#ALSO THIS IS THE LONGEST ONE I'VE EVER WRITTEN SO FAR

[emcapi]

i think my favorite thing about being properly medicated (adhd + depression) for once in my life, besides no longer feeling like Everything Is On Fucking Fire Forever with college stuff, is how much writing I've been able to do. And not just do, but do well; I can really see how much I've been improving recently. I always swore that I wouldn't post a multi-chapter fic unless I had already finished it, both because I'm unreliable about finishing projects, and also because I need the freedom to go back and edit in a non-linear fashion. But it looks like I might actually manage to finish the long fic I'm currently working on - I've already gotten farther than any other project I can remember - and I feel like it's turning out to be something genuinely very special.

[canibalistic-brownie]

I have to keep reminding myself that none of y'all know me in real life and even if you think what I'm writing is cringe, its not for you, its for me. But h-h-h-h-holy shit is it hard to get out of that mindset of anxiously wondering what other people will think of your writing the entire time.

[nylqnder]

ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR QUINN HUGHES

pairings: quinn hughes x fem!reader, (little bit of) jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: trevor invites you to a lakehouse for the summer, attempting to set him up with his friend. however, the summer doesn't go to plan when you meet his older brother who captures your eye and flips everything upside down.

warnings: very obviously angst, sort of a love triangle, jack and quinn kind of hating each other, slow burn, reader and trevor having a sibling type relationship, one singular kiss, brief appearances from trevor & luke

word count: 11.6k

notes: wooooo mama this is the absolute longest thing i've ever written. i really hope you guys enjoy it, i'm pretty happy with this.

The scene of the lake house standing tall in front of you was something straight out of your imagination. It was picturesque, the way the large house was nestled amongst the pine trees and the glimmering water sparkling behind it. It was just the way that Trevor had described it when he invited (or rather insisted) you to come to his buddy’s lake house this summer.

“You’ll love it! It’s so nice up there,” Trevor had urged, his enthusiasm infectious. You could still hear his voice, brimming with excitement. “It’s my friend Jack’s place. You guys would get along great! And his brothers are super chill too.”

At the time, you’d felt a mix of curiosity and skepticism. It’d been about three years you’d been friends with Trevor, long enough to know that when his tone got this excited and he was this insistent, he was up to something.

“Are you trying to set me up with him?” you’d asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously at Trevor as the two of you sat in a coffee shop a few months ago. He had been uncharacteristically fidgety, bouncing his knee up and down while stirring his iced coffee with an unnecessary amount of focus.

Trevor had grinned at you in that annoyingly charming way he did when he was caught. “Nooo, I’m just saying you guys would vibe. He’s a cool guy. Super chill.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. “Uh-huh. And his brothers?”

“Also cool!” Trevor leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “But listen, Jack’s the one I think you’d really like. Just come for like, a week or two, see what happens. No pressure. I promise you’ll have fun.”

You’d hesitated, not entirely convinced. But Trevor knew exactly how to play on your curiosity, and a month later, you found yourself packing a bag for a summer getaway at some lake house owned by Trevor’s friend, Jack. Despite your reservations, a part of you was intrigued. What if Trevor was right?

The drive to the lake house had been a blur, punctuated by Trevor’s nonstop chatter and your own uncertain silence. You weren’t opposed to meeting Jack. Trevor had sung his praises for months, claiming you two had more in common than either of you realized. As far as setups went, this wasn’t terrible — you could trust Trevor to have good judgment. But still, you were unsure and slightly uneasy about the whole situation.

When you arrive, Jack is already waiting outside, leaning against the porch rail, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. He’s smiling — an easy, laid-back smile that makes you smile back automatically. The sun filters through the trees, casting warm, gold light on the porch, and for a moment, everything feels serene.

Trevor wasn’t lying when he commented about Jack’s appearance. “Some people call him a pretty boy but… I mean he is pretty, but he’s a good-looking dude, y’know?” He was definitely attractive, something anyone could admit you thought, but he wasn’t totally your type.

Trevor bounds up the steps of the porch, dapping up Jack and pulling him in for a hug. You followed, stopping at the bottom of the steps, watching as Trevor whispered something into Jack's ear, Jack’s eyes catching yours as a small smile appeared on his lips.

Jack steps forward, extending a hand. “Hey, you must be y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, his voice warm with that relaxed confidence you’d expect from someone who’s used to being the center of attention.

You shake his hand, feeling the easy smile on your face widen a little. “All good things, I hope.”

Trevor laughs, throwing an arm around Jack’s shoulder. “Mostly good things.” He winks at you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Jack offers to give you a quick tour of the place, and you agree, letting him guide you inside while Trevor stays back, grumbling to himself about having to bring in your bags. The inside of the house is as beautiful as the outside, with high ceilings, wooden beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the lake. Despite being a new build, it has a cozy, rustic feel to it. Jack pointed out each room as you went, keeping up a steady flow of conversation that put you at ease. He was friendly and thoughtful, making sure you felt welcomed, and it struck you as genuine. You could see why Trevor thought you’d get along with him.

“And this is the back deck,” Jack said as he pushed open a sliding door, revealing a sprawling view of the lake, with a dock stretching out in front of the property. The lake is glittering and relatively calm, aside from a figure disturbing the water. You squint, watching as the swimmer glides smoothly through the lake.

“Who’s that?” you ask Jack, eyes not leaving the figure as you watch him pull himself up onto the wooden dock, pushing dark wet hair from his face.

“That’s Quinn,” Jack says, following your gaze and glancing out toward the dock. “My older brother.”

The sun seems to linger on Quinn’s form, highlighting the toned muscles in his arms as he stretches briefly, rolling his shoulders to ease out any lingering tension from his swim. Droplets of water cling to his skin, catching the sunlight and tracing down his chest in slow, winding trails emphasizing the smooth contours of his muscles as they glisten.

“Q!” Jack shouts, whistling to get his brother’s attention. Quinn’s gaze snaps to the two of you, your pulse quickening as his eyes land on you. “Come up here!”

Quinn grabs his towel from the dock, throwing it over his shoulder as he makes his way up the lawn towards you. As he climbs the steps to the deck, you feel his eyes travel over you, not in a way that feels intimidating, but with a curiosity that mirrors your own. There’s something magnetic about him, something calm and steady that draws you in as he steps up onto the deck, his mouth curving into a small, barely-there smile.

“This is Trevor’s friend, y/n. She’s joining us for the summer” Jack introduces.

As Quinn’s gaze flickers back to you, you notice there’s something about the way he looks at you — subtle, assessing. His gaze has a certain depth, a look you can’t quite decipher. It lingers just a second longer than what feels typical, enough to make your heartbeat skip, to leave you questioning the flicker of interest in his expression.

“Nice to meet you,” Quinn says, his voice low and smooth, a perfect complement to the quiet confidence he exudes. He reaches out to shake your hand, and as your fingers meet, you notice how warm his touch feels, even with the cool water droplets still lingering on his skin.

Up close, he’s even more striking. There’s a sort of ruggedness to him, outlined by the sharpness of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, a greenish shade of blue, hold yours with a calm intensity that makes it hard to look away.

“Nice to meet you too,” you manage, your voice coming out softer than you intended, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You mentally kick yourself, hoping he doesn’t notice, but the glimmer in his eyes suggests otherwise.

Jack, oblivious to the undercurrent, clapped his hands, breaking the moment. “Alright, well, there’s more to see, and if we don’t get back, Trevor’s going to start whining about being abandoned,” he joked.

You chuckle, your eyes pulling away from Quinns’ for the first time since he joined you on the porch. But as you turned to follow Jack back inside, you couldn’t help but glance back at Quinn. He was still watching you, his expression softened just slightly, and you felt a quiet thrill at the way he watched you.

The first week at the lakehouse passes in a flurry of days that blur together in laughter and lakeside relaxation. You fall into an easy routine of swimming, grilling, and long talks on the deck. Jack and Trevor keep things lively, always organizing something, whether it’s an impromptu game of cornhole, a daring cliff dive, or a spontaneous trip into town.

With Jack, the connection forms fast. He’s lighthearted, quick with a joke, and endlessly charming. He keeps you laughing and keeps the vibe lighthearted. His energy is infectious, and he keeps you roped into every activity, whether it’s cliff-jumping or getting you to help him with dinner when it’s his turn. You can tell that Trevor’s plan to get the two of you set up is working for Jack, as he lingers closer, laughs harder at your jokes, and you begin to feel his gaze linger on you just a little too long.

But it’s Quinn who holds your attention in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

Quinn is different from Jack in nearly every way. Where Jack is open and quick to draw you into his orbit, Quinn lingers on the edges, observing and listening. When he speaks, it’s with a low, steady voice that commands attention without trying. And unlike Jack’s energy, which feels like the buzz of the sun overhead, Quinn’s is deep and mysterious like the lake.

You find yourself gravitating toward him at every opportunity, captivated by the way he moves through the days with an unruffled calm. The nights at the lake house slip into an easy rhythm, with Quinn and you inevitably being the last ones awake as the both of you are night owls. Most nights, you find yourselves lingering on the porch, wrapped in the gentle hum of crickets and the low whisper of the lake. With the others upstairs, fast asleep, you and Quinn fall into intimate conversations, shared only between the two of you.

One night, you find yourselves tucked away on the porch, the air a little cooler than the other nights. You are curled up on a rocking chair, bundled up in a hoodie you’d borrowed from Jack. Quinn sat across from you, the beer he’d started during dinner going warm in his hand.

Quinn studies you, his eyes catching the faint glow of the porch light as he swirls his bottle absentmindedly. “So,” he begins, breaking the comfortable silence, “What’s California like?” He leans forward, genuinely interested, his voice carrying a warmth that makes you want to spill everything about life on the West Coast.

A soft smile creeps onto your face. “It’s… different from here,” you admit, glancing out at the lake where the moon dances on the still water. “It’s a bit fast-paced. And warm. Lots of sun, lots of people. But sometimes, it feels like everyone’s moving so quickly that you get lost in the crowd.”

Quinn nods, his eyes steady on you. “I get it. I feel the same way about Vancouver sometimes. Coming back here… it just reminds me that there's more than the noise and rush. There’s… balance out here.” He gestures out toward the lake, his voice contemplative. “Like all of this has a way of pulling you back to what matters.”

His words resonate deeply, and you find yourself nodding. “Exactly,” you murmur. “It’s like there’s space to breathe. And you notice things that usually get lost in all the… chaos.”

Quinn’s gaze lingers on you a moment longer, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you came. It’s been… good to have you here,” he says quietly, his eyes soft. “We don’t have other people up here often.”

Your heart pounds a little faster at the sincerity in his voice, and for a second, the rest of the world disappears. There’s only Quinn and the quiet lake, and the feeling that he understands you in a way you hadn't expected anyone to. You hold his gaze, feeling the electricity between you grow, filling the silence with something you can’t quite name.

But then, as if drawn back to reality, Quinn’s eyes shift, his expression subtly changing. “And Jack,” he says, almost as an afterthought. “He… really likes you, you know? He doesn’t say it, but I can tell.”

It feels like a splash of cold water. You break eye contact, pulling your hoodie closer around you, the warmth you felt moments ago dissipating. The weight of Jack’s interest hangs heavily between you and Quinn now, an undeniable reminder of the complicated line you’re toeing.

“Right, yeah…” you reply softly, looking down, your voice tinged with a mix of guilt and frustration. You hadn’t meant for this to get complicated, yet here you are, caught between two brothers who couldn’t be more different.

An uncomfortable silence settles over you both, thick and heavy. Quinn’s eyes linger on you, as if he’s about to say something more, but he holds back. His lips press into a thin line, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same conflict, the same confusion that’s twisting knots inside you.

You force yourself to look away, swallowing hard. “I think… I should probably head to bed,” you murmur, avoiding his gaze. You stand up, offering him a small, tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Goodnight, Quinn.”

Quinn nods, his expression unreadable as he watches you ebb towards the door. “Goodnight, y/n,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, though there’s a flicker of something in his gaze — disappointment, perhaps, or longing. You slip inside, leaving him on the porch, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back as you close the door.

In bed, you toss and turn, Quinn’s words and the feel of his gaze lingering with you. Your mind is a whirlwind, caught between the easy, carefree friendship that’s growing with Jack and the simmering tension you feel with Quinn. Jack is perfectly nice and, like Trevor told you, the two of you were getting along swimmingly.

But no matter how much you try, your thoughts always drift back to Quinn. There’s something undeniably different about him, something that makes it impossible to feel the same way about Jack, no matter how hard you try. Jack’s presence is light and friendly but with Quinn… it’s like there’s a hidden gravity pulling you toward him, a quiet understanding that lingers beneath the surface of every conversation. Every night on that porch, he’s become your anchor, drawing you into a world that feels more honest, more intimate.

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling, your mind replaying the way he looked at you tonight — that almost undetectable spark that you’re sure you didn’t imagine. The way he listens to you, like every word matters, as he sees past the small talk and into the parts of you you rarely share. There’s no pretending with Quinn. And even though he’d mentioned Jack, it only made you realize how much more you’re drawn to Quinn. Jack might be developing feelings for you, but it’s Quinn who fills your thoughts, who leaves you breathless in a way you can’t ignore.

You pull the covers tighter around you, willing sleep to take you, but every thought seems to lead back to Quinn, to the way he made you feel seen, understood — even in silence.

The next morning, you do your best to shake off the lingering tension from the night before, determined to keep things light and normal. Under Jack’s enthusiastic suggestion, the group decides to spend the day out on the lake, hoping the sun and water will wash away any unease. It’s a sunny day, warm with a light breeze, and the water sparkles invitingly under the sunlight, making you think that everything might just go smoothly.

The boat is anchored in a calm spot on the lake and, despite the wonderful weather, there doesn’t seem to be another boat around. Trevor and Luke sit up in the bow, arguing about which mascot would win in a fight between Mr. Clean and Tony the Tiger.

Jack is quick to pull you into the action, handing you a beer from the cooler as he grins. “Alright,” he says, his smile as wide as the lake. “Are you ready for the full lake house experience? Because to really do that, you’ve got to jump off the boat at least once today.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you crack open the can. “I’m pretty sure you’re just making up rules to mess with me.”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eye. “Maybe, but you have to do it anyway,” he shrugs.

Trevor chimes in, chuckling from his spot. “Jack’s right, y/n. First-time lake visitors have to jump. It’s tradition!”

You chuckle, your gaze drifting up to Jack as he stands in front of you. The sun shines directly behind him, casting him in a golden halo, the bright rays spilling around his frame in a way that makes him look almost ethereal. For a moment, you can see why anyone would fall for that charm. But even with this picture-perfect moment, you feel a pang of regret that you can’t feel more for him, because, somehow, your thoughts are pulled elsewhere and on someone else.

Jack’s laughter brings you back to the moment, and he leans a little closer. “Come on, we can make it a team effort. I mean, if you’re too nervous, I can just hold your hand.” His voice is playful, but there’s a hint of sincerity in his words, a hope that you’ll let him bridge the gap he’s trying so hard to close.

Your smile is genuine, but before you can respond, you hear Quinn's low chuckle from behind you. It’s soft, barely audible over the hum of the boat’s motor, but enough to pull your focus completely away from Jack. You glance back at Quinn who’s sat on the back bench, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, a flicker of something in his gaze as it bears down on the two of you.

Your attention is pulled back to Jack as he reaches for your hand in a gesture that feels both playful and pointed. “Come on, y/n, it’ll be an official initiation. We’ll jump together, yeah?”

Your gaze flickers between Jack’s outstretched hand and Quinn, who’s watching with an inscrutable expression, his eyes narrowed slightly as he leans back, crossing his arms. You can’t deny there’s an awkward tension here, a silent push-and-pull between the two brothers that seems to amplify whenever Quinn is nearby.

Swallowing the strange, charged feeling building between you all, you look back at Jack and nod, forcing a lighthearted smile as you stand up, pulling off the oversized t-shirt you wore as a coverup. You see Jack’s eyes scan your figure, hearing him gasp quietly. You blush, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, taking his hand. He grins in triumph, his fingers warm against yours as he helps you stand at the edge of the boat. He holds on a little tighter than necessary, and the flicker of anticipation in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Ready?” Jack asks, his voice softer now, his gaze lingering a bit too long as he watches your expression. There’s a hopeful vulnerability in his face, a look that makes you hesitate for a moment. You don’t want to hurt him, but there’s a part of you that wishes he’d pull back, that he’d realize you’re not as invested in this connection as he is.

