the company symbolically with no real power. His father would punish him for the first time in his life, and he would do it publicly.

Unless he got married.

It was medieval.

Having to ‘take a wife’ to placate daddy, and worse... the fucking board, felt fucking medieval.

“Those men and women you just hired have families to feed. Be a man and go get yourself one if you want them to keep their jobs.” His father had said to him when he refused to be set up on a date with a friend’s daughter.

Lyonel had given up on the whole thing not long after, he’d never really had a real relationship, getting into one right now seemed nonsensical, and being married within a year was definitely impossible; so he started mentally preparing to let absolutely everyone down.

The decision to at least keep the video games people employed was difficult, but he wanted to make sure they wouldn’t lose everything even if he wasn’t there anymore. So he made a deal with the devil, or in this case, your father: 50/50 involvement, Lyonel would act as Chief Studios Officer and your father as Managing Director, it was their baby now, not just Lyonel’s. With the upcoming gala, they would leak rumors to the press only to confirm the existence of the project and their shared involvement in it during the event.

And Lyonel would owe your dad, what, he didn’t know. But he would owe him.

He assumed you were there to babysit him the night of the gala. The same girl that was barely out of college age, the girl that he’d lust after every other week under flashing lights and sweaty bodies, was there to babysit him at a work event.

Isn’t she like 20? he wondered as you paraded your beautiful figure in the yellow carpet.

And you were so, so beautiful, and intoxicating. Better than any substance he’d ever ingested, and he’d put all kinds of those in his body, but none of them gave him the kind of high that having you close to him did. His curiosity and growing desire for you won easily over whatever corporate strategy a smarter man would have taken in a situation like this.

The stress of it all had taken a toll on him, sure, but by the time you had him whining desperately, he’d all but forgotten about the impending sense of personal and professional doom he had been consumed by for the past few weeks.

There was only room for you in his short-circuited brain as you both came down from your orgasms, then he asked you to stay, then he held you, then he caressed your skin and fell asleep to the scent of lavender and sweat still lingering in your messy hair. He slept better than he had in years, his father’s threats were not as important as they’d been 24 hours ago as he woke up to you the next day.

Was there a bit of a conflict of interest if he dated you? Sure, but much less than if you were actually working together. So he did it. He took you to lunch everyday for a month during weekdays and he’d bring it to you in bed on the weekends.

As the weeks went by, a part of him wondered if he was really in love with you or if he was deluding himself into it because of a mix of how addicted he’d become to your presence and his father’s ultimatum, especially since you happened to have fallen on his lap oh so conveniently.

Your relationship seemed too good to be true, you seemed to good to be true, but if you were acting, he really couldn’t tell. If he was a fool, he was one so happily. And if he was addicted to you, he would gladly overdose.

There was no way in a single one of the seven hells that you were that good of an actress. There was no way that any of your actions or the way you started to make him feel was tainted with malice.

Not when he’d find you in the middle of a crowd and your smile would make his heart skip a beat as you blushed at his own smile. Or when he’d see something he just knew you’d think it was cute, and immediately wish you were there to share the moment. Or in the way he’d miss you when he looked to your empty side of the bed. Or on the days you’d drop by to his office to bring him lunch when he was too busy to leave. Or when you’d spend your day there, reading or working on your own stuff as he took calls or worked on his computer.

He found himself being reminded of you when he’d see certain objects, he would get them for you without a second thought, so you knew the space you occupied in his mind and heart, and you immediately started doing the same.

He would start grieving your separation as he drove you home, even if he’d see you the next day, and most of the time, he did. “You are being such a child, it’ll be over before you know it!” You’d often tell him as he pouted and begged you not to get out of the car, kissing you frantically as if it were the last time he’d get a chance to press his lips to yours. Lyonel had lived a privileged life so far, and with you becoming a part of it, it continued to feel like a privilege. But it was also beginning to feel like torture, no matter how little time he had to spend away from you, for him, it was too long.

There was also the matter of you still living with your parents, one of whom he worked with, and Lyonel was getting tired of spending his nights with you at hotel suites or even his own wing at Storm’s End. The need for a place both of you could call home crept up on him, he didn’t even know when it started to feel so urgent, he just knew that he felt like a rabid dog on the day he started looking for houses, even more when he realized that he wanted you to look with him.