You manage a nod, hoping he doesn’t notice the small sigh you let slip. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He beams, counting down with a quiet “three… two… one!” before the two of you leap into the lake together, the cool water rushing up to meet you. When you surface, you’re greeted by Jack’s laughter as he splashes you, pulling you into a playful water fight. You laugh along, though your eyes instinctively drift toward the boat, where Quinn looks over the edge, watching you both with an unreadable expression.

Jack’s laughter fades slightly as he notices your attention elsewhere, his face falling for a fraction of a second. But he quickly masks it, pulling you back with a light splash. “Hey, stay with me here,” he says, his tone half-joking, half-pleading. And you want to, you really do, but Quinn’s gaze is magnetic, and you can’t help but feel pulled toward him, as if there’s an invisible thread between the two of you.

Eventually, Jack climbs back onto the boat, reaching out to help you up. But the moment you step back on board, the charged silence returns, thick and stifling, as Quinn hands you a towel, his fingers brushing against yours just long enough to send a spark up your arm. You catch his gaze for a brief second, and you’re struck by the quiet intensity in his eyes, a longing that mirrors your own.

Jack clears his throat, his shoulders tensing slightly as he glances between you and Quinn. He lets out a forced laugh, trying to dispel the tension. “Alright, what’s next? We could always do another round of jumps, or maybe a swim to the dock?” He says it with an almost desperate cheerfulness, trying to regain your attention, trying to keep the moment light.

Trevor and Luke, sensing the tension, start bantering about who would be the fastest swimmer, their playful arguments distracting you all for a moment, lightening the mood just enough.

────୨ৎ────

The night air was crisp as laughter and the crackling of the fire filled the space around the lake house. The lake is quiet behind you, a dark, glassy surface reflecting only starlight. You were settled in a lawn chair, leaning back, watching as Trevor dramatically recounted a story about when you nearly crashed his car.

You could feel his eyes on you, searching for a shared smile, hoping to catch your gaze even as he chuckled at Trevor’s theatrics. Every so often, he'd lean in, commenting with a low murmur meant only for you. He’d even offered you his hoodie earlier, though the night wasn’t nearly cold enough to need it. It was endearing, if not a bit overeager. Yet, despite the obvious attention from him, your focus kept drifting across the fire.

Quinn sat across the flames from you, leaning back in an Adirondack chair. His attention was barely on the story, barely laughing with the others as you had been. Every now and then you’d catch his eyes flicker your way, lingering on you just long enough to send a thrill through your chest. Your stomach tightened with a quiet anticipation each time, though as quickly as the moment arrived, it vanished. Quinn’s gaze would shift, his attention lost somewhere in the darkness beyond the flames, leaving you wondering if you’d only imagined it.

As Trevor finally wrapped up his tale with an exaggerated flourish, the group’s laughter rang out again, filling the quiet night. You shifted in your chair, stealing a glance across the fire to see Quinn looking your way again, his expression unreadable in the dancing light. The firelight cast soft shadows over his face, illuminating his quiet intensity—a contrast to Jack’s open interest. And just as quickly as his eyes met yours, he looked away, his focus deliberately elsewhere, leaving you feeling a subtle ache of frustration.

Jack nudged your arm gently, his voice breaking the spell. “Hey, want to grab a drink or something? I think I saw some ciders in the cooler on the porch.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you replied, a small smile curving your lips as you pushed yourself up to join him.

You could feel the weight of Quinn’s gaze on you, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. As you walked toward the porch with Jack, a pang of prickling guilt settled over you, leaving a heavy shadow with every step. Jack was wonderful — funny, kind-hearted, and clearly eager to spend time with you. And yet, there was an emptiness in each smile you returned to him, a hollowness you couldn’t ignore. You tried to shake it off, reminding yourself to appreciate his warmth and interest. But you couldn’t deny it. There was no spark, no unspoken gravity that pulled you toward him.

The two of you reached the porch, Jack handing you a cold can from the cooler, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He shot you a quick grin, the kind that seemed to hold a hundred different things he wanted to say. But the look in his eyes—the hopefulness, the eagerness—only tightened the knot in your chest.

Jack took a sip of his drink, leaning casually against the porch railing, his gaze still on you. “It’s nice here at night, isn’t it?” His tone was light, but there was an unmistakable softness to his voice, as though he wanted nothing more than to keep this moment between just the two of you.

“Yeah, it really is,” you agreed, looking out at the lake rather than meeting his eyes. “It’s peaceful.”

Jack’s voice was quieter when he spoke this time like he was mulling something over. “You know, it’s been great having you up here. I mean…I’m glad Z brought you here.” he said softly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a vulnerability there, one that made you want to reassure him, to ease the sting of your own uncertainty.

You wanted to tell him you felt the same, that you were excited, that his attention filled you with butterflies. But it didn’t. Not the way Quinn’s lingering gaze did, not in the way his silence could reach across the fire and wrap around you more tightly than any words Jack could offer.

And Jack could sense it. You could see it in the way his gaze fell just a bit, in the way he seemed to retreat into himself, trying to figure out where he’d lost you. A soft, sinking guilt bubbled up, but before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and looked at you, trying to keep the mood light.

“Should we head back?” he asked, giving you a small smile that tried to mask the disappointment behind his eyes.

You nodded, and as you followed him back toward the fire, your eyes drifted back to Quinn. Why did he have to make it so complicated? Jack was there, warm and steady, giving you his full attention, yet your heart kept tugging you toward Quinn — Quinn, who never gave you more than half-glances and unspoken hints. It was as though he knew the effect he had on you but chose to keep you guessing, leaving you in this restless, uncertain state. And every time he looked away, your chest would ache with a longing that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

You felt like you were making it up in your head. You felt like all of this was just concocted by your brain, a made-up situation. But then you’d think back to the nights when it was just the two of you, sitting across from one another on the porch, finding bits of commonality, causing you to talk for hours.

It was during those quiet nights, with only the soft hum of the lake and the occasional call of night birds, that the two of you would sit just a little closer, voices lowered as if sharing secrets with the stars. He’d be calm, reserved, but there’d always be a hint of a smile when you teased him about his stoic nature, a glint in his eyes when he’d challenge you back. It was in these moments that your doubts faded, that all the confusion seemed worth it.

But then the sun would rise again, and Quinn’s indifference would come back like the morning mist, blanketing any closeness you thought you’d found. The spark that seemed so real under the cover of night would dim, replaced by his guarded demeanor and quiet aloofness. It was maddening, this cycle of near-closeness followed by a cool retreat. He’d show you just enough to make you wonder, to keep you holding onto the memory of his quiet smile and that soft look in his eyes.

As you and Jack rejoined the group, you settled back into your chair, glancing across the fire toward Quinn once more. He was looking down, a hand idly fiddling with the edge of his sweater. There was something vulnerable about him in that moment, something that made you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he felt the same hesitation and uncertainty. You wanted to bridge that gap, to ask him if he ever felt the same tug, the same strange pull that made every shared glance linger in your mind.

But before you could even entertain the idea, Jack’s hand brushed your shoulder, pulling your attention back to him. He was smiling, his gaze as steady and warm as ever, making you wish you could return it with the same openness.

“Hey, you okay?” Jack asked, concern lacing his voice. You hadn’t realized the way you were chewing on your lip, or the way your brow was furrowed ever so slightly.

You nodded, giving him a soft smile that you hoped looked genuine. “Yeah, just…lost in thought, I guess.”

But as you said it, your gaze slipped across the fire once more, finding Quinn’s eyes fixed on you with that familiar, unreadable intensity. And for a fleeting second, you thought you saw a softness there, a hint of something deeper. It vanished just as quickly, but that one look was enough. It was enough to make you cast away the doubt that lingered in your mind, to dismiss the thought that this was all in your head.

The night dragged on, punctuated by laughter and more ridiculous storytelling from Trevor. Gradually, one by one, everyone began to call it a night. Luke was the first to slip away, yawning as he muttered something about wanting to have an early workout, clapping Trevor on the shoulder before heading inside. Trevor followed soon after, stretching with exaggerated laziness before flashing a grin and winking at you. “Don’t get into too much trouble out here,” he teased, earning a playful eye-roll from you.

Finally, it was just you, Jack, and Quinn. Jack was lingering, his eyes occasionally drifting to you with a look that hinted at something he wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring himself to voice. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat as he looked at you, then glanced over at Quinn.

"Alright, I guess I’ll head in, too," Jack finally said, his tone reluctant. His gaze lingered on you for just a beat too long, as though he wanted you to ask him to stay or tell him that you would head up with him. But you didn’t, and after a quiet sigh, he nodded, gave Quinn a brief glance, then turned and headed inside, the screen door shutting softly behind him.

And then it was just the two of you.

The quiet stretched between you and Quinn, thick and tense, as the night air settled into a stillness that seemed to wrap around you both. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the soft rustle of the trees, and it was painfully quiet, each unspoken word between you two heavy with meaning. You could feel his presence, magnetic and steady, even across the fire. Finally, after a moment that felt like an eternity, you drew a deep breath and decided to speak.

“Quinn, can we talk?” Your voice was steady, but just barely. Quinn’s eyes finally locked with yours for the first time since before everyone began to filter to bed. Quinn nodded after a couple of seconds, giving you the silence to continue.

“I don’t know what’s going on between us,” you said softly. “But… fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy. I need to know if it’s all just in my head or if you feel it too. Because if there’s a reason I feel this way… I need to know.”

You trailed off, heart hammering against your ribcage as the words hung in the air between you. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression unreadable, his face softened by the glow of the firelight. Then, with a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared into the flames. His silence was torture, each passing second pulling you deeper into a pit of anxiety and frustration.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, as if he’d rehearsed this response in his mind countless times. “It’s not in your head,” he admitted, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. “There’s something here, between us. I feel it too.”

The words sent a rush of relief and hope through you, a spark that reignited all those moments spent wondering and waiting for some kind of sign. A soft smile spread across your face, the edges of your doubt finally beginning to soften. But then, his expression shifted, the corners of his mouth tightening as he looked away, eyes fixed on the shadows just beyond the firelight.

“But…” His voice was barely a whisper, rough around the edges. “It can’t go anywhere. Not with Jack. He’s…he’s into you.” He looked back at you, the regret in his eyes evident, a pain mirrored in your own chest. “I can’t do that to him.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, and the warmth of the fire suddenly felt distant, fading into a cold, empty ache spreading through your chest. You hadn’t expected it to hurt this much, hadn’t realized how much you’d been hoping he’d say the opposite, that he’d fight for whatever was happening between you.

You dropped your gaze, feeling foolish, vulnerable, exposed. “So that’s it? We just… pretend this doesn’t exist?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Like nothing’s been happening all this time?”

Quinn’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his expression pained. “I don’t want to pretend. But I can’t… I won’t hurt him, not like that. He’s my brother.” He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly. “And he really cares about you.”

You swallowed hard. It felt ridiculous—being here, feeling so foolishly hopeful, only to be left with a hollow ache and a fractured connection that couldn’t ever be more. Part of you wanted to yell at him for leading you on, for those late-night conversations and stolen glances, for every unspoken word that now felt like a cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish it could be different.”

The words left you hollow. Part of you wanted to fight, to tell him that what you felt couldn’t just be ignored, but another part — the part that knew him and understood his loyalty — couldn’t bring yourself to ask him to choose you over his brother. Not when you saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain that mirrored your own.

“Fine,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. You stood up, the cool night air prickling your skin as you walked away from the fire, leaving him there in silence. You didn’t look back. It felt like your chest was filled with broken glass, each breath painful, as you made your way back to the house.

Inside, the stillness was almost suffocating. The others had already gone to bed, and the darkened living room felt cold and empty, mirroring the ache in your heart. You climbed the stairs to your room, shutting the door softly behind you as you sank onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. A mix of anger and sadness filled you. You were mad at Quinn, for drawing you in only to push you away; mad at Jack, for being in the way even if he hadn’t meant to be; mad at Trevor, for ever convincing you to come here; and, perhaps most of all, mad at yourself, for letting your heart hope for something that could never be.

The next morning, a heavy quiet blanketed the lake house. You moved through the motions of breakfast with the others, but your thoughts felt distant, lost somewhere between the memories of last night and the weight of Quinn’s words. The morning was made slightly easier by the absence of Quinn who you were told went into the town early that morning to run errands and hit the gym. The guys bantered and talked about heading out on the boat, planning an afternoon on the lake, but you could only muster half-hearted nods and polite smiles. It was hard to focus, every small sound—the clinking of mugs, the soft scrape of a chair—only intensifying the ache you couldn’t shake.

Excusing yourself, you slipped away before anyone could ask questions, making your way down to the dock. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rippling across the lake's surface, and you sat at the edge, feet dangling above the water. You were still in your sleep outfit, not exactly pyjamas, but rather a comfy oversized hoodie and a pair of mens boxers. The familiar scent of pine and fresh earth surrounded you, but even the peaceful view couldn’t ease the storm of emotions inside.

The quiet was soon broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, and you didn’t need to look to know it was Jack. You felt him sit beside you, his presence warm and grounding. For a moment, he didn’t say anything — just let the silence settle between you both, as though he was waiting for you to be ready.

Finally, he cleared his throat, glancing sideways at you. “You okay this morning? You’ve been… quiet,” he said softly, his voice tentative, as if he were stepping carefully around broken glass. “Distant.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself as you met his gaze. His eyes were filled with genuine concern, a softness that only made this harder. “Yeah,” you murmured, looking back out at the lake. “Guess I just needed some space.”

Jack nodded, though he didn’t seem convinced. His fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the dock, and after a beat, he spoke again, his tone thoughtful, almost nostalgic.

“You know,” he began, eyes cast down at the water, “when Trevor told me he was bringing a friend this summer, he was so sure we’d hit it off. He kept going on about how you and I would be perfect for each other, that we’d get along great.” A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “I remember feeling this weird, excited energy like… maybe he was right, you know? Maybe I was going to meet someone special.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat as he continued, his voice carrying a warmth that was both comforting and deeply bittersweet.

“And when you got here…” He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours, as if to gauge your reaction. “I don’t know, it just… felt easy, from the start. Like we’d known each other forever. I started to feel like maybe Trevor had been onto something.” He gave a soft laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of unspoken feelings.

“Things felt really good between us, and I thought you felt it too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “So I started to get my hopes up—thinking maybe this was the start of something real.”

You winced, guilt gnawing at you. “Jack… I’m so sorry,” you said, your voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to lead you on, truly. I think you’re amazing. From the bottom of my heart, I just… I mean there’s gotta be some sort of spell this fucking house puts me under because I would be insane otherwise to not like you! You… you’re so perfect that any other girl would be scremaing at me, trying to claw my eyes out for not appreciating you. But… I just can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Jack’s eyes softened, a mix of sadness and resignation settling in them. He looked down, his fingers still drumming but more slowly now, as if grounding himself. After a moment, he took a deep breath and let it out, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I get it,” he murmured, though his voice had an unmistakable crack in it. “I mean… I think I get it. You can’t force something that isn’t there, right?” He gave a sad smile, one that tried to mask the hurt but didn’t quite succeed.

He stared out at the water, his expression distant, like he was trying to piece together what had gone wrong, or maybe just what he’d missed. A tense silence settled between you, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the air around you. Jack cleared his throat, seeming to steel himself, his gaze searching your face as if looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

“Can I… can I just ask you one thing?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. His vulnerability in that moment was palpable, and you could feel your heart pounding, bracing yourself for what was coming.

You nodded, feeling your throat tighten.

“Do you… have feelings for Quinn?”

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful, and a part of you wished he hadn’t asked. But the look in his eyes told you he needed to know, that the uncertainty was gnawing at him just as much as the truth might.

Slowly, you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whispered, “Yes.”

A heavy silence fell between you, and Jack seemed to shrink a little, his shoulders slumping as he took it in. Jack’s gaze fixed on the lake, and for a long moment, he said nothing. You could see the effort it took for him to keep his expression neutral, to keep his emotions tightly bound. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“So, you… you and Quinn. Is there… anything actually happening between you two?” He glanced at you, a flicker of something raw in his eyes — hope, maybe, or just the need to understand.

You shook your head, offering a small, bittersweet smile. “No, Jack. We’re… we’re not together. We won’t be.”

He looked at you, brow furrowed. “Why not?” he asked softly, his confusion obvious. “If you feel that way about him, why wouldn’t you try?”

You took a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Because Quinn… Quinn’s too good of a brother. He’d never go for me because of you… and because of what he knows you feel.”

Jack blinked, his brow furrowing as he took in your words. “Wait—what does that mean? Because of me?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion. His gaze softened, and you could see he was fighting to keep his tone steady, like he was trying not to hope.