He was very, deeply in love with you, and it finally hit him on the eve of the launch for Fury Game Studios. You strategically stole him away, saving him from a boring conversation and took the elevator ride up to his office, covering his eyes as you walked to the door, only to finally show him the updated sign on it a few seconds later. Instead of the vague title he used to have, it now had the division’s logo and said: ‘Lyonel Baratheon, Chief Studios Officer’.

You seemed nervous as he looked back at you, as if he would dare to hate or look down on your thoughtful gift, but all it made him feel was that you truly cared about him. Not the money, not his influence or the attention it may bring your way, but him. The often loud, boisterous, messy, too-much of a man he was. With your back against the door, he fucked you desperately, begging you to look at him for the whole 9 minutes that the ordeal lasted. “I love you, I love you so, so much. Fuck, I don’t- I love you, I do, I do, I-” He whispered on your lips as he filled you up, holding you as if you’d disappear if he let go of you for even a second.

The gesture stayed in his head for weeks.

Though by now it felt like a delicious eternity, the truth of the matter was that you had only been dating for four months, and you were about a decade younger than him, but those were the only things keeping him from putting a ring in your finger by that point. His whole body had been on edge for what felt like an eternity, and even though he hid it well, one day he finally cracked.

When a manic-looking, nonsensical Lyonel begged you to marry him at 2 am on a Saturday, you didn’t even hesitate, kissing him and saying yes over and over as he promised to take you shopping for the perfect ring the next morning.

The wedding came and went faster than any of you expected, your mom and a wedding planner taking over the planning on its entirety and only ever consulting you for final decisions after you and Lyonel had decided on a vibe and a venue (The Storm’s End Estate, of course).

Your wedding night was all you could’ve hoped for and more, the honeymoon lasted two months, his dad literally had him locked out of his work credentials and told Lyonel to take what remained of the summer to get better acquainted with his pretty wife.

And better acquainted with each other you got, especially after Lyonel revealed he’d gotten a vasectomy as first wedding present to you. It may have sounded odd, but with him coming inside you 90% of the time, the short time you’d been together, and the very real fact that you were younger and kids hadn’t been discussed, really, he knew it would stink up the party if you got unexpectedly pregnant during your honeymoon. It made sense to you as well, the mere few months you’d been together hadn’t been enough to even think of kids, you wanted it to be just you and him at least for a while. It was the perfect, selfish gift. And so, you got off the pill and the rarely used box of condoms began gathering dust in a drawer.

“Just remember, I can have it reversed... if you ever wanted to give me a little one that looks just like you.” He blushed as he told you one night after you met the CFO’s cute, chubby-cheeked baby. “If that was something you’d ever want, that is. I just- I’d want it with you, too, is all I’m saying...”

Adorable as his confession was, the first year of your marriage was little more than a blur of sex anywhere and everywhere at anytime. Every room in your new house got thoroughly christened in record time and you’d been fined for public indecency more than a couple of times.

Yet, other than that moment of vulnerability when he told you he’d love a kid if you did too, Lyonel couldn’t remember more than a few select serious conversations about your life together that hadn’t been a fight.

By your second year of marriage, whatever argument that turned into a fight got “solved” with angry, overwhelming sex.

By your third year, he started spending more time in his home office than by your side at home, and on the rare occasion that he was with you, he’d mostly just initiate the quickest, most self-serving and disappointing sex so he could unwind with little consideration for your needs. As if you were a toy to use when he was pent up instead of a partner he could talk to or seek advice from.

The final two years of your union, he could barely say he was there. He remembered seeing the set table on nights he’d be back too late to share a meal with you, only to see it fully clear by the time he was leaving for work the next day and no sight of you for days. He would wake up to the lack of your body heat next to his on the days he actually slept in. He would actually, with his full chest, utter the words “Not now, darling, I’m sorry.” to you when you tried initiating sex wearing a scandalous outfit, or when you lacked an outfit at all.

The chemistry and intimacy, both physical and emotional, that reigned the early days of your relationship eventually became a distant memory. And now it was time to pay the piper.

What you had called your “sham of a marriage” flashed before him at rapid speed as he saw his father angrily storm into his office in the middle of the day, with a shameful Quentyn and your own bored dad in tow, not even three days after your initial divorce meeting.

When Simon eventually stopped loudly expressing his disappointment and Lyonel had finished drawing the blinds and closing the door, he glanced at his lawyer accusingly.

“The stock is going to drop when this gets out, you imbecile.” His dad spat.

“The stock, of course.” Not even a how are you today.

Simon pointed angrily at the very nervous lawyer. “This idiot told me he got her to agree to a quiet year-long separation and keep up appearances. What is your plan to stop the divorce from finalizing, or is that something we will have to take care of as well?” The immediate pivot to business strategizing as if this wasn’t his son’s life wasn’t even surprising.

“I got it covered.”

“You most certainly do not, otherwise you wouldn’t be getting divorced in the first place.”

“It’s just a bump in the road, a minor setback, marriage is hard, et cetera. She’s just going through a thing, I’m working on it.” Lyonel smiled wearily to his angry father, pretending to not feel Arrec’s stare, who in turn decided to address him directly.

Your dad got right to it. “Operations will cease immediately in the studio if the stock drops 11% and the board is giving us that extra 1% in good faith since the first game was a success. Our thing is still the youngest in the roster though, so it’ll be the first to get dropped to minimize loss.”

Our thing, he says, as if I don’t manage 95% of it.

Lyonel would probably get an ulcer from the strain of keeping a straight face and a semi-calm tone of voice as he answered. “It won’t get to that, It won’t even get to a year.” He stated with the best impression of confidence he could muster at the moment.

“You better hope it doesn’t.” The two older men said in unison as they left.

“I guess both of our dads are more aware of our business than we thought…” Quentyn tried joking.

“Just fucking leave, Tarth.” Lyonel spun on his chair, getting up to stare at the oncoming storm outside.

--

You knew you had very little time to keep the news to yourself, you suspected your dad probably already knew, but you were even more aware that if your mom found out via anyone else than you, you’d never hear the end of it.

Which is how you found yourself having brunch in your parents terrace, finally breaking the news to her (or a part of them) over your fifth mimosa.

“Lyonel and I are taking some time apart.” You said with very little nonchalance, immediately seeing in her face that she didn’t really know what to do with that information.

“Bug, I’m so sorry!” She frowned, sliding to your side and hugging you tightly, rubbing your back and stroking your hair in the best way she could.

“We shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place, it was too quick, too impulsive. I got carried away and he-” You stopped, afraid of saying it aloud.

That he just wanted something young and shiny to use and show off. That he thought little of you. That it had never been real in the first place. That he’d made a fool of you and it had taken you five years to figure it out.

“Well, you’re young! You can always get married again…” Your mom tried and failed at making you feel better, smiling and wincing at the same time as she spoke.

Even though you still planned on going through with the divorce after the year was up, your mother’s comment immediately lit a fire in you. She didn’t even try asking what happened, what the reason had been, why it had gotten to that point, how she could support you during this time. No, she immediately went to ‘oh, just get another one’.

For all she knew, you and Lyonel had been deeply in love all this time, why was she so quick to dismiss your marriage? Was it that obvious to everyone? Had everyone lied to your face and let you play the fool? For what?

You got up, immediately grabbing your stuff and staring at her, disappointed. Betrayed, even.

“I-.” You laughed in disbelief. “I don’t even know why I’m here, you don’t ever really-” Breathing deeply, you rearranged your thoughts, and took your exit. “Just wanted to let you know, mom.”

As you walked down the stairs, holding back tears, you were met by your father leaning on the door that lead to your former room, at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t look at you with the same pity as your mom, instead you could see the gears turning in his head as he nodded for you to come closer and opened his arms to you.

“Have lunch with me tomorrow, at the office. It’s time you come in.” He said to you softly as you sobbed quietly in his arms.

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t hugged you like this in over a decade, but you were actually inclined to honor the request even though you knew he’d probably find a way to use you, somehow.