You sighed, feeling a bittersweet ache settle in your chest. “Quinn told me he could never be with me because he knows how you feel. He doesn’t want to hurt you, Jack.”

Jack’s jaw clenched, a flicker of frustration flashing across his face. “So… let me get this straight,” he muttered, almost incredulously. “He’s not doing anything about how he feels—because of me?”

You nodded, and Jack fell silent, staring down at his hands, which had stopped drumming and were now clenched tightly in his lap. He seemed deep in thought, his brows furrowed as he processed what you’d just told him. The lake was quiet around you, the stillness broken only by the occasional ripple of water.

For a long time, Jack didn't say anything, just stared down at the water, his brows drawn together. You could almost feel the weight of his thoughts, the way he was wrestling with everything that had just been laid out. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, raw.

“So he… he cares enough to stay away,” Jack said slowly, the words laced with a sadness that felt almost like admiration. “That's… just like him.” He took a deep breath, forcing a small, sad smile. “I wish things were different. I wish we could just rewind, go back to the start of summer and… and pretend this never happened.”

You swallowed hard, his words striking a chord deep within you. “Me too,” you whispered, eyes burning with unshed tears. “I never wanted any of this to happen, Jack. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you.”

Jack looked over at you, his expression softening, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of the easy, unburdened friendship you’d had in the beginning. “I know,” he murmured. “You’re not the kind of person who’d do this on purpose. It’s just… life, I guess. It’s complicated, ‘n messy as hell. And… maybe Trevor was right. We do get along. Just… maybe not in the way he thought we would.”

He smiled, a genuine one this time, though tinged with a sadness he couldn’t hide. “Maybe someday… I won’t feel this way,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the soft lapping of the lake against the dock. “But for now… I think I just need a little space. Time, maybe.”

You nodded, understanding that this was what he needed, even if it hurt to hear. “I get it, Jack. I do.”

Jack gave a nod, his gaze returning to the water, the weight of unspoken words settling over the two of you. In the next moment, he reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze—a quiet truce, an understanding. Then he stood, brushing off his shorts and glancing back at the house.

“I’ll be up at the house for a bit,” he murmured, the distance in his tone unmistakable. With that, he turned and walked back up the dock, his footsteps slow and heavy.

In the following days, there was a noticeable shift in the air; everyone felt it, though no one dared to name it. Conversations were stilted, laughter felt forced, and even the once-lively dinners had become quiet affairs, each of you treading carefully as if one wrong word might shatter the fragile peace that held you all together. Jack avoided you and Quinn as much as he could, lingering at the edge of group activities, his usual easygoing energy replaced by something more closed off, guarded.

Quinn, for his part, kept his distance too, his usual calm presence clouded by an unspoken tension. It was as if he knew that the delicate line he was walking might snap at any moment, sending everything spiraling out of control.

You couldn't ignore the heaviness that had settled over the house, a tangible sense of tension that made everything feel off-kilter. As much as you'd wanted this summer to be an escape, it had become the very opposite — a painful reminder of all the ways things could go wrong.

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself wide awake, thoughts racing. The decision took shape slowly, a reluctant resolve that you couldn’t shake. You needed to leave. Staying here, caught between the fractured pieces of what had been and what could never be, was too much to bear. The thought of facing both brothers day after day, watching Jack’s guarded smiles and Quinn’s restrained distance—it was too much. They deserved space, and, you realized, so did you.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your phone and booked a flight out for two days later, the earliest you could manage. You barely slept, running through potential conversations in your mind, eventually deciding you were only going to tell Trevor and slip out quietly, not wanting to cause anymore issues.

You forced yourself to push through the pain and awkwardness during the two remaining days until you would be returning back to California. As the days inched closer to your departure, the weight of unspoken words grew heavier, settling into every corner of the lake house. You caught glimpses of Jack, his face turning away when he thought no one was watching as if even looking at you and Quinn felt like reopening an unhealed wound. Quinn’s glances were no less fraught, though his were filled with a wistful restraint, as if he was already mourning the loss of something that had barely even begun.

The dinners, once filled with laughter, now passed in subdued tones, each person more focused on their plate than the conversation. You found yourself counting down the days and hours, conflicted between the need to escape the tension and the ache of leaving it all behind. In those last two days, you kept reminding yourself that soon, you’d be on a plane back to California, back to your own life — away from Jack’s pained looks and Quinn’s longing stares.

Your final day there, you packed your belongs up quickly, hoping Trevor would buy your excuse of not wanting to miss your flight as a good reason for him to take you to the airport early, and not because you couldn’t bear to spend one more hour in this suffocating oasis. Everyone else was lounging by the water, with the exception of Jack who lingered in the kitchen, opting to do the dishes rather than be around the others. He was lost in thought when he heard the patio door slide open and shut, the sound of bare feet padding against the hardwood. He turned to the entrance of the kitchen, seeing Quinn wearing his boardshorts and a slightly guarded look.

Quinn stopped at the threshold, eyes flicking briefly to Jack’s hands as he scrubbed the dishes. They were tense, knuckles white around the plate he held, and the silence between them was palpable and heavy. Jack set down the dish with a clatter, bracing himself on the edge of the sink, not looking at Quinn. Jack didn’t give Quinn time to speak. The words erupted from him, fueled by everything he’d been holding back.

“Do you even understand what you’re doing?” Jack’s voice was low and seething, barely contained. He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t dare let Quinn get a word in. “You’re hurting her, Quinn. A perfectly nice girl, who came here not looking for this mess but got dragged into it anyway. And the worst part is, you know it. You know it, and you’re still just… sitting back like a damn martyr, thinking that by staying distant, you’re somehow making it easier for everyone. That by holding back, you’re sparing her, sparing me.”

Jack’s words cut through the quiet, sharper than the silence that had settled in the house over the past days. The vulnerability in his tone was raw, scraping against Quinn’s stoic expression. Quinn shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt; he only looked at Jack, his gaze unwavering.

“And you know what? I kind of hate you for it,” Jack continued, voice unsteady. He turned his head just enough for Quinn to catch the anger, the hurt in his eyes. “I hate that you waltzed in and just took her from me without even trying. And, yeah, maybe that’s selfish. Maybe I never really had a chance, but she was still there, and I was trying. I was there, damn it!”

Quinn finally took a step forward, but Jack cut him off again, his hands clenching at the counter. “And I hate you for pretending like you’re doing the right thing by telling her nothing will happen. You act like you’re some noble saint by ‘staying away,’ but it’s a lie, Quinn. It’s a lie, and we both know it. You’re holding back because you’re scared — scared to go after what you really want, and in the end, you’re just making it worse for everyone. For her. For me.”

Jack’s voice wavered, then cracked, as he finally fell silent, chest heaving from the force of his confession. The words had cost him, as if each syllable had drawn blood. The only sound in the room was the dripping of the faucet, each drop amplifying the tension between them.

Quinn stayed quiet for a long moment, his gaze steady as he absorbed every word. He studied Jack, weighing something unspoken. “Would you hate me if I went for her, then?” His tone was gentle, almost hesitant, a softness that Jack hadn’t been prepared for.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I probably would.” He ran a hand through his hair, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I mean I hate you right now for making her feel the way she does. But it shouldn’t matter, Quinn. Not if you two… if you actually care about each other.” Jack’s voice faltered, breaking under the weight of his own honesty. “Look, I’ll get over it. In time. But don’t waste what could be something good just because you’re trying to spare everyone. It’s pointless, and it’s selfish. You need to get to her before it’s too late.”

Quinn could feel Jack’s anger and pain, an emotion so raw and tangled it clawed at the air between them. For a second, Quinn thought of how different things could have been if he had stayed on the sidelines, if he hadn’t let himself get close to you. But as Jack’s gaze softened, an odd understanding settled between them. Jack wasn’t letting go easily, but he was letting go.

Jack’s shoulders slumped, exhausted, as he ran a hand over his face. “She’s leaving today, you know?” he said to Quinn, a look of surprise appearing on his face. “Trev told me last night she booked her flight out for this afternoon.”

Quinn’s face fell, and the guarded look faded, replaced with something dangerously close to panic. He hadn’t known—hadn’t expected that this was it. That today was the end.

“She’s leaving?” Quinn asked, Jack nodding. “Why didn’t she say anything? W-why is she leaving?”

“Because why would she stay?” Jack said. “She’s going to protect herself. She’s not gonna stay here, hoping for something that won’t happen. She’s too smart for that.”

The realization struck Quinn like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless. Jack's words echoed in his mind, each one sharper than the last. She’s leaving. Of course, she would. She wasn’t the type to hang around hoping for some half-hearted promise or for Quinn to finally decide what he wanted. She deserved so much more than waiting for him to get his act together.

Jack's voice softened, pulling him back to the present. "Quinn, it’s not too late. She hasn’t left yet. If you really care about her, don’t let her go like this."

Quinn’s gaze faltered, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his expression. Could he really undo the damage he’d done by staying away? Could he find the words to convince her that, despite his silence, he’d felt everything just as deeply as she had?

A heavy silence followed before Quinn found his voice. “What… what should I say to her?”

Jack shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You really think I’m giving you advice on how to get the girl I wanted?”

Quinn’s face softened in a rare, grateful smile. “Fair enough.” He hesitated, then turned, steeling himself as he left the kitchen, leaving Jack to his own fractured thoughts.

Quinn climbed the stairs two at a time, his pulse racing with every step, anticipation and fear warring within him. As he reached the top, he saw Trevor just exiting your room. Trevor paused, giving Quinn a look that held no small amount of concern.

“I don’t know what went down between you three,” Trevor said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I care about her, and I don’t like seeing her like this. You going to fix whatever mess this is?”

Quinn’s chest tightened. He knew Trevor had been close to you, learning this summer just how much of a big brother figure he was to you. He couldn’t fault him for looking out for you.

“I’m going to fix it,” Quinn said, his voice quiet but firm. He met Trevor’s gaze, hoping to communicate the sincerity in his words. “I have to.”

Trevor didn’t say anything else, but he gave Quinn a long, steady look, as though weighing whether to believe him. Then he gave a nod and shifted your duffle bag, stepping aside to let Quinn pass. With a final glance at Trevor, Quinn walked to your door, his heart racing. Quinn stood outside your door for a moment, his hand hovering above the doorknob. He knew what he needed to say, but a part of him feared that the damage was already done. Bracing himself, he knocked gently before pushing the door open.

You were standing by the window, your zipped duffle bag sitting on your bed. Your back was to the door when Quinn entered, and for a moment, he almost turned around, the words caught in his throat. But then you turned, your eyes meeting his.

“Are you really going?” Quinn asked, his voice quiet and strained.

You nodded, stepping away from the window and closer to Quinn. “I think it’s best. This whole summer has just… it’s too much, Quinn. I didn’t come here expecting any of this, and now I just feel… caught. And I can’t keep feeling this way.”

Quinn swallowed, his gaze never leaving yours. He looked as though he was battling something heavy, words lingering on his lips, waiting to escape. He stepped forward, close enough that you could see the faint circles under his eyes, the fatigue that seemed to pull at his features.

“I didn’t expect any of this either,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And I get it — you’re right. I hurt you. I know that. I thought… I thought if I kept my distance, it would somehow make it easier for everyone. That maybe you'd move on from this — move on from me, and be with Jack. I thought it would hurt less.”

You held his gaze, your voice low but unwavering. “Do you have any idea what that did to me, Quinn? All summer, feeling this… this connection between us, and thinking that I had to be imagining it because you couldn’t even look at me. And you’re saying you did that on purpose? To protect me?” Your voice trembled. “That’s not protecting me. That’s running away.”

Quinn took a shaky breath, stepping closer, his expression taut with regret. “I know I messed up. I was spineless and I should have told you the truth sooner.” Quinn said, bowing his head briefly before forcing himself to look up at your hurt eyes. “I told myself that it was better this way, but all I was doing was lying to myself. Because every time I saw you… every time I heard your laugh, or watched you talk to Jack, or caught you looking at me — I couldn’t breathe.”

Quinn took one last step forward, less than a foot away from you. He raised his hand to reach you, fingertips grazing your arm gently, as if he feared you might pull away. “But I care about you, more than I thought possible. And I was afraid of that. Afraid of hurting Jack, afraid of hurting you… and afraid of wanting you this much.” He swallowed, his voice growing rough. “But I can’t let you leave without knowing how I feel. I want to be with you I — I need to be with you.”

Your breath hitched, the confession settling over you like a warm, crushing weight. This was what you’d wanted, but it also brought a whirlwind of conflicting emotions crashing down. You took a small step back, just enough to put some distance between you, needing space to gather your thoughts.

Quinn was saying everything you wanted to hear from the beginning. Laying his feelings bare, and exposing his heart in a way you hadn't expected from someone as reserved as him. It was like seeing a hidden part of him, one he’d kept carefully guarded. The vulnerability in his eyes made it clear that this was as terrifying for him as it was thrilling for you.

But in the back of your mind, Jack lingered, his hurt and disappointment woven into every stolen glance and quiet moment of the summer. The image of his face as he realized how you felt about Quinn was something you couldn’t shake. The memory clawed at you, guilt mixing with the longing Quinn’s words evoked.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that,” you said, voice catching. “But Quinn… Jack — he tried so hard with me this summer, and I couldn’t give him what he wanted because of… well, because of you.” You hesitated, torn between the longing in Quinn’s eyes and the memory of Jack’s earnest, hopeful glances. “The last thing I wanted was to hurt him. And I feel like I’ve done enough damage by just… being here.”

Quinn’s gaze softened, his hand lingering just above your arm, hovering close as if he wasn’t ready to let you go. “I know,” he murmured. “I know it’s complicated. But I talked to Jack this morning. He told me… he told me to come up here and talk to you. To tell you how I felt. He wants you to be happy, and he knows that’s not with him. He’ll get over it.”

“Jack said that?” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

Quinn nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips, though there was sadness in his eyes. “He might hate me for a while, and I can live with that. But he said I’d regret it if I let you go. And… he was right.”

His hand, warm and steady, traced down your arm, his fingers slipping around yours with a gentle firmness. The touch, gentle but insistent, sent a jolt through you. “I know I’ve messed up,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll make it right. I want this, us… if you do too.”

You nodded, words escaping you as Quinn stepped even closer, his free hand lifting to gently cup your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, and you could feel the slight tremor in his touch. He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but you didn’t.

His lips barely brushed yours, soft and tentative. Your breath mingled together briefly before your lips locked together. He lingered for a heartbeat, savoring the closeness as if he, too, couldn’t believe this was real. Then, with a surge of emotion, the kiss deepened, all the restraint and hesitation of the summer dissolving as his hand rose to cradle your cheek, holding you to him as though afraid you might disappear.

His stubble that had grown out over the last couple weeks of summer scraped along your jaw and chin, leaving a faint burn that only added to the rush of sensation.

When you pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the day you got here,” he murmured, a hint of relief in his voice.

You giggled, staying close and feeling his heartbeat echoing against yours. The silence that followed was thick, but it was different now — no longer tense or uncertain like it had been for most of the summer. It felt as though the weight had been lifted from both of your shoulders.

But even in that moment, you knew the reality of what this would mean—for Jack, for Quinn, and for yourself. There was a part of you that still ached, remembering Jack’s quiet disappointment and knowing it would take time to heal the wounds this summer had left behind.

You swallowed hard, raising a hand to Quinns face and brushing aside his dark locks that fell over his eyes. “I still think I need to go,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not because I don’t want this. I do. But I think both of you need time, and maybe I do too. To let everything settle.”

Quinn nodded, understanding settling over his expression. “I get it,” he replied, taking your hand in his and giving your palm a soft kiss. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Take all the time you need.”

Quinn let you slip from his arms, his heart squeezing as he watched you grab your bag and exit the room. As you descended the stairs with your duffle bag slung over your shoulder, you saw Jack waiting near the door. His expression softened as you approached, a bittersweet smile crossing his face.

“So, this is it?” he asked, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of acceptance.

You nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s best. Thank you, Jack. For understanding. And… for everything.”

Jack gave a short nod, his gaze momentarily flickering towards the stairs where Quinn had stopped to watch from a distance. He returned his gaze to you and managed a small, sincere smile. “Go live your life. I wish you and Quinn all the best.”

You hugged him, both of you holding on just a second longer than necessary. When you pulled back, you could see the mix of emotions in his eyes, but there was a sense of peace there too. He’d let go, not because it didn’t hurt, but because he genuinely wanted you to be happy. You felt your heart swell, gratitude mixing with the faint sting of regret for the friendship that would never quite be the same. But Jack’s words lifted the weight off your shoulders, letting you and Quinn move forward.