--

Avoiding Lyonel on your way to your father’s office seemed impossible, yet you found yourself arriving with no issue. It was a big building, after all.

Your dad greeted you warmly, offering you to sit in front of him as he called for lunch to be taken up to you both.

“So, I know you’re not dumb. Do you know why you’re here?”

“I may have an inkling…” You replied, looking at him expectantly.

He nodded his head and exhaled loudly, smiling at you.“This divorce business… is it serious, are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“He said you’re going through something, I’m asking you to confirm or deny.”

“Of course he did.” You chuckled dryly, rolling your eyes at your stupid husband’s equally stupid attempt to save face.

You were about to go on a rant when the door opened to your dad’s assistant with takeout boxes, he left them on the desk and quickly took his leave as your dad thanked him.

“I thought you two would be like your mom and I.” Your dad offered thoughtfully as you both dug into your food. “That you’d do the logistics out of the office and he’d do his own thing in here. Now more than ever, I just think he’s useless. A liability.”

You listened carefully, but a bit lost on where he was going.

“I’m planning on retiring soon, sooner than what I originally planned, and I think both Simon and I believe Lyonel is no longer an option to take over when we bow out.”

“Because of the divorce?” You asked, confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Because of the implications of it. The studio launched a few months before you got married, news outlets have compared the trajectory of the two before already, and the stupid board trusts the press and how things look more than they trust him or even the numbers, especially since it’s so different from what the company has always done. Also, even as a married man, Lyonel has been erratic and impulsive, with you out of the picture he has very little leverage with these old fucks, they are too old fashion even for me. A vote of no confidence on him is bound to happen sooner than later.”

“I’m not getting back together with him just so you and Simon can have your precious heir.” You told him immediately. “I can’t believe you’d even dare to tease the idea! Did you seriously ask me to come all the way here just to ask me to, what, endure?”

He frowned at that, looking at you like you were insane. “Don’t be obtuse, bug. I may not have been as present as you needed me to be during the later years of your time at home, but I still know you. I know that you rarely change your mind after making a big decision, and I know you got a mean streak.” He smiled at you as he continued to chew.

“Why are you telling me all of this, then? I doubt you’d take time off your busy schedule just to shit-talk Lyonel with me.”

“That you are right about!” His laugh took you by surprise. “Do I really have to say it? Come on, you’re a smart girl.”

“Say it.” You demanded. You suspected you knew where he was going, but you still had to hear the words come out of his mouth, you needed to know he was serious.

Arrec put his hands together in front of him, and after staring at the side for a moment he said, “I wasn’t a good father, I know that. I also know that if I had a do-over, I would probably try to be better but fail at it nevertheless.” He was looking at you now. “I… I feel a bit responsible, that your marriage is ending. Maybe if I had been a better father, you would’ve picked a better partner, a better man, maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

It felt weird, to have your father be so vulnerable after getting nothing for so long, especially inside these four walls.

“That’s not the whole thing, dad. Say. It. Just say it, for Gods’ sake, or I’m walking.”

He shook his head, smiling at you as if to say ‘That’s my girl’. “I’m offering it to you, silly. All of it, in due time, of course. He doesn’t have what it takes, you do, I’ve always known it.”

For years you’d known that your dad kept hope of you eventually succeeding him, he’d tried… weakly, to get you interested in the company, but you never really saw it as a path for yourself, especially after you got married.

That was a long time ago, though. You had a whole year to do whatever you wanted, and maybe you could want this.

But succeeding him AND Simon was something else.

Taking Lyonel’s birthright was a different beast.

You snorted, still not fully believing your father’s words. Eventually you started laughing uncontrollably, and to his credit, he chuckled a bit as he continued to eat, letting you get it out of your system.

Needing more proof that it was real, that he was willing to fuck him over, you baited him. “I don’t? I’m not even- I have no experience, dad. Lyonel’s been getting ready for decades, even if he’s an idiot there’s no way I can-”

“Do you want it?” He interrupted, seeing right through you.

“Wha-”

“Do you want it, yes or no? It’s a simple question, bug.”

“I could want it, if I decided to. You know?” You answered almost nonsensically but with enough fake confidence to save some face.

He was done beating around the bush, rolling his eyes. “And is that a decision you’d be interested in wanting to make? Because if you do, you would have to take it. From him. All of it.” He challenged you, putting all cards on the table.

Your father gave you some time to think about it as you froze mid-bite, the realization that he was for real finally sinking in.

Even as angry and vengeful as you felt, this sounded like it could be a step too far. You didn’t have a plan for making Lyonel’s life miserable yet, but when you’d thought about it, it had involved making him look bad publicly, maybe planting rumors or leaking the news of the divorce for starters.

You hadn’t thought this far ahead, and it was quite far ahead. This would mean taking absolutely everything from him, not just personally, professionally too.

The more seconds that went by, the more you actually started warming up to the idea. He really had been a terrible husband, and worst of all… he hadn’t even tried to be a good one once it had become painfully evident. Besides, you’d wasted some of your best years with him, even though you were young, not even 30 yet while he was already in his 40s, you still spent the second part of 20s trying to get his attention like a wounded, masochistic dog.

It wasn’t just about ruining Lyonel’s life, now that you thought more about it, you could make something out of yourself in this business, then branch out with something more suited to you in like 10 years no problem with the kind of connections that you would get.

You were right in saying you had no experience in Yellow Stag, but your Linguistic Anthropology degree could definitely be spun into something that would at least get your foot in the door with enough nepotism, and that was already in the offer, even if your dad hadn’t mentioned it yet.

He had to have thought about every angle before bringing the proposal to you, you didn’t have a good relationship with him but you knew you could trust him with this.

“What’s in it for me?” You asked, only half-trying to milk the opportunity for all its worth. If you were going to sell your soul, there had to be more than just a successor for the most stubborn men in the Stormlands.

“Besides the keys to the kingdom? Well, I don’t know. You win the break up or something, honey.” He answered, not falling for your game in the slightest. “And a lot of money that won’t bleed out your trust fund.”

“Talk me through it.” You’d realized in the last few seconds that you were now pretending you didn’t want it, you were done with that.

He gave you a general timeline of what the next three to five years would look like:

Executive Assistant to someone that can fast track you into learning all you need for a year (or two if absolutely needed, but you are in a hurry, so one year is the goal), then shadowing your own dad in sports teams ventures, then video games executive producer to jr director, then becoming your dad’s number two, then shadowing Simon to get the final seal of approval.

He extended his hand to you immediately after he finished explaining, you shook it with confidence.

“When do we start?” You glanced at the busy calendar in the wall to your left.

Your dad started writing in a piece of paper, then ripped it and handed it to you.“I already made some calls, you have an interview on Wednesday. If you can convince this guy you got what it takes, you could be my number two sooner than later.”

The name of the restaurant and address was familiar to you, a place you’d visited during your road trip to hike the Red Mountains during your two-month-long honeymoon.

“Who am I meeting?” You asked as you typed all the details on your phone.

“Old friend, owes me a favor, a big one.”

“Do I know him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Should I?”

“He prefers to have the upper hand, it’s the one condition he put.”

“Umm, alright, I guess.”

“He just wants to test you a bit, I wouldn’t send you if didn’t think you could handle it. You will have to be discreet, though, don’t want the public finding out about it just yet. I have a plan.”

“Fine.” You grabbed your empty take out box and started heading for the door. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Reservation is under Spear” He said as you threw your trash away and opened the door.

--

It’s not like you had paparazzi taking your picture at every corner, but you understood your father wanted to be careful, so you asked Dave if he was up for a mid-week road trip, and he was ecstatic.

One of the things you’d insisted upon after marrying Lyonel, was to keep Dave, your driver, on the household payroll. You knew your parents would have no use for him anymore after you left, and had spent enough time around him to know he didn’t need the job, but he liked having something to do after retiring, and driving soothed him. He mostly went shopping with you once a week and ran errands for you for the rest of it, you liked having him around, and he liked being around. It was a win-win.

“It feels just like the old days, don’t you think miss?” Dave asked from the driver seat as you finished applying your make up.