With a final look, you stepped outside, Trevor waiting to drive you to the airport, his brow furrowed in confusion at the way you suddenly had pep in your step, a small smile present on your lips that had been missing for weeks. As the car pulled away, you stole one last glance at the lake house, catching a glimpse of Quinn watching you from the porch. He raised a hand in a small wave, and you returned it, a soft smile on your lips.

This summer hadn’t turned out anything like you’d expected.

[chuluoyi]

fear

- gojo satoru x reader

his best friend’s defection is still a hard topic for him to swallow, and it leads into an unexpected argument that spurs you to leave, only to unlock a new fear in him when you get into an unfortunate accident afterwards.

genre/warnings: angst, gojo being mean, one scene with a worried nanami *wink*, injured reader, hurt/comfort, fluff in the end

notes: *sigh* my coping mechanism is still gojo’s past arc, which is why this piece takes place on that timeline. just a little context: reader is in the same class with nanami & haibara and was in the same mission that took haibara's life. this is probably the longest oneshot i've written so far sooo… enjoy! :)

general masterlist

A year and a half had passed since Suguru embarked on his path as a curse user. In that one year and a half, Satoru had finished his last year at Jujutsu High, and now was in the halls of his alma mater, speaking to the newly appointed headmaster who was none other than his teacher.

"You're applying to become a teacher?" Yaga asked again with a frown. He still couldn't wrap his head around it. Granted, he was his most troublesome pupil. "Why, Satoru?"

"If I said it's because I want to train young sorcerers to be strong, would you believe me?"

That was not a lie. It was actually 50% of his main reasons anyway. The other 50% was to repent what he missed with Suguru when he chose his dark path—his contempt with the current system of this jujutsu world.

"I would," Yaga responded gruffly. To him, Satoru was irritating, but he also knew that he was also extremely capable, and thus everything he did wasn't just out of nowhere. "But you still have to submit your applications. We can't make an exception even if you come from a prestigious clan."

"That's fine with me," he grinned. "Thanks, sensei."

On summer days, he'd get reminded of Suguru and silly things they had done together. Eating shaved ice, cycling together, driving either you, Shoko or Nanami mad. Satoru missed those days, it hadn't been the same ever since. Not knowing if his best friend was alright—if he was still alive at all—was exhausting.

Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one who was affected by his departure, the only one who stayed right where Suguru left him. Shoko didn't seem ruffled, if anything she just went to more bars and pachinko parlors as of late. Nanami was always a recluse, he never disclosed his feelings. You mourned him, but it was clear that most part of you would always be more focused on Haibara's death.

Satoru understood that he couldn't force anyone to feel what he felt, and he had no right to. But sometimes, he just wanted someone to connect with at his level. Someone to get him just like Suguru did.

And so when he got back to his condo that night—just right next to the one he rented for Megumi and Tsumiki, since he had moved out of his dorm—to find his girlfriend there with a big smile and a tray of cupcakes, unaware of everything and anything, he merely scoffed to himself.

"Satoru, you're back," you acknowledged, beaming like the sunshine you were. "I just baked these for the kids. Do you want some?"

Usually he'd smother you, throw some pickup lines here and there and say yes, but today, he just felt drained. "No." And with that, he stalked away to the bathroom, not glancing back at you.

It was wrong. But tonight he just wanted some peace and quiet, and so keeping his silence seemed to be the best choice as he didn't want to start a pointless argument with you. But you weren’t anything but observant, and definitely noticed that something was amiss with him.

"Are you... alright?" You approached him warily after he came out of the bathroom with wet hair. "Where were you today?"

"Just somewhere," he replied curtly. Afterwards he turned on the hairdryer, drowning the whole place with the noise even as you stood behind him with a visible question mark.

But you were still there after he dried his hair. "Is something bothering you?" you asked with a tilt of your head, concerned. By all means, you mean well. You just wanted to know if he could use your help at all.

When you pulled that expression, he couldn't help feeling annoyed, like he wanted you to take a hint, but you just didn't. "If you know, then just shut it."

It was probably the first time since the two of you got together that Satoru actually said something harsh. But you still tried to be reasonable though, bless you.

"Satoru, I don't know what got into your nerves like this, but I think sleeping through it might help. Have a rest."

"Why are you talking as if you know it?" he snapped, finally turning to you with his cold gaze. "You might not know anything, so don't be a know-it-all. Just mind your own business."

Now you were frustrated with his reply. "Once again, I don't know what happened to you. But if you're taking it out on me because I'm the closest you have—"

"Who said that?" Satoru didn't know where he got all this venom from. It was just at the forefront of his mind and he just got the urge to spew it. "You're considering yourself closest to me? Where did you get that big head from?"

You were aghast, and you blinked a few times to get your bearings. "Let me guess, it's about Geto-san, isn't it? Or the higher ups. Either of that must be what causing you to blindly place your anger on me."

"So what if it was? It isn't like you'll understand anyway."

"Satoru," you started, trying to even your breathing. "What happened to Geto-san isn't your fault. I've been telling you this. It can't be helped—"

"Can't be helped?" he jeered. "Do you know why it has come to this?" his tone took a dangerous edge as he stepped closer. He reached for you, grasping your wrist.

"Maybe because I was too blind back then. If it weren't for you—if only I didn't spend that much time on you, maybe he would still be here."

Did he just say that? Did he just imply that he had regretted the two of you getting together?

You felt your lower lip start to tremble and something seemed to obscure and blur your vision, making it hard to see him clearly. "You... don't mean that."

"Really?" the corner of his lips curled into a disparaging smile. "You never know. Before you know it, this can be over already. After all, I could have anyone out there that I want. Maybe someone less nosey than—”

That did it. You wrenched your arm out of his grip violently, as your first tear fell. His smirk vanished too, replaced with a total stillness to cover his sudden panic that was followed by a sudden sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

"You selfish, self-obsessed jerk," you hissed through watery eyes. He was taken aback, even amidst your anger and possible fear of him, your still managed to throw daggers at him. "Fine. You have it. I'll see myself out."

Satoru never wanted you to leave. Honestly, he would've made you stay. But he wasn't in the right state of mind and it was too late to take back what he said. He didn't want to mess this up even further.

You left the cupcakes, even throwing it away just to spite him. Driven by pain and humiliation, you choked back your sob and didn't spare a glance at him as you shut the door.

Peace and quiet. There he had it, he thought as he clenched his fists, at the cost of everything else.

Leaving that condo, every step you took felt like needles piercing your shattered heart. You wiped your tears roughly. No, you refused to cry over such asshole. He made it clear, didn't he? Whatever it was that you two shared, it was at the cost of his best friend leaving him. So now the blame was on you.

If you were thinking clearly, you would've understood that his words were likely a result of his own pent-up pain and frustration that he had kept to himself for some while. But you had no patience for that or even pinpoint what you felt right now—anger, disappointment or dread, or perhaps all three. You just felt wrongly accused.

Your feet brought you back to your dorm in the school. Now it wasn't as bustling as it once were. After Satoru and Shoko's graduation, you didn't really get close to anyone. There was Ichiji, but he treated you more like a mentor rather than a classmate.

As you sank into the comforts of your bed, You replayed the events, trying to find where it went wrong—and found nothing. After all, you had already said all that could be said. It wasn't just him who lost Geto, but you, Shoko and Nanami did too, but it was more convenient for Satoru to blame everyone else rather than trying to understand that they too shared this pain.

Nevertheless, you were disappointed. You didn't expect half of what he spouted, and it got you doubting everything you had.

"You've royally fucked up."

Satoru exhaled, glaring at Shoko through the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, maybe."

The reverse cursed technique user threw him a blank stare, taking in everything from his disheveled hair to his wrinkled trousers. "Gojo, as much as I can’t care less about your sorry ass, I'm saying this not out of concern for you, but rather for Y/N. You are an asshole."

The puff of smoke she blew expanded to create a cloud-like shape. "Yaga-sensei was our teacher. His student is now a mass murderer and wanted dead. Can you even imagine how he feels? And I can't believe I'm saying this—but weren't there three of us?"

A week had gone by and instead of doing the right thing like trying to get into your good graces, Satoru was in Shoko's infirmary in the headquarters instead. He didn't exactly know what he was looking for by going here. Maybe some lingering taste of his happier student days, and Shoko was the only one remaining.

Three of us, huh... she was right. That was precisely why he came here after all.

"You're just sulking because it seems no one cares about your best friend being the best there is. But have you thought about how our juniors also lost Haibara? Right in front of their eyes? Haibara was our friend too."

He was wrong, of course he was. Satoru realized that now. But it felt wrong to ask for your forgiveness now, not to mention the disrupting thought he had—should he let you go for good altogether?

The phone suddenly rang with such fervor that made Shoko utter a swear word. She was on call duty for the rescue team today, and it was supposedly a peaceful day until Satoru decided to barge in to become her company. "Hello? Ichiji? What—speak clearly, I can't hear you."

She switched it to loudspeaker. "...iri-san! Ieiri-san—h-help—please—"

It was noisy, and blaring at the same time, and Ichiji was... Sobbing? Choking? His voice was terribly muffled and—

"L/N-san!" he cried, and Satoru remembered at that moment that you should be in a mission with Ichiji, he remembered you telling him before.

"Hic—s-she fell... hic—she fell! B-blood! She i-is bleeding so much! I-Ieiri-san—hic—s-send help! Please!"

"Hey, stay awake. Breathe. Just breathe."

Everything hurt. Most notably, your head. You could hardly think straight when all you felt was blinding pain and how your breaths came in short wheezes. 

Your vision was blurry. The numbness had started to set in and chills ran up and down your spine. You couldn't make out who in front of you was. Was it Ichiji, who went with you in this mission? The only thing that glared was blue.

"You can't sleep, you hear me?" the voice was commanding, willing you to do his bidding. It was familiar, but usually his tone of voice was much lighter, happier.

Satoru.

But why was he here? He wasn't in this mission. It was supposed to be a mission for you and Ichiji.

You remembered getting the cursed spirit after manifesting your domain expansion, until in its last ditch attempt, it went after Ichiji. You had no choice—even when your cursed energy had burned out, you still shoved him away at the cost of being flung from the top of a building.

Not again. Not after Haibara. You’d gladly pay the price if it meant you didn't have to see anyone die in front of you again.

"I..." You managed to croak out—breathing hurt, and you felt your hands being grasped tightly.

"Hey, just breathe. Y/N. Look at me.” Through your blurry haze, you focused on that cold blue, and you saw him. Satoru's sharp eyes, pursed lips and frown. He's really here.

Satoru always said that if there was a cursed spirit apocalypse, then Ichiji would be the first to die. You used to scold him for that, but now as you a laid here possibly dying in your own pool of blood, you found it to be true.

Yet at the same time you knew that with him here, Ichiji must be safe already, and it gave you reassurance so great even when you were on the verge of dying. "I... can't..."

"Yes, you can. Just look at me," he firmly rebuked, his voice came out in a hiss. For all the time you had been with him, you had never heard him so forceful. "If you close your eyes now, I won't forgive you. So please, just hang in there."

It was a struggle to take in any air and darkness encroached on your vision as your consciousness began slipping away.

And everything faded to nothingness.

Satoru honestly thought he had no fears. His worst fear had fully realized after all—Suguru going away into the darkness. What more could he possibly fear?

But when he heard Ichiji's distress call for rescue team, about how you fell from a rooftop of a building and unconscious, he realized that it was a fear he didn't know existed. His mind got disoriented and he teleported to the scene on impulse. He just had to see it for himself. With their petty argument still lacking closure, he felt even worse.

And the sight before him gave him so much fright he never thought was possible.

It was a mistake, he should have brought Shoko along.

You had laid there like a broken doll, your eyes dimmed, and not been able to breathe. He desperately tried to keep you awake, his presence beside you, yet it didn't seem to matter. He watched helplessly as you passed out in his arms.

Satoru felt nothing. The panic that had set in was suddenly gone as your limp body slumped against him, replaced by incessant ringing in his ears and tremor wracking his nervous system. It wasn't long until the rescue team came to retrieve you and even then he still felt numb. He rejected the idea that you might possibly die on him.

That went on until Shoko, who assisted in the emergency treatment, came out of the surgery, sweat on her forehead.

"It's even worse than the aftermath of the guardian deity mission last year," Shoko explained with a grim expression. "Her brain has sustained damage and it affects everything. It may take her quite a while before she can go back to the field."

When she said that, Satoru felt terror washed over him again. You almost died—was all he perceived.

The two of you had no contact for a week just because of his ego. He could still recall that day with vivid clarity, feeling a burning ache in his chest. If someone were to ask him what heartbreak was like, now he certainly would he able the to tell them the two instances in which he experienced them. What he felt now mirrored the same stinging sensation he had felt when Suguru left him.

He visited you when he was allowed to, and you were still unconscious, with many machines connected to your body. It was a sight he still couldn’t bring himself to get used to. He had seen you injured before, but never seen you in your own pool of blood, so this made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Stupid," he whispered, gently rubbing your forehead. His eyes remained fixated on you as you rested, his insides still churning with emotions. "You're not weak, and you're not hopeless." Once upon a time, Satoru might have thought of you as weak, but now he knew better.

"So why you always pick the worst decision?" The more he thought this could've been avoided, the more irked he was. The thought that he could have done something to prevent it intensified the sting of guilt, and he continued to punish himself with it.

And the more he dwelled on the idea that he had hurt you prior to this, the tighter his breath became.

But that was who you were. Self-sacrificing to a fault. And he loved you for that. There was no way of him letting you go now.

It astonished even himself—that he was capable of this love thing. At first it was an attraction, but now that you had been going on for more than a year, it felt like it was no longer a silly infatuation after all.

"Hurry and wake up, will you?" Satoru gently brushed your hair aside, his eyes fixed on you. He didn't know it even as his gut twisted, his frown deepened and his touch quivered, that he was worried sick. "I have a lot to make up for."

And he left you with a tender brush of his lips against your forehead.

Nanami Kento was the first person you saw when you awoke from coma.

You struggled to regain your senses, still feeling absolutely broken. The dull throb on the back of your head was still there, and as if you had found yourself trapped in a fog, you were only able to move sluggishly.

"You're awake?" his gruff voice greeted, laced with concern. In his hand were a bucket of fresh flowers and fruits basket, which he soon placed at the table next to your bed.

It was unexpected, because ever since the tragedy that costed Haibara's life, the two of you had been drifting apart.

You nodded, and let out a hum in response—all you could manage at the moment.

"Thank God." Nanami sounded relieved as he pinched the bridge between his eyes, and you were moved that he had shown this degree of concern.

Your remaining classmate, who suffered the burden of Haibara's life just like you. He was always quiet or brooding somewhere, hiding his own feelings.

You felt tears pricking the corner of your eyes. The fact that he visited you meant that he hadn't decided to cut you out of his life yet.

"Gojo-san is out today, but he'll be back by afternoon," he said, mistranslating your tears as some sort of a want to have your annoying—ex?—boyfriend at your side.

The two of you were still not on talking terms, weren’t you?

You so badly wanted to say thank you to him—and tell him that no, you weren't looking for Satoru—but it came out hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Nanami then realized what you were trying to say, and a faint smile graced his lips. "Just... get well soon, L/N. Have a good rest."

Just before you drifted back to sleep, you could hear him sigh and mutter, "Hello, Gojo-san? L/N has awakened. Just letting you know is all.”

You weren't sure how much time had passed when you woke up the second time, but the curtains were already drawn and only darkness came from the window. Your body felt lighter, but you still felt like a mess and and couldn't help but groan in discomfort.

Satoru was there, he perked up at the noise you made. And you realized that it was the first time in about a week that he faced you after that disasterous almost-breakup.

He walked up to you, his expression was more hopeful than you had ever seen him before, like a kid whose wish had been granted. He slowly shifted to sit beside you.

"Hey, welcome back." His voice was soft. It was a change of pace for him, as you were used to seeing him all loud and silly.

Now your voice no longer sounds like a lead. "Hey."

"How are you feeling?" he asked and you took a moment to look at him. He was smiling, but exhaustion reached his bright eyes, dimming them. "You know, with the whole you passing out and almost dying thing?"

His words were almost humorous as he spoke, like he didn't know what else to say except try to lighten the mood, but there was also a strain on his tone, like he was holding back.

"I'm quite fine now, I suppose..." You still felt the lingering pain and dizziness as you slowly sat up. Satoru reached out to steady you—and you realized how his fingers trembled when they made contact with your body—as his brows furrowed with worry when you winced.