“It really does, doesn’t it?” You answered, blending your lipstick just so.

He could always tell when you were nervous, and today wasn’t the exception, so once you were in front of the restaurant he wished you luck, as he always did, and told you he’d keep his phone close by for when you called him.

You walked into the restaurant, it was one of those places that had low lights and intimate booths, separated by enough space that even if the music was low, you wouldn’t be able to listen to other people’s conversation.

The hostess, an auburn haired alt girl greeted you with a flirty smile, asking if you had a reservation and if you knew if the rest of your party was here already.

“Yeah it’s under Spear? I don’t know if they’re here already, sorry.”

“No problem, I’m Edeline in case you need something. Now, follow me, please. I see the rest of your party arrived a while ago.” She typed on her tablet and started walking, looking back at you once more as if to make sure you were coming.

As you walked next to her she asked, “Date?” She tried guessing, looking over to your black dress.

“Worse, job interview.” You answered playfully.

As you neared your table, she turned to you and spoke lowly. “Well, I’m off in an hour, if you’re interested.” You both then turned a corner and she signaled to your table.

It’s not that the flirting had been unwelcome, but it had definitely caught you off guard with everything that’d been going on in your life. You chuckled and thanked her as you arrived to your table, finally turning to the person who’d be sharing a meal with you tonight.

He stood up immediately, and even though you didn’t know what to expect, it wasn’t this. The man extended his hand to you, your name fell from his lips in the form of a question.

You nodded as you shook his hand. “I take it you’re… Mr. Spear, do you have a first name?”

He motioned for you to sit, as he did the same, and chuckled dryly. “It’s Spear, as in Breakspear, and no, I’m afraid I’m not my brother.”

Immediately, you knew, sort of, who you’d be dealing with. Only those living under a rock would be unaware of the Targaryens. They were one of the oldest families in the realm, and their media empire towered over any other media giants. Your father had sent you to the dragons.

He stayed quiet, as he looked at you, waiting for your next move as he flicked imaginary dust off his black suit.

Baelor and Rhaegel had dark hair, and the man in front of you didn’t. His features were hard and stern, with a seemingly permanent frown line between his brows and a trimmed beard of silver to match his neat hair. The second oldest Targaryen son was known to never really look people with the piercing violet eyes this one had for long enough to be that annoyed, so that only left...

“You’re Maekar.” The name left your mouth as if you’d get a price for guessing right.

“I’m your interviewer, yes.”

You nodded. “Sorry if this is a dumb question but, why was the reservation under Spear if I’m meeting you and not your brother?”

He started looking over the menu. “Baelor was originally going to meet you, but he had a stroke two days ago and will need months to recover. So, unfortunately, you get me.” Maekar gave you a smile that didn’t really reach his eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I hope he recovers quickly. How is your family doing?” You replied, a bit blindsided by the news.

“Thank you, we don’t need to do that. I meant what I said, it is unfortunate that you got me instead of him. If he were interviewing you this would be mostly a formality and you’d have the job already, that is not how I do things. So, are you ready?” He said gruffly, signaling for the waiter and before eventually turning to you. “Bring me the steak and, should we have a drink first or should Arrec get you a job with someone less difficult?” The waiter was visibly uncomfortable.

You weren’t one to back off a challenge, but what really made you stay was how much you hated his condescension. You turned to the waiter. “Bring us a bottle of spiced wine, oldest you have, please. I’ll have the shrimp pasta and please stagger our food for five minutes after we finish our first glass. Thank you.” You smiled to him warmly. The waiter left immediately.

“I prefer something less sweet.” Maekar said as he looked at the menu, giving you the impression he was pretending to not know already what he was getting.

“Noted.” You challenged.

“Why should I hire you?”

The waiter came back with two glasses and left the bottle between you and Maekar. Both of you reached for it, his hand landing on top of yours, which he removed immediately with annoyance.

Opening the bottle, you poured into both glasses halfway. “I’m patient, organized, really good at reading people, and my memory will surprise you. Great skills for an assistant to have. I also have a Linguistic Anthro degree but that’s kind of beside the point. What’s the schedule, or lack there of?” You took a sip of your drink.