"You don't look like it though." His voice dropped and the humor was gone, replaced by this haunted look. You blinked. It was probably the first time you had seem him this ruffled.

He immediately pulled you into a hug, cradling your head to his neck gently, as if to protect and shield you from the world altogether. Exhaling heavily, he leaned on you. "You scared me, you know that?"

You wondered out loud if you really had that hold over him. "Did I?"

"You can't do that to me, you hear?" Satoru stroked your hair, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. His voice quivered. “Don't ever do that again.”

He pulled you tighter against him, but still careful not to crush you.

You let out a snicker, letting go of everything you felt during this horrible week. "Heh, afraid to lose me, huh?"

"Shut up,” he grumbled. “What were you thinking anyway? How did you calculate that freefalling is better than letting that cursed spirit attack Ichiji?”

"He was defenseless. He could die, you know that."

"And you also can," he quipped, upset, pulling away enough to look you squarely in the eyes, his eyes devoid of any expression, yet filled with a raging wave that you could only interpret as undiluted concern.

The emphasis in his tone made you recoil and feel guilty. If you were in his shoes, you probably would've said the same thing and so you had nothing to say to that.

But the more pressing agenda in the list was the unspoken silent treatment the two of you saw fit to use against each other for the last few days. Satoru was the one who decided to address it first.

"About that night..." he faltered, looking away. "I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

Satoru always had trouble processing emotions. This time too. He must've a hard time dealing with the anxiety caused by the possibility of him losing you for good, no matter how much he tried to be unaware of it.

"..." You wanted to respond, to make him understand your point, but somehow right now you were just too weary. And he sensed your reluctance. So you blurted the first thing that gnawed at your mind.

“You said you could have any other women out there—”

"No, really—" he started to panic, and it was blatantly too, which surprised you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Us. I don't regret anything. I’m not breaking up with you. Being with you is the happiest I've been ever since Suguru left."

“That's...” you blinked, before letting out a small sigh. “Okay. Fine then. Let's just put it behind us for now.”

“I—” he almost wheezed, his bright blue eyes were overtaken with sheer urgency to explain how wrong everything had been that night. “You must know that I didn’t mean any of it. And that I hate hurting you the way I did. I won’t—”

"Satoru, I understand," you let out another sigh, fidgeting with your fingers. "Sometimes when I’m reminded of Haibara, I also get sad. I don't want to presume but I think I know how you feel. Just next time, maybe," you shifted your gaze on him, seeing how you had his attention fully. Gojo Satoru, the strongest now, was looking at you as if you had his fate in your hands. "Just tell me if you need space and I would have understood."

"Yeah, okay, sure," he responded immediately, relieved, before a lopsided grin appeared on his face, turning him back into your dork slash boyfriend. "So, am I forgiven now?"

"A thank you would be nice."

In the end, he chuckled, seemingly resigned. "You should sleep more."

He positioned himself into bed next to you, and you let him pull you into his chest again. You could feel how his taut back started to relax upon the contact. He pressed his lips on your forehead in a fleeting kiss.

"Promise me you won't pull that stunt again.”

You smirked. "I can't. What if Ichiji—"

"Then just let him die."

You swatted his arm playfully, pressing your head to his chest as he continued to run his fingers on your hair. He cushioned you carefully, and you felt the tension in him slowly melt away with each breath you took. In your mind, you figured he needed this closeness more than you did, if anything, for the sake of his sanity.

“I love you,” he whispered by your ear, kissing it lightly.

“Mmhm.”

As you felt Satoru's calming presence, it helped ease you into slumber. You soon found yourself in a deep sleep, comfortably held in his embrace.

Epilogue

Ichiji gulped as Satoru stared him down, sizing him up as if he was the most despicable creature on this planet.

Okay, he might be. He was a coward, all he could do was trembling in the face of evil. But he had come in peace, even bringing fruits as an offering! He felt bad too that he was the partial cause for you to be this injured.

He was used to Satoru terrorizing him—calling him names, slapping him, and whatnot—and he could take it. Just this time, he really looked like he could murder him on the spot if he wanted to. A small part of Ichiji mourned that you were his girlfriend, because that pretty much sealed his fate that Gojo Satoru could indeed murder him on the spot because he had a valid enough reason to.

"You are—"

"No! I'm sorry, Gojo-san! I'm sorry for my incompetence!"

"Hah?"

If he was mildly irked before, now Satoru was visibly irritated.

"You're not cut out to be a jujutsu sorcerer," he started. "You're useless. You just get in the way most of the time."

Ichiji kept his head down. No, no. He can't cry!

"Get your driving license or I'll slap the shit out of you."

"Oh?" and before he knew it, Satoru had stalked away, leaving him in the dust. How rude! But...

Get a driver license? Quit the jujutsu work?

Hey, that sounds like something I can do!

[novvabee]

A Real Good Time

um... i am shocked I even wrote this. so this is like the longest fic i think i've written and it is by far the nastiest, horniest thing i've also ever written... you're welcome i guess?

Summary: poly!marauders x reader x rosekiller, the marauders share reader with Barty and Evan...

CW: MDNI!!!!!! smut!! idk everything man, you tell me. smoking, swearing, voyerism, sharing?, overstimulation, masturbation, (cumplay?), oral, unprotected sex, choking, smacking/spanking, roughness?, reader is a brat. oh this is also not proofread

word count: 4.3k

“What’s ours is yours.” Sirius said boastfully to your friends lounging on the floor of your dorm. You gaped at your boyfriend, not believing what he just said.

Barty threw his head back in laughter, Evan smirking at you. You looked down quickly, slightly embarrassed by the whole situation. 

The whole conversation had been so abrupt and derailed faster than you could stop it.

You had your friends over for a fun evening in your dorm. You all mostly played games and chatted, you could all find fun no matter what, so it didn’t really matter what you got up to as long as you were all there. It was especially easy in the boys’ room, the massive space filled with squashy and fluffy sofas, armchairs and beanbags, half of which they stole from the common room. 

The evening turned quickly into night which turned into the early hours of the morning, and one by one, all of your friends cut out and headed to bed. Lily and Marlene were the last to leave, leaving only Barty and Evan now. They too said they would head to bed, but wanted Remus to roll them a joint they could all share before they left.

The boys enthusiastically agreed and Remus started rolling. 

You don’t know how the topic of sex was introduced, Sirius made a comment to Barty along the lines of “You’re just leaving so you can wind up in Rosier’s bed.” Which then made him reply with “Careful, or I might just take Y/N along with us when we go and show her what a real good time looks like,” as he made grabby hands for you.

You chuckled and swatted his hands away, hoping a blush wasn’t creeping across your cheeks for them to see. The thought of that…

Remus finished rolling the joint and lit it, the room becoming hazy with smoke. “Is that something you'd be interested in, love?” he questioned you. He had a tone of curiosity laced in his voice mixed with something familiar to you, excitement at the thought. Shit, maybe you were blushing, because how did he sense that from across the room? Both Sirius and James perked up at this. 

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about Evan and Barty in that way, in fact, Barty was the first crush you ever had. But ever since you started dating your boys, no one else interested you at all.

Sure the boys could share, they shared you didn’t they? But you never thought that they would be interested in sharing you with others. 

“W-what,” you stuttered. 

Remus passed the joint off to Evan who was looking at you with intrigue, and waltzed over to where you sat cross legged in an oversized armchair. “We can share,” he said, motioning to Sirius and James. “In fact, this is something we’ve talked about before, we just didn’t know if you would be up for it.” Was the weed making him that much bolder? To say all of this in front of Barty and Evan?

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, but ultimately failing. You looked to Sirius and James for reassurance, but they were no help, giving you the same lust filled eyes that you were receiving from Barty and Evan now.

The air in the room suddenly felt too thick to breathe, all you could do was stare up at Remus.

His gaze softened on you for a moment. “Baby, if you say yes, we would love to watch our pretty girl,” he explained softly to you. “But if you say no we’ll just tell them to fuck off and have you ourselves, does that sound alright?”

You smiled slightly, the tension easing a bit. Then you nodded up at him, “It is something that interests me.”

He smiled down at you, placing his palm on your cheek which you happily nuzzled into.

“Wait, so you’re saying you want to watch us fuck your girl?” Evan asked, amusement written all over his face.

“That’s what we’re saying,” James affirmed.

“What’s ours is yours.” Sirius said, causing Barty to laugh and Evan to eye you up and down. “For tonight.” 

Evan made his way to where you were still perched in the armchair, taking your face in his hand. The action was so like what Remus had just done, but it couldn’t feel any more different. Remus’s hand was soft and gentle, while Evan’s was rougher, gripping your jaw tighter and squishing your cheek into a pout, forcing you to look up at him.

“You sure about this doll?” He asked quietly. You did your best to nod for him but this made him tsk. “None of that, words.” he demanded.

“Yes, I’m sure.” you replied, his grip making it a bit tough to respond but you managed.

“Good,” he hummed.

Barty then made his way over as well. Both the tall men eyeing you down, you felt smaller than ever under their gazes.

Maybe it was because he wanted to hurry this along, or maybe he was taking pity on you, but Barty held out his hand for you to take. You hesitated but placed your hand in his as he pulled you to your feet, his grasp surprisingly gentle. He pulled you up and in between his and Evan’s bodies, both encroaching on your space.

Barty tilted your head up to look him in the eye. He looked so calm right now, a direct contrast to his usual demeanor. Maybe he could sense the nerves radiating off of you, so he was making it easier, making you more comfortable. He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, the act so unsensual to the moment, but felt like just what you needed. You cracked a smile up at him.

“There she is,” he hummed in response, taking your face in both hands. He leaned in again, this time kissing your jaw, then down to your neck. You relaxed, your head falling back and right onto the shoulder of Evan who had copied Barty’s movements, beginning to kiss the other side of your neck.

You peeked over to your boyfriends, all lounging on the sofas across from you, James falling into the armchair you had just vacated. You were looking to see any sign of hesitation, any sign that they weren’t comfortable with this, but the looks on their faces told you there was nothing to worry about right now. James had a look of awe in his eyes while Remus was relaxing into the sofa and getting comfortable, waiting for the show to begin. You couldn’t quite place the look that Sirius had, somewhere between amusement and thrill of a challenge in front of him.

This was their way of saying ‘go ahead, relax, have fun.’ So fun you would have.

You felt Evan’s hands begin to wander from behind you, feeling his way slowly from your hips to your waist.

A single thought continued to bounce around your skull as the two boys sucked harshly at your jaw and neck, a thought that you couldn’t shake. You smiled to yourself, if it was a show your boyfriends want, then it was a show they would get. 

You moaned out and entangled your fingers into Evan’s wavy locks. You gripped his hair and this seemed to encourage him as he chuckled against your skin, the heat warming the entire side of your face, then nipping at the spot.

You whimpered and moved your hips back, just enough to brush against Evan. He gripped your hips even tighter and pulled you impossibly close to him.

“I love the noises she makes,” Barty mused, now smirking down at you. He took the bottom of your shirt and lifted it slowly, you not stopping him at all. He lifted it over your head and pulled it off of you finally, throwing it over to your boyfriends. Evan took this time to unclasp your bra, letting it pop open before sliding it down your arms and letting it fall to the floor. You took a deep, steadying breath as Barty smiled softly down at you. You took the initiative and slid your shorts down your legs, stepping out of them and leaving you only in your panties in front of them.

He took your wrist in his hand before falling backwards onto the couch across from your boyfriends, pulling you down with him.

You squealed as you landed on top of him, giggling the whole way down.

Barty adjusted himself on the couch as you made your way down his legs, making sure to keep your eyes on him the entire time. He looked heavenly and you didn’t want to miss a moment of his expressions as you unbuttoned and pulled the zipper down on his jeans.

You struggled a bit on purpose and looked up at him with a faux pathetic expression to get him to help you. He leaned forward to place yet another kiss on the tip of your nose before sliding his jeans down for you. You pouted up at him and tugged at the waistband, wanting to get him to do all the work for you.

“Awe,” He cooed, “not used to putting in some hard work yourself?”

You frowned and slipped a finger in his waistband, pulling back and letting it snap against his abdomen. He snatched your wrist in his hand, amused but clearly growing frustrated by your actions.

“I'll help this once,” he said, the most stern you had heard him this entire time, “But be a good girl, yeah?”

He slid his boxers off, his dick already red and leaking. He was big, probably the same size as Sirius. You looked up at him and smiled.

Before moving any further, you looked to your boyfriends to check that everything was still alright. Both Sirius and James already had their hands wrapped around their cocks, lazily tugging and watching you. You smiled again, turning your attention to the cock in front of you.

You started by licking Barty from base to tip, just like how Siri showed you all that time ago. You gave him a few licks which earned you a small groan and you giggled at the sound, peaking a look up at him, his head thrown back and shirt riding up his toned stomach.

You took his tip fully in your mouth, giving it a little suck, intent on taking your time and working him up, but Barty being Barty had it down your throat with one quick thrust. It made sense, you hadn’t seen Barty sit still for all of three minutes in a normal situation. You gagged a little at the intrusion, but quickly recovered, fitting as much of him in your mouth as you could, then using your hand for the rest.

“Good girl,” He praised, head still thrown over the edge of the couch.

You sucked again and again, hollowing your cheeks and taking him  as deep as you could, setting your own pace.

 You felt Evan’s fingers trace the outline of your core over your panties, the fabric no doubt soaked through. He used his thumb to rub your clit in small circles. 

You moaned at the feeling, the vibrations making Barty moan as well, the sound utterly sinful. Barty pulled your hair off of your face and into a makeshift ponytail, disregarding your set pace and fucking your throat at his own instead.

Evan picked up on this and rubbed your clit in rhythm to Barty’s thrusts. You choked out another moan, eyes watering as you tried to catch little breaths in between Barty’s ruthless pace.

Evan’s hands gripped your hips again, placing himself behind you. He was getting impatient, you could tell by his movements. He didn’t even try to pull off your panties for you, he just pulled them to the side and continued his ministrations to your clit. 

Barty’s breathing became uneven and shallow, you looked up at him through your lashes and could see how good you were making him feel. His brows were pulled tight together and his mouth was open slightly, letting out whines and breathless moans. It was nothing compared to the noises that James makes, but for now it would do.

Before you could even think, you felt the tip of Evan’s dick tracing up and down your dripping core. The action made you gasp around Barty’s dick. You wiggled your hips the best you could, trying to feel more of Evan and test the waters.

You heard Evan chuckle behind you, felt his hand leave your ass and swat down. This made you jump, Barty’s dick managing to hit the back of your throat without a warning. You whined as Barty moaned.

You pulled off of him for a moment, intent on complaining to Evan that he made you choke, but before you could turn your way around and get him in your line of sight, he slammed himself into you.

This made you jerk forward, your cheek pressed to Barty’s abdomen. “Ugh, why’d you stop, pretty?” he asked you.

You weren’t able to answer him due to the way Evan was pounding into you. You were trying to catch your breath in order to moan, but the pace that Evan had set made you almost forget how. You dug your nails into Barty’s thighs under you, hoping it would ground you somewhat. Barty hissed in pain above you, but made no move to stop you.

Evan was sliding in and out of you so easily, so quickly, you had no time to even think about anything except how good you felt.

You caught a glimpse of your boyfriends across from you, Sirius’s mouth now around Remus who was looking you dead in the eye and smoke falling from his parted lips. On any normal occasion, this sight would be enough to push you over the edge, but now, it somehow drew you back into reality. 

You moaned, the sound filling the space and mixing with Evan’s groans and James’s breathless sounds from the other side of the room. Every noise borderline pornographic. 

Barty gently brushed a lock of hair from your face. “Feel good, pretty girl?” he asked, a smug grin cut across his face.

“Y-yes,” you moaned out, remembering to play it up a bit for your voyeur boyfriends. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?” Evan chuckled, keeping up his pace. You were slightly caught off guard with that question, trying to focus on an answer. Impatient, he reached down to pull your hair,  giving it a tug until you were eye to eye with Barty who smirked and tilted his head to the side, waiting for your answer.

“R-remmy-y and Siri.. a-and Ja-amsie.” you replied. Although Evan was fucking you, you would never betray your boys. You were wholly theirs, and they were yours.

“Is that so? Then how come we’re the ones getting to use it now? Huh?” he teased.

“Cause they’re just s-so generous. Helpin’ out t-the less fortunate ‘n a-all” you replied, still finding a way to brat off. This probably made Sirius prouder than ever. At least just because it wasn’t him you were mouthing off to.

“She really does have a mouth on her doesn’t she?” He asked Barty and without warning flipped you onto your stomach, continuing his brutal pace. You had to hand it to them, they were trying their hardest to break you, but you couldn’t be broken. Not when you won the lottery not once but three times over in Sirius, James, and Remus.

“Fuck!” You cried out and arched your back, this new position had Evan hitting your sweet spot over and over in the most perfect way. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt yourself barreling towards the edge.

Evan pulled out and stood from where he was kneeling behind you. “Switch with me.” He ordered Barty.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Barty answered him, excitement dripping off his words.

You panted hard, using this time to try and fill your lungs. Now that it was Barty’s turn to fuck you, you knew you were going to be in for a ride. If that is the level of stamina that Evan had, you didn’t think you were prepared for Barty.

Barty hovered over you, smiling down with amusement and lust. “You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked with fake intrigue. You don’t know why but this annoyed you. Your face must have shown signs of this annoyance because he leaned down and whispered, “At least be better for me than you were for Evan, yeah? No one likes a brat.”

You rolled your eyes in response.

You felt a sharp sting at your thigh from where Barty smacked you. This one hurt more than the warning swat that Evan gave you, his red hand print already imprinted on your skin. The shock wore off after a moment and what Sirius would like to call ‘brattiness’ set in.

How dare they, they aren’t your boyfriends. They don’t get to dictate your mood or attitude, especially when they’ve been so self serving up until now, no even allowing you to cum yet. Not even making you cum.

You opened your mouth to make your thoughts known, but Barty seemingly had run out of patience with you. He gripped your throat and pushed you back onto the sofa, squeezing this fingers on either side of your neck and sending a fuzzy feeling throughout your entire body. You whimpered and gasped, struggling to breathe with your head hung over the end of the cushions. Evan made great use of this, cock shoving past your parted lips and down your throat with no warning, the same way Barty did.

You would have panicked, not taking a deep enough breath before Evan’s entire length was cutting off your airway, if it weren’t for Remus and Sirius doing basically the same thing when punishing you sometimes. 

Evan set his own pace, thrusting deep into your throat each time. Barty took this opportunity to push into you as well, taking you inch by inch. You heard both Evan and Barty groan out at the feeling of you around them.

Evan pulled out slightly for you to breathe, which you quickly took, thankfully swirling your tongue around his tip and making his hips buck back into your mouth.

Barty was moving agonizingly slow, making sure to fully fill you before pulling almost completely out and starting again. You jerked your hips up, signaling for him to move, to do something. He chuckled.

“Seems like you’ve got a brat on your hands,” He said over to your boyfriends. This was the first time they were verbally acknowledged since starting.

Sirius chuckled, “Trust me, we know.”

Barty halted all actions which made you jerk yet again, becoming frustrated with the lack of movement.

“Is that, why you wanted us to fuck her?” Evan asked, “Wanted someone to finally tame her?”

You rolled your eyes at this, slightly grazing Evan’s cock with your teeth. Not hard, or a lot, just enough to get your message across. He replied with a particularly rough thrust down your throat again, making you choke and gag.

“Oh please,” James chimed in, “She would break you before you even got close to taming her.”

“It's true,” Remus laughed at the thought of Evan and Barty actually trying to ‘tame’ you, something that not even he could really do.

Barty hummed with delight. “Well, what does princess have to say about that?” He asked.

Evan gave you another thrust before pulling out and letting you speak. You coughed as you caught your breath, your throat becoming sore with all the abuse. 

You looked him in the eye, remembering the fact that you still hadn’t cum yet. You thought this was supposed to be a fun experience. You remembered what he had said, bragged to your boyfriends earlier.

“I thought you were supposed to show me what a real good time looks like.” you spat.

Barty blinked at you before smirking.

He didn’t bother answering you, just lifted your hips up off the couch and snapped his hips into yours. You let out a high pitched scream, not expecting this at all.

Finally, you knew how to get what you want, and in most cases, that just means a snide comment or bratty behavior. Works just as well on Evan and Bart as it did on your boyfriends, who knew.

You heard Sirius snicker, the brattiness amusing him.

You had every right to be worried before, Evan’s pace was brutal, Barty’s was ruthless, cruel. He was hitting so deep inside of you that your moans raised in pitch with each thrust.

Evan followed in Barty’s lead, lazily reaching down to where you and Barty connected and rubbed small circles over your clit again. The feeling overwhelming you, back arching even in Barty’s hold on you. 

You thought you would return the favor, taking Evan in your hand and pumping his cock in time with Barty fucking you. His eyes fluttered shut and a line appeared between his brows, muttering a small “Fuck,” under his breath. You didn’t know his body well at all, but you would say he was probably close.

Between Evan’s skilled fingers and Barty hitting your cervix over and over, the painful pleasure was what you were seeking, finally tipping you toward the edge of climax.

Barty’s fingers were sure to be bruised into your hips as he kept his grip and fucked you as if you weighed nothing, just a doll for his pleasure.

Evan swatted you again, this time making contact with your sensitive bud. You threw your head back and cried out as you felt your orgasm wash over you. Barty kept his pace and so did Evan, both intent on letting you ride it out with their help.

But that wasn’t the case at all, even as you came down off of the high of your orgasm, their pace didn't falter. You whined and tried to squirm away from them, but Barty gripped you harder, pulling you back. Evan didn’t halt either, in fact his fingers were working faster than before.

“W-wait, wait please,” you stuttered, trying your best to get them to let up for a moment. You were trying hard to wiggle your way out of their reach, but it was no use, all you could do was take what they were giving you.

The moans that were coming from you were the same as the ones coming from your boyfriends, you knew they were ready to cum from the way they all sounded. You wanted it to be them fucking you stupid right now, but watching them watch you was adding so much to your arousal, these images of them would be burned into your brain for the rest of time and you hoped you were providing the same for them.

“F-fuck, fuck,” you heard James whine, catching the sight of him just in time to see him come undone, white ropes of cum landing in his abs and thighs. 

You moaned at the sight, your Jamesie looking so dirty and breathless, all because of you. And all you really had to do was look pretty.

This pushed you over the edge again, vision going hazy and feeling hot all over, shaking and trying to push Evan’s hand away from you. To your surprise he actually obliged, removing his soaked hand and moving it to grab your throat and squeeze. His other hand went down to his own throbbing cock, jerking himself off above your face.

You made a breathless sound, Barty, finally becoming sloppy in his thrusts, groaned out “Fuck, I’m close.”. Your whole body felt limp and tired, but his final thrusts into you were deep enough to make you see stars.

You cried at the overuse of your cunt, Barty pulling out in time to cum all over your stomach, Evan doing the same, releasing on your chest. Your body a sticky hot mess from Barty and Evan. You panted hard, your body tired from the whole night.

Sirius and Remus made their way into your view, both fisting their own cocks with need, both breathless and on the edge.

Sirius came first, his beautiful moans prefacing his cum landing over both Evan and Barty’s, mixing with the rest of the fluid across your torso. 

This left Remus. You looked up at him, scrambling to your knees and opening your mouth for him. He let out a small chuckle before throwing his head back and releasing a throaty moan.

You licked the underside of his dick as he came in your mouth, the liquid quickly filling up your mouth and dribbling out the sides, down your neck and chest.

“Fuck,” you heard multiple boys say at once.

You swallowed what made it into your mouth and giggled, taking in everyone’s satisfied states. 

Evan and Barty dressed and joked with your boyfriends about how it’s unfair they kept you to themselves all this time. They asked if you were alright about a thousand times, Sirius telling them they would take care of you from here. You all bid your goodnights and Barty and Evan finally left for bed.

You were happy to be all alone with your boyfriends now, James having cleaned you up and gave you one of his shirts to wear. You cuddled into bed with them, feeling more grateful for them than ever. Sure the sex with Barty and Evan was fun, but no one knew you like your boys did, no one could make you feel like they did. No one could measure up to the pleasure you felt, nor the safety afterward.

This late night became the early morning that led you to see the sunrise as you dozed off in your boyfriends arms.

i-... idk what to even say here. here ya go.

[purinfelix]

just for the weekend ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ - franco colapinto

summary: your teammate has an absolutely ridiculous plan to bring your team back from the dead - but it might be just crazy enough to work w/c: 5.5k + some smau style tweets warnings: a little angst, some uncomfortable touching/kissing since it's fake dating (not too bad but better safe than sorry), some miscommunication - just two idiots in love i fear

a/n: WOW it's finally here, fake dating is literally a guilty pleasure trope for me so i hope yall enjoy this HAHA - also sorry to Williams fans bc there's a lot of slander in this but trust its all for the plot <333 (also holy shit this is the longest fic I've ever written WOW)

"You're actually insane."

"Oh c'mon, at least think about it for a minute, it's perfect!"

You fold your arms over your chest and try your best to look uninterested in whatever it is your teammate has to say. The two of you had been racing together for a little over half a year now, and you had witnessed him make (at least in your opinion) a grand fool of himself. Flirting with interviewers, winking at cameras, having absolutely no filter during press conferences - but this, this was by far the craziest thing you had heard come out of his mouth.

"A fake relationship?"

"Ah ah ah," he tuts, jutting a finger in your face, "a media relationship, one that will draw the attention away from how crap we're doing and onto the personalities of the team. Think about it, McLaren has whatever Oscar and Lando have got going on and Ferrari basically has two models for drivers. We need something to put us on the map, to make people care about us!"

You pause, and for a minute you seriously consider his outrageous proposition - he isn't completely wrong. For the two of you, making it into the points range was a rare occurrence, and even though the team always made sure to celebrate it like a podium there was something that stung about constantly being at the bottom.

"Do you realise how much trouble we could get into?"

"Ah," he sighs, and it's starting to annoy you how lightly he's talking about this, "ever the pragmatist."

"Well one of us has to be if the other's going to keep saying stupid shit," you huff before turning around and beelining out of his driver's room.

Seriously, a fake relationship? Had he lost his mind? Maybe if he focused more on his racing you wouldn't be constantly outperforming him.

"At least think about it, okay?" You hear him call out from behind you, and consider yourself lucky to be facing the other way so that he doesn't catch your obnoxious eye roll. Surely he had to be kidding because there was no way you were going to devote any amount of time to this ridiculous thought.

God fucking damnit.

It was frustratingly confusing, the kind of power Franco had. You had witnessed it first hand with how smoothly he spoke to anyone and managed to get his way almost instantly - but this was your first time experiencing it first-hand. It was another weekend, another country, another race, but the only thing you could think of was his stupid consideration - which, with each passing moment, seemed increasingly genius.

You had almost a year of experience with the team over your teammate, and with that, your fair share of embarrassment and disappointment. Sure, his idea was a little out there but you were close to being at your wits end and if nothing else, you hoped this would at least be a little fun. Plus you were pretty sure at this point if you didn't act on this thought soon, it would start interfering with your performance.

"Fine," you said a little breathlessly as you burst into his driver's room ahead of a race.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, looking at you with a shocked look, "whatever happened to knocking? I could've been naked in here!"

You roll your eyes before continuing, "You still up to the ..." You pause, thinking of how best to word it, "Fake relationship thing?"

His eyes light up immediately, "Ah, I knew you'd come around eventually."

Letting out a soft huff, just to let him know that you still aren't fully convinced this will work, you sit down on his couch. "I think we should lay down some ground rules first."

"Yes ma'am." He nods, straightening up and forcing a serious expression you can only assume is mocking yours.

"Firstly, no kissing."

"Understood."

"Actually no public affection at all, holding hands, hugging, nothing."

"Oh sure and how exactly are we going to convince people then?"

You pause, thinking for a little, "Okay maybe hand-holding and hugs are fine, but you better not push it - that goes for the pet names as well." He nods with a satisfied smile.

"And no one other than us two can know this is fake, alright? Otherwise, it'll spoil the plan."

"Trust me, I don't need anyone knowing I'm going along with something as ridiculous as this. It'll be our little secret."

"Our little secret," he repeats with a hum, a sly sort of smile spreading across his face as he gets up from his spot. "See you after the race, my love."

You sighed in exasperation, tossing your phone to the side of the couch in your driver's room where it fell with a light thud. You had about a thousand other things to be worrying about - your pretty disappointing result in qualifying for one - but for some reason, the main thing on your mind was your 'relationship' with Franco. Somehow, it had proved even more intense than you had expected, which planted a seed of worry in your mind as you realised how hard this was actually going to be to pull off. Since his not-so-subtle announcement to a hoard of hungry press members at last week's race, the media had managed up a flurry about the two of you.

There were supportive fans who liked you both enough not to see any problem with two teammates dating, as well as others who were more sceptical about how it might impact your performance. However, what really seemed to get to you were those who doubted you more than the relationship.

Your social media had been bombarded with comments and theories about the reason behind your relationship, doubting your place on the grid, and calling you names that - after shedding the status of 'first girl rookie', you thought you had left behind. Regardless, you feel a little stupid for being so unprepared for all this - not just the tweets but the harsh articles, the questions during press interviews and even shouting fans. Maybe if you had done a little more thinking about it first, you would've realised this was a stupid idea that should've been left at just that.

Throwing your head back you let out an exasperated sigh, trying to clear your head so that you could move on and focus on the race that was happening tomorrow. The last thing you wanted was for this plan to start impacting your driving. But Franco always seemed to have the worst timing - or best, depending on who you asked.

"Hello?" A couple quick knocks alert you of his presence before he cracks the door just wide enough to peek in. "There's my beautiful girlfriend." The way the pet names and affection seem to come to him so easily makes you simultaneously impressed and concerned, unsure of whether it's an indication of his great acting or flirting skills.

"What do you want?" You try to make it as obvious as you can that you're not in the mood, and he realises this right away.

"Oh, nothing, I just wanted to ask if you were free after this."

"You know I'm not really a huge fan of the big team dinners, especially not when we have a race tomorrow."

"Oh it's not like that, I was just going to go check out a restaurant near our hotel and wondered if you wanted to join me."

When you finally speak it's just above a whisper, "Is this a part of the fake dating thing?"

He laughs softly, his ability to find everything entertaining has always amazed you. "If you want to, it can be. If that gives you a reason to come hang out with me, though if you don't it's totally fine."

"No, I'll come, not like I've got anything better to do." You hate how every word you've said so far has sounded so pathetic.

"Great, I'll meet you by the paddock entry in ten?"

"See you then."

The street lights were dim, just bright enough to illuminate the street the two of you were walking down. The night was cool and still, and there were barely any people out other than you. You weren't sure why, but you had ended up telling Franco a lot more than you had expected. Maybe it was the extremely fancy restaurant you had initially gone to or the local one the two of you agreed to ditch it for instead, or maybe it was just the freeing feeling of being in another country.

The two of you had talked before, of course - as teammates it was difficult to avoid. But beyond the casual small talk, discussions about strategies or banter during challenges your relationship never extended beyond casual co-existence. It was one of the reasons you were glad your higher-ups had never tried to force the two of you into a professional friendship. There was something about Franco, his ability to strike up a conversation and maintain it even when the topic clearly strayed far beyond his interests, that made him so likeable, so easy to get along with. And the support he got from fans and the media reflected this well. You just never felt like there was any room for you in that equation.

But here, away from the cameras and shedding the roles of drivers, the two of you became normal people. You spoke, you laughed, you vented to him everything that worried you about your 'relationship' and he listened throughout all of it - all the while the two of you shared the biggest, best, pizza you had ever had.

"I have to say, I don't know if our engineers will appreciate the extra weight I've just put on," he jokes, breaking the comfortable silence that had been lingering around you two as you walked.

"Me neither, they might have to roll me into the car at this rate."

"You know, I think this is the first time the two of us have hung out, just us two."

You think for a little before answering, "You're right."

"Do you think there's a reason for that?"

"You mean besides us both being extremely busy people and already seeing each other pretty often? Not really, no."

"Good point, though with our little plan, we're definitely going to be seeing each other a lot more."

There's a beat of silence. "This is nice though, right?" He asks, and his voice is so tentative you almost find it endearing.

"It is nice, this was fun." You try not to think too much about the fact the two of you could be mistaken by any passer-by as a couple of lovebirds on a first date - or that fact that even to those who knew you, you were.

"I appreciate you telling me all that stuff, you know, about what people are saying about you."

"Oh, if anything I should be thanking you for listening to me vent about it."

"It is serious though, I'm so stupid for not even thinking about what you'd have to deal with."

"Well I don't think either of us gave it enough thought but," you pause and look up at him, "we're too far in to back out now."

He shoots you a comforting smile, one that shows how reassured he feels that you seem to finally be coming around to his idea. That is, at least, before his face morphs into one of discomfort.

"God, I'm so full."

"We're almost back at the hotel now, let's just sleep and then we can wake up early tomorrow morning to-"

"Wait, is that ice cream?" Franco interrupts you to point out a street vendor who's about to pack up for the night, and before you know it he's running up to the man eagerly. You can only follow suit with a sigh, knowing full well you wouldn't mind some dessert either.

"You two are lucky, you'll be my last customers for the night," the moustachioed owner of the cart says with a warm smile.

"Thanks," you reply kindly, before turning to Franco, "what flavour do you think you'll get."

"Hm, not sure, maybe chocolate?"

"Wow, boring."

He scoffs, "Oh yeah? And what exotic flavour are you going to get then?"

"Mint choc," you smile, but your face drops once you see your teammate's disgusted expression.

"You've got to be kidding me, that's like the worst choice."

You feign offence, "How dare you insult the best ice cream flavour of all time?"

"Ah, you two are quite the couple," the man laughs and you watch as Franco's eyes widen in embarrassment.

"Oh we're not-"

"Thank you," it's your turn to interrupt him, turning to the man with a smile. "One chocolate and one mint choc chip please."

You go to reach for your wallet to pay but you feel a hand on yours, stopping you.

"No, it's okay, I got this."

"Wh- Franco c'mon you know full well both of us could afford about a thousand of these ice cream cones don't be ridiculous."

"I know," he smiles and even though he's trying to be serious you know he's also trying not to laugh, "but I just figured you know, I'm the one who dragged you out here and like, got you into this whole fake dating mess."

You furrow your brows, a little confused at what exactly he's getting at.

"I guess I just want to say thank you, you know?"

"Alright, alright," you laugh softly, watching as he pays and takes both of the cones, handing you yours. Once you grab yours, you instinctively loop your arm around his, pulling him close and resting your head against his shoulder. The ice cream man laughs endearingly at the two of you.

"You're the best boyfriend ever!" you say in as high and cute a voice you can manage, cringing a little but determined to keep up the bit - you don't even bother to think about how fast you can feel Franco's heart race when you do.

Last night was really nice. You're sitting next to your race engineer, nodding along as she points to various multi-coloured dots and lines on the screen. You hear yourself agreeing with a couple quick "mhms", "of course" and "yep"s even though you can barely hear what she's saying. You're mere minutes away from getting in your car for a race, getting briefed on your strategy, and the only thing you can think of is the 'date' you had with Franco last night - if you can even call it that.

You had thought that getting everything off your chest, the hate comments, the doubt you had, would help you feel better and relieve any worries you had. And it did, at least until you got back to your hotel room alone and caught yourself smiling at the thought of seeing your teammate again the next day. How, even as you washed up and got ready for bed, you found yourself thinking - pizza, ice cream, walking at night together, isn't that something a real couple would do?

"Are you listening to me?" your race engineer's voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, causing you to straighten up immediately.

"Yes! Sorry," you mumble, but just at that moment, you see him walk into the garage, greeting a couple of the mechanics warmly. Before you realise it, he's beelining straight for you, his arm coming around your waist as he leans in close to your ear.

"There's a ton of cameras, I just wanted to be believable," he whispers, and when he pulls back you can see the smile on his face. You nod curtly, fully aware of how red your face feels over such a small interaction as he waltzes away.

"Okay, so as I was saying," your race engineer pipes up again, though you couldn't be paying her less of your attention - watching as your 'boyfriend' walks off, his brown hair illuminating in the afternoon light. For a fake relationship, the quickening pace of your heart felt far too real.

"Well you two have been teammates since the beginning of this year, can you tell us a little about when you realised you might be more?"

Your struggle was never-ending - or at least, that's what it felt like, finding yourself at the centre of an impromptu interview with Franco. Around you, the other drivers were getting questions about their place in their teams, how they felt about their current strategy and about their racing futures. And there the two of you were, getting thrown question after question about your 'relationship'.

"Well," you begin, before being saved by your teammate. You had to give it to him - he was great at making stuff up on the spot.

"Well, I think it was somewhere around a month after I first joined the team, and met her. It was just something about her, she's sort of electric in this almost untouchable way, you know?"

You try not to look too awkward standing next to him as he talks, feigning your best-interested smile - though a part of you is extremely intrigued by this fake story he's creating.

"At first I thought I just wanted to be like her, her passion and talent were just so respectable, but the more time I spent with her the more I realised it was something completely different."

He turns to look at you, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you close to him. Your expression falters a little as you're caught off guard by the sudden contact and as you turn away from the journalists and towards him, your eyes widen in shock at the sight of his pursed lips nearing yours. Before you realise it, his lips are against yours and you're pulling away as quickly as possible, face bright red. You're just barely aware of the thousands of flashing camera lights as you turn to quickly excuse yourself.

"Thank you all for coming, it was nice talking to you but, uhm, I have to go!" You hurriedly blurt out before slipping out of Franco's grip and darting off to your driver's room.

You hear his footsteps following closely behind you, as well as the sound of him calling out your name. When you near the door of your room, you turn around and grab his wrist to yank him in before you shut the door.

"What the hell was that?" is all you can muster out, "I thought we agreed no kissing?"

"Look, I can explain!"

You cross your arms with a huff, looking at him expectedly.

"I was just going to peck you quickly on the cheek, you know because we were getting all romantic and I wanted it to be believable! B-but then you turned, and then we," he's struggling not to ramble and his quickly moving hands do little to help. That's when you also realise his face is bright red as well, and he doesn't seem any less flustered by it than you do. "I'm really, really sorry I really shouldn't have done that."

You'd be lying if you said his explanation didn't make you feel any better. You're not actually upset about the kiss itself though, in fact, it's the opposite - actually, the grudge you're holding is doing little to help the internal struggle going on in your head. The kiss didn't make you angry, but the realisation that you wanted it to be real, did.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you slump down in the nearest chair. Franco does the same on the adjacent couch, though his gaze stays carefully on you, almost afraid of what you might say next.

"It's fine, I think we just need to coordinate our PDA a little better then."

"Yes, of course," he nods quickly.

There's a beat of silence. "You're really good at acting though."

"What?"

"That whole story you made up about how you fell in love with me, it was really believable." You laugh lightheartedly trying to lighten the situation and alleviate the awkwardness that's settled between you two.

"Well it's pretty easy, I didn't need to make up much of it," his eyes catch yours and his gaze is soft when he smiles at you.

"What?" you're confused.

"Never mind," he scoffs lightly, his gaze dropping to the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. He looks almost disappointed at something, though you can't realise what. "Well, I'll leave you alone now. I really am sorry about what happened before." You watch as he pushes himself up from the couch, his head hanging guiltily - looking almost like a scolded puppy.

"It's fine Franco, really, please don't feel too bad about it." He nods thankfully before slipping out the door, leaving you alone.

Being a driver, hotel rooms had come to be a companion you knew far too familiarly. Their high ceilings, plush sterile white bedsheets, the empty bathroom - almost everything about them felt a sign of loneliness, of temporality, a house that never felt like home. Even though you knew how ridiculous it would be to complain about something that others would see as a privilege, it was hard to deny the isolation you felt whenever in a new country, away from most of your family or friends.

Maybe that's why you had been so eager to latch onto Franco's idea - it made sense, he had become the person you spent the most time with so why not give yourself some ridiculous reason to be around him even more? However somewhere along the way you stopped needing the reason of fake dating, somewhere in between hushed conversations, planned posts and candid photos - and instead found yourself genuinely enjoying his company. It was a little strange and sometimes acted as a sour reminder of how lonely you'd become but more than anything it felt like a blessing in disguise.

You were reminded of this fact as you lay, wrapped in a plush white hotel robe, across your messy bedsheets - laughing to yourself at the tweets your boyfriend had sent you. They were all about you, or the two of you, of course. Comments on the tiniest things, the way the two of you looked at each other, the way Franco held your hand, the way you worried about him.

"I feel a little bad, they're all so gullible," you typed quickly.

"Oh, so now you feel bad?" His response was almost instant.

"Don't you?"

"It's fun, isn't it? All this playing pretend."

Right, pretend. You rolled onto your back with a deep sigh, staring up at the tall hotel ceiling. All of this was just so confusing - as if figuring out how you felt about someone wasn't difficult enough, the two of you had complicated it by tricking the entire world into thinking you were in love. Whether you truly liked him or not, the idea was doomed for failure - and the more you thought about it, the more it seemed like the former.

"You're right," you typed back, watching intently as the three tiny dots appeared, disappeared then reappeared. What could he be saying that would need so much thinking?

"Can we talk tomorrow, after the race?"

You felt your stomach drop, had he finally caught on to how obvious you were being about how you truly felt, and decided that actually it might be better to just drop this whole act and go on as just teammates? With trembling hands, you typed back.

"Sure, what about?"

"I'll tell you then, for now, we should sleep."

"Goodnight Franco."

"Goodnight mi amor." You laughed softly to yourself at the nickname he had given you, though a small part of you took it as salt to the wound - almost as if he was dangling the possibility of something that could never happen right in front of your desperate little face.

However, not like you had a choice - all you could do now was get ready for bed and brace yourself for whatever tomorrow brought.

You couldn't believe it. The sounds of celebration erupted around you, but you sat completely still in your car, silent, attempting to process what had just happened. Your first win, and, your first double podium, with Franco. Your head was spinning as the never-ending stream of thoughts raced through your mind. Suddenly, you heard a voice coming from above your car's halo, muffled by your helmet. You flick the visor up, lifting your head as highly as you could - locking eyes with your teammate.

"We did it! Oh my god!" The excitement on his face is enough to send a slight surge of energy through you as he offers you his hand, helping you out of the car. When you do though, you stumble a little - the nerves are almost too much for you.

"Woah, you alright?" Even through the fog clouding your mind you can make out the concern in Franco's voice and feel his arms steadying you.

"Yeah, just-" you mumble, gesturing to your helmet and making weak attempts to undo the clasps underneath it. It's almost suffocating you, and the chaos going on around you isn't helping the pounding headache.

"Oh, let me," he reacts immediately, dropping his own helmet and bringing his hands below your chin to swiftly undo the clasps and pull the helmet off of you. You take a deep breath of air as you pull off your fireproof mask, though it sounds more like a desperate gasp.

Around you, the crowds roar with excitement, both your team and others as they make attempts to gesture at the two of you to join them. Your head spins though, and you wobble backwards into Franco.

"It's too loud," is all you can stutter out, though he understands you almost immediately, a strong hand gripping your wrist and pulling you away from the noise and somewhere quieter. You're not entirely sure where he's taking you but at that moment you feel as though you'd follow him just about anywhere.

Luckily though, when your eyes refocus you're in his driver's room, and even though outside you can hear the cheers continuing, you're offered some solace here, the walls muffling the sound. You sigh, sinking into his couch as you throw your head back, panting still.

You feel like it's all just too much - not just the physicality of the race, but the feeling of winning it, winning it with Franco, just Franco himself. When you finally manage to catch your breath you lift your head to see him standing over you, watching intently.

"Better?"

"Much better, thank you." You smile earnestly, "Though I don't think we'll be able to hide in here much longer, there is a cooldown room for this exact reason."

"Oh, I mentioned it to someone, not sure who but he looked important, and he said it would be okay."

You laugh softly, amazed at how he can seem so calm even at a moment like this.

"We did it," you say, still not being able to believe it.

"We did," he smiles, sitting on the couch next to you, "a couples podium."

You feel your heart skip a beat at the sudden reminder of your conversation last night, him mentioning he had something to tell you. Was this it? The two of you had achieved what you had been wanting this entire time, and there was no better time to let this ridiculous bit go than now.

You stare at the wall of his room, the gigantic flag of his home country, and let out a shaky breath, mustering up the courage to break the silence. "So..."

He turns to you, one eyebrow raised in interest.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about?" You're trying your best to keep your voice lighthearted, "it sounded serious."

"Oh, well about that," he seems to have forgotten it temporarily as well, but the fact that he turns to look at the flag as well, almost unable to maintain eye contact with you, isn't a good sign.

Maybe it's the adrenaline from the race, maybe it's the fact that both of you are going to be needed out on the podium in about ten minutes - or maybe it's the fact that you're so desperate to get out these feelings and make him understand how you feel, but you start talking before you even realise it.

"Look, Franco, I," you start, not entirely sure of where you're going to end up, "I know you asked me to do this whole fake dating thing with you and I completely understand if you want to end it now, I mean why wouldn't we? It's perfect!"

He looks at you confused, lips parted as if about to interrupt you but you continue anyway, stupidly.

"But, look, here's the thing," you turn to him now, and you're sure your face is bright red, "I don't want this to end!"

You let out a deep sigh, and clutch your hands together to stop them from shaking, though it doesn't help that Franco looks even more confused now.

"What?" he says, and your heart drops.

"I," you pause, struggling to find the right words, and struggling to get them out, "I think I like you, like, for real." Okay, not exactly the best choice of words but it'll do.

"Like, not for the whole fake relationship thing?" his tone is still concerned and he leans in a little for clarification.

"Yes! Okay, I know it's not exactly what we thought would happen and it'll probably jeopardise our relationship as teammates but there, I like you okay."

"When did you realise?"

"A couple days ago, I'm sorry."

There's a beat of silence, and you're left with the agonising feeling of your heart racing in your chest, waiting eagerly for his response - for him to laugh in your face, for him to get mad, for him to reject you.

But instead, you watch as Franco's confused expression melts into one of pure relief as he sinks back into the couch with a sigh. "Oh, thank God."

It's your turn to be confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that," he says, eyes fixed on the ceiling with the widest smile you've ever seen.

"Wait you mean you-"

"I win!"

You're absolutely speechless, not a single coherent thought on what is going on or how to respond. All you can get out is a confused sort of grunt.

"I win, I've liked you for longer!" he laughs, sitting up and grabbing your hands in his.

You feel as though your jaw is going to dislocate at how fast it drops, "I'm sorry?"

"Oh c'mon, we've been teammates for a year I know you're not that oblivious."

"Well, apparently I am because I'm really confused."

"I've liked you since the moment I met you, you idiot."

"Wh-" You're about to be offended at the name-calling until what he says finally hits you. He likes you. He has liked you. For ages. You idiot.

"Even when you proposed this to me?"

"Yep."

"Even when we went to get ice cream?"

"Yep."

"Even when you kissed me?"

"Y- well wait no that was completely unintentional," he holds his hands out in defence. You slump back, trying your best to process everything today has entailed, it's almost too much. That is until you feel Franco move a little closer to you, his arm stretching around your shoulders and gently moving your head to lay on his. At that moment, it all becomes clear, and you're suddenly unsure about why you ever felt confused about any of this.

"What now?" You say, barely above a whisper.

"We go and get our trophies," even though you're not looking you can hear the smile in his voice. "Though, before then."

You lift your head up off his shoulder to turn to him with raised brows. "Hm?"

"Now that we aren't fake dating, do the rules still apply?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'd really like to kiss you right now," he whispers, and there's a hint of nerves as you watch his eyes dart in between yours and your lips.

"Really can't wait can you," you tease, though you still move to close the space in between you to. But just before your lips can touch his there's a knock at the door, causing you both to slump back with a sigh.

"Hey, are you two in there?" it's your race mechanic, "you're needed, you know, on the podium."

You roll your eyes to show your obvious disappointment at being interrupted, though Franco just watches you with an endeared smile.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, not being able to hide your own smile.

"I'm just thinking about how beautiful you're going to look up on that podium, and how I won't have to pretend not to be in love with you anymore."

Taglist : @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @cinderellawithashoe @vanicogh @taasgirl @claudiajacobs

@dripostsstuff @boiolay @earth-to-lottie @dejavuontrack @dudududu-fangirl

@kravitzwhore @gavisuntiedboot @reiofsuns2001 @musicmie @danielle12002x-blog

@alelo23 @corrodeddeadlydoll @aliwritex @nina-or-anna-or-nora

@5sospenguinqueen @araunahj @sbrn0905 @halleest @lottieliveslife

@lovestruck-sky @im-an-op81-fan @blubra @vienoiserieetc

(don't ask me why it's formatted so weird, tumblr hates me)

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Billiards !NSFW!

Avenger!Agatha Harkness x Fem!Avenger!reader

word count: 6,447

Content warnings: MDNI; jealous Agatha, established relationship, top!Dom!Agatha, bottom!Bratty!reader, ROUGH SMUT, heavy on the breeding kink, choking, magic strap, spit kink, bondage, squirting, controlled orgasm, dacryphilia (crying kink), tummy bulge, size kink, mommy kink, degradation kink, praise kink, impact play, mild intoxication, minimal use of 'y/n', soft Agatha at the end, AU nobody's dead

Summary: Agatha's birthday had never been a huge affair--until she became an Avenger. Now, she's celebrating at the biggest party ever thrown for her, and it's all thanks to you. But what happens when Tony makes a bet with you that he and Agatha can beat you and Nat at a heated game of billiards?

A/N: So I received a request for a breeding kink oneshot and then my tumblr was all fucked up and I had to delete the original post, so I lost the anon message. So, if you're the anon, here you go<3 I think this is the filthiest smut i've ever written BY FAR and also the longest oneshot I've written.  

I'm absolutely going to be making Avenger!Agatha a more frequent addition to my masterlist, so if you have any other ideas lmk! I have a little post here from a while ago about Agatha being an Avenger, so I'll probably be pulling more ideas from there!

And a huge shout out to the hotties of the Keeping Up With the Lesbihahns server! Thank you for being amazing human beings<3

Tip jar💕

The speakers vibrate with the bass of the song that blares from them. 

Across the room, Agatha laughs loudly and snorts before taking a sip of her drink–a ranch water on ice, garnished with a lime. You had been worried when she became an Avenger, not knowing how well she’d fit in, but now, after almost a year, you silently scold yourself. It took a bit of time for her to adjust, but she fits in perfectly, and in your one-hundred-sixteen years of knowing her, you had never seen her so happy.

Now, she celebrates her 353rd birthday at Avengers Tower. After everything you had been through together, from arguments that ended in you leaving, to finding her again and walking the Witches’ Road just a couple years ago, you never saw a future like this with her. But here you are, admiring her from the bar and blushing when she winks after catching you staring.

Having been out before the party, you never got a chance to see her after this morning, and you make your way over slowly. With a drink in hand, you weave through the maze of guests, stopping every so often to say hello and thank them and catch up. In fact, by the time you get to her, your drink is over halfway gone. 

“Hi,” she says, turning away from her previous conversation with that sly smirk that she seems to always have just for you. 

Her arm goes around your waist and you peck her on the lips, “Happy birthday! I feel like I haven’t seen you all day…”

“Mm, not true,” she says, taking a sip of  her drink and tightening her grip on you before she lowers her voice. “You saw me this morning and as I recall, it was quite pleasant.”

“Agatha Harkness!” you gasp, faltering into light laughter. “What is the matter with you?”

“There she is! The birthday girl!”

Just a bit away, Tony has his arms out wide, clearly in the beginning stages of inebriation. Agatha groans into her drink as he heads straight for you.

“Just sent Peter home and Wanda sent her kid with him too,” he says, drinking from glass. “I don’t know why I keep letting them attend these things.”

“What happened this time?” you ask.

Tony huffs, “Well, it’s getting late, and he and Billy tried to learn how to bartend…and subsequently dropped a $300 bottle of vodka.”

Your eyes widen and you smile when you see Natasha walking over. “Hey! Did you hear that Peter and Billy broke a $300 bottle of vodka?”

“Hear?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow and scoffing. “I watched it happen. Slipped right out of Parker’s small hands and landed right on the floor. Looked like he was about to shit bricks.”

Looking behind her, you notice that the billiards table is deserted and turn your head to look up at Agatha. “Would you care for a friendly game of pool, my love?”

“Friendly?” she says. “With how competitive you and I are? Nothing we play is ever ‘friendly’…but yes. I would love to.”

“Want to play?” you ask Tony and Nat. “Or are you too chicken from the last time Agatha kicked your ass, Tony?”

“Alright, fine,” he relents. “But let’s switch it up. Harkness, you’re with me.” At the table, he looks at you and Nat, clearly thinking. “Let’s make a wager. I bet a hundred bucks Harkness and I will kick your asses.”

Nat’s eyes widen and she scoffs, “Alright. You’re on.”

Beginning the game, Tony removes all but two of the balls from the table and you line them up on the head string. You retrieve the cues and hand one to Agatha to begin the lag, but she stops short.

“Wait,” she says, giving you a pointed look. “I know how you play. We need a referee.”

Nat glances around, holding tightly to her drink. The room is crowded and loud, but she manages to wave someone down. “Hey, Rogers!” she calls. “Come be our ref for the lag! This one here likes to cheat.”

Your jaw drops. “I do not like to cheat! Agatha is being dramatic!”

“Not what I remember from the last time we played Monopoly,” she mutters into her drink.

“I didn’t cheat,” you hiss. “You just kept landing on ‘Go to Jail’. And on top of that, you made a very bad investment by buying Park Place and Boardwalk! Everyone knows you don’t go for those! They’re a trap.”

“Alright, enough bickering,” Tony huffs. “But, Steve,” he adds, eyeing you, “keep an eye on her–actually, you know what? Keep an eye on both of them. Harkness cheats just as much.”

You down the rest of your drink, feeling it warm your insides. “I can’t do this without another drink, I’ll be back.” You see Agatha’s empty glass, asking if she wants another, and when she says yes, you dash, getting yourself an extra strong margarita and Agatha another ranch water, both with top-shelf tequila.

You hurry back with both drinks in hand, and when Agatha sees, she smiles as you hand her drink over. “There she is! What took you so long, hon? Planning out your cheating strategy?”

Before she can take her drink, you take it back and take a big sip. You look down and notice that a large lipstick stain has been left. You hum, shrugging your shoulders and giving her a coy smile, “Oops.”

Agatha purses her lips, but there’s an amused glint in her eyes and she takes a swig of her drink.

Setting your drinks aside, you stand to Agatha’s right, both of you lining your cues up with your respective lag balls. Steve stands close to the table with Tony and Nat, eyeing your cues carefully. And when you have them lined up, he starts to count down, “Alright, on three. One, two, three!”

With a light grip on your cue, you hit the ball softly, sending it to the footboard of the table. Agatha’s ball rolls next to yours, hitting the foot cushion just before yours. The five of you watch the two balls roll, your anxiety racing as Agatha’s hits the head cushion first and rolls back toward the head string, stopping a couple inches short. Your ball hits the cushion and rolls, just stopping short of Agatha’s lag ball.

You and Nat cheer, high fiving as Agatha groans. You give her a whiney pout with your best puppy eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby. Are you a sore loser?”

You can see Agatha trying not to smile and she just manages to suppress it, “Not at all,” she scoffs. “That was just the lag. Set up the other cue balls and take your shot so that Stark and I can win a hundred bucks from each of you.”

“You’re very confident tonight,” you laugh.

“Stop teasing,” she huffs. “It’s my birthday.”

“Are we placing bets now?” Steve asks casually, his hand in his pocket as he sips his drink. 

“A hundred dollars buy-in,” Tony responds. “You want in?”

“My bet is on these two,” Steve says, pointing to you and Nat.

“Oh, come on!” Tony scoffs. “Y/N is crap at billiards. The last time we played, she sent a ball off the table and Agatha ended up taking over!”

You giggle beside Agatha and Steve shrugs. “I dunno, I just got a feeling.” 

Nat removes the triangle and lines up her cue with the ball, aiming for the red 3 at the tip of the triangle. You stay by Agatha’s side, eyeing her from the side. “I better not hear any incantations from that mouth of yours,” you mumble.

“My lips are sealed,” she mutters back.

You hum, “They weren’t this morning.” And you can see her turn toward you and open her mouth in rebuttal, but Nat gets the 9 ball in on her first turn and you cheer. “Awesome, we’re stripes!” you smile, completely ignoring Agatha.

You step up with your cue, leaving Agatha with Tony and Steve. Lining up the cue with the white ball and aiming for the 14 ball, Nat leans over you.

Her left hand comes to your back and her right hand to yours, adjusting the position of the cue. “If you hold it like this,” she says, her voice low, “you’ll get a lot more control.”

You look across the table to where Agatha stands. She holds her drink tightly and her lips are puckered as you make eye contact. And when you grin, you watch her tongue poke the inside of her cheek. You’ve known her long enough now, that you know exactly what’s going on in her head.

You glance back at Nat and thank her for the advice before shooting the ball. The cue ball hits the 14 almost perfectly into the pocket and Nat replaces you with her turn. When you step back you look at Agatha and raise your eyebrows, shrugging your shoulders and grinning. You receive a slow shake of her head and a slight chuckle.

Nat misses her shot and Agatha steps up to take her place, eyeing the 3 ball and shooting it in the closest pocket. Tony takes his place now and lands the 7 ball in the pocket, letting Agatha take her turn again. 

As she lines her cue up with the ball, aiming for the 5 ball, Wanda enters the sidelines and is followed by two others–Thor and Loki. Wanda stands beside Nat who asks her if she wants in on the bet–to which Wanda agrees, placing a hundred on Agatha and Tony.

“I’ve seen how Y/N plays,” Wanda says. “My bet is on them.”

Nat purses her lips and sighs, looking you up and down from behind. “I dunno. She’s getting pretty good.”

Across the table, as you watch her with admiration, Agatha can see everything happening and her mind starts to cloud. She takes a deep breath and shoots, only to end up scratching the cue ball in the pocket across from it. “Dammit!”

“I’ll place a hundred on them,” Thor says, pointing at you and Nat.

Loki–who is clearly drunk–looks between the two teams, “I’ll place a hundred on Stark and Harkness.”

 You step up to the table and aim the cue ball for the 13, managing to ricochet it off a cushion and land it in the pocket. “You’re up, Romanov,” you say, eyeing Agatha with a sense of pride.

“Well, shit,” Wanda sighs. “Maybe I should’ve placed my money on you two.”

When Nat walks past you, her hand brushes against your waist. Agatha watches on, her nostrils flaring, but still remaining civil–but, God, is it hard when she’s watching you with Nat.

Nat manages to get the 10 ball into a pocket. Only the 12, 11, and 15 balls are left, and you manage to knock the 11 ball into the pocket fairly easily.

With a prideful grin, Natasha steps up again, looking between the 12, 15, and 8 balls. Three more. As she gears up to hit the 12 ball, Bruce and Clint have joined, watching intently.

Tony looks miserable, and his third drink is definitely hitting him, because when you miss your next shot at the 15 ball, he loses his balance briefly before stepping up.

“You haven’t won just yet,” he sighs, and knocks the 2 ball into a pocket. 

Agatha’s up again and she leans down, lining up the cue and carefully knocking the 6 ball into a pocket. Tony’s back up and once again successfully hits the 4 ball into a pocket, and when Agatha gets the 1 ball in, tensions rise.

There are three object balls on the pool table.

The 5 ball, the 15 ball, and the 8 ball.

They could easily win. If Tony gets the 5 ball in, all he has to do is knock the 8 ball into the pocket. Neither of them are in the most difficult positions, but being three, almost four, fairly strong drinks in, they could be at the edge of a pocket and he’d still miss.

Your heart races, and you can feel your face flush from the alcohol. Tony lines up his cue with the cue ball and…

He misses.

“Shit!” Agatha groans.

The ones who placed their bets on Tony and Agatha are looking sheepish now, and when Nat walks up to the table, she lines her cue up, draws it back, and shoots.

And the 15 ball goes right in.

Cheers from both sides erupt, some good, some bad. Murmurs bounce around, predictions shared, and you slowly walk up, cue stick in hand.

“You hustled us, didn’t you?” Tony sighs, rubbing his face tiredly.

You lean down to line your stick up with the cue ball. Your eyes go to Agatha and then you look directly at Tony with a shit-eating grin, “Yes, yes I did.”

You draw the stick back, focus on the cue ball, take a deep breath, and strike. The 8 ball rolls quickly…right into the back left pocket.

Tony’s head falls back while Agatha tries not to look so frustrated. As the other members of the team whoop or jeer (with Steve boasting that he knew it and was the first one to place a bet on you), Nat hugs you and Agatha struggles just a bit more to hide her emotions.

She chugs the rest of her drink and you mosey over with a sway in your hips and a smile on your lips. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Why don’t we get you another drink.”

You set the cue stick down on the table while the rest of the gathering either sits down or disperses to other conversations. Taking Agatha’s hand and your empty glass, you follow her to the bar. What follows is a third drink–her fourth–and then retiring to the wildly expensive sofas with your fourth drink around midnight.

Leaning against Agatha in your tipsy haze, you watch as the party guests slowly file out. You both nurse your drinks, talking quietly and soon having the other team members sitting down with you.

You all talk and laugh, sharing stories and adding in quips here and there. When your drink is finished and Agatha’s abandoned hers, you’re pulled even tighter into her side. You subtly look up and notice where her eye line is immediately–you knew it from the second you went to make your shot and Nat came up behind you. Agatha’s jealousy only got worse after that, and her eyes are narrowed at Nat, who seems completely oblivious to it.

Smiling, you know exactly how this will end. You kiss Agatha’s shoulder and then the hand that holds you close. Looking around, you see that there are very few guests left and most of them are at the bar. The music is quieter now, and the rest of the team is thoroughly immersed and distracted by a drunken game of gin rummy.

You lean in close to her ear and lower your voice, “I’m feeling a little…tired, do you want to go upstairs with me?”

Agatha says nothing and stands up, leans down to get her glass, knocks back the rest of her drink, and then takes your hand.

You giggle to yourself as you both rush off to the elevator. “Slow down,” you laugh. “I think I’ve crossed the threshold between tipsy and drunk.”

Once in the elevator, you’re pushed against the wall before you can press the button to your floor. Agatha presses it herself, huffing into your mouth. 

“I couldn’t stand watching her touch you like that,” she mutters, breathing heavily as her fingers thread through your hair. “Touching what’s mine…”

You kiss her and pull back, your noses pressing against each other. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re jealous.”

“Shut up,” she seethes, and kisses you hard. “God, I fucking love you.”

The doors on your floor open and you’re pushed out of the elevator. Agatha presses you against the wall, hovering over you as she devours your disheveled look–lipstick smudged, hair frizzy, it drives her crazy and she crashes into you again.

You both stumble to the door, refusing to let go of each other. When the door opens, it’s shut quickly after, with you slammed against it and Agatha’s hands slip under your shirt. You gasp when you feel her nails scrape down your torso, hands grasping her waist tightly as she maneuvers you around.

You’re both breathing heavily, faces flushed and lipstick ruined as her lips suck marks into your neck. “Wait, wait, wait,” you pant, your mind dazed. “Makeup–we should probably take off our makeup.” You slip from her grasp and toss her a look over your shoulder, “And then you can lay your claim on me…”

A fire flickers behind her eyes and she follows you into the ensuite bathroom. Through your intoxicated haze, you messily remove each other’s makeup, uncontrollably giggling as she tries to lay endless kisses on you.

“You taste like makeup wipes,” she hums, laughing and kissing you as the two of you stagger out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

“Mm, so do you, but don’t worry,” you breathe. “That’ll change soon.”

“You know…” she huffs. “I was thoroughly enjoying my birthday…” Her hand comes up to your chin, tilting your head back to look her in the eyes. “Especially the view from behind when you’d shoot during pool…” She takes a deep breath in, “Oh, I loved that…You know I loved that…Until that slut had her hands all over you…”

You glance down at her lips and then back up at her eyes, your hands running over her hips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Agatha chuckles darkly. She readjusts her hold on your chin to fully grip your jaw now, fingers digging into your cheeks. She towers over you, making you feel impossibly small as you crane your neck to look up at her. “You’re a big girl.” Her voice is low and gravelly, and it makes your knees weak. “You’re smarter than that. So, tell me, why did you let it happen, baby?”

You choose your next words carefully. You could deny the whole thing again, but you know you can do better, so instead, you say, “Because…I know how you are when you’re jealous…and I know how much it gets you worked up…and I want nothing more than for you to fuck me until I’m crying.”

The look in her eyes visibly changes to something darker. Her lips curl into a wicked smile, “God, you’re such a fucking slut…” Her eyes skim down your body and back up before she leans in close. “Get on your knees.”

“No.” The words tumble from your lips with no hesitation.

“I’m going to tell you one more time…and I’d think very carefully about how you'll respond,” she warns you. With each word, she gets closer to your lips. “Now…get…on…your knees.”

You look her in the eyes defiantly one more time before dropping to your knees slowly.

“Good,” she mutters. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

Agatha crosses the room to the walk-in closet where she remains inside for a short amount of time. When the door opens again, she stands there in nothing but a black lace bra, a satin robe, and…there it is.

She grins as she watches the expression on your face change to something that looks like you’re masking excitement. But it’s hard. It’s so fucking difficult, because every time she puts that strap on–the double ended one, the designated strap that means there’ll be magic involved–you can’t help but squirm.

“Someone’s excited,” she drawls, creeping closer. The mix of alcohol and lust makes your heart race as she gets nearer and nearer to you, before finally standing tall over you. Her hand comes to your hair