He seemed a bit amused at how you dared to interview him back, as if the possibility of hiring you wasn’t a favor.

“You get published sometimes, purely for the love of it, it seems. Why do you want to work in the corporate world when you really have no need for it?”

“I’m taking over for my dad when he retires, he can’t train me as quickly as your brother, or you, it seems. What’s the schedule?” You replied bluntly, remembering you could rely on his discretion on the matter.

“Grueling, it may cost you your marriage.” He challenged back, with a glint in his eye.

The mention of it gave you pause as you brought the glass back to your lips, you looked back at Maekar.

He knows, of course he does.

“That won’t be a problem. Where should I find a place to live?”

“Close to Summerhall, the office isn’t far from there but I also take meetings at the estate constantly. My personal and professional life often bleed into each other, I may need you to deal with personal matters from now and then, I will need you more than a regular 9 to 5, but you will learn faster that way. I need you six days a week.”

The waiter came back with your food as Maekar described what your official duties would be, you listened as you both ate.

“How’s your conniving asshole of a father?” He asked after your plates were empty, pouring you both another glass.

You almost snorted at his remark. “He’s fine, he just decided he should retire while he still can.”

“Is he getting soft in his old age?”

“I think more than soft, he’s tired and wants to know his corner will be covered.”

Maekar nodded. “This may be a favor, but you only get so much. If you can’t cut it, I’m sending you back to Storm’s End. Why haven’t you asked about the pay?”

“I’m more focused on getting to know who I’d be working for, but now that you mention it, why don’t you tell me?”

He mentioned an obscene amount and you made your best effort to not look shocked. You weren’t stupid, some research into how much you should be paid at this level was done prior to your meeting, but it still surprised you that being his errand girl could come with that much money.

“If you’re good at it you get a 2% bump every month too.” Maekar mentioned casually as he drank.

“Okay.” You said, finishing your glass.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. “I have very little faith on you, prove me wrong, I’ve gone through six assistants in the past two years. Be at the office on Monday, I’ll text you.” He showed you the pass-code as he unlocked his phone. “Memorize that.”

You took his phone as he offered it to you and saved your number. “7 am or 8?” You slid it back to him along with your own so he’d do the same.

He typed as his gaze moved between you and the phone screen, shaking his head when he was done. “7 if I need you at Summerhall, 8 if we’re meeting at the office.” He signaled for the check and you started taking out your wallet.

He rolled his eyes and scowled at you. “Don’t be stupid.” Sliding his card, he paid.

You noticed the 20% tip immediately.

Maekar rose as you drop called Dave, who immediately texted back that he was already outside. As you turned back to the large man that now towered over you, your eyes fell to his hand.

He helped you to your feet, then offering his arm to you.

“Thank you.”

You weren’t tiny by any means, and you were wearing heels too, but being on his arm you could feel how strong he was. It wasn’t just on the way he carried himself or his countenance, the arm around yours strained a little against the fabric of his suit. He was in good shape.

He probably picked up on the fact that you were feeling some type of way being at such close proximity so soon, thankfully, he went straight to the point. “Get used to it, I’ll need you to be my date for stuff a lot. I need an extra set of eyes.” He said, not even looking at you, as you both headed for the exit.

Unfortunately, he was right, but it wasn’t that you were fawning over him or feeling weirded out at the chivalry.

Maekar was intimidating, mind and body it seemed. It just made everything even more real, you had one shot at this, you knew you had to make this job work, no matter how difficult or unfair he may be. And you had a feeling he would be.

You were about to have a difficult year, either here or at Storm’s End.

The hostess’s warm smile brought you back as Maekar opened the door for you.

“Let me know when you find a place. I have a guy if you’re having trouble. Where’s your car?” He lit a cigarette, removing his arm from yours.

“Oh, my driver’s right there, across the street.”

“Monday, 8 am.” He motioned for you to go, as if he was waiting for you to get in the car in order to leave.

“Or 7, if you need me at Summerhall.” You winked, chuckling as you crossed the street.

He rolled his eyes again, walking away.

taglist: @dear-fifi, @gasstationwishes

part 6 is out!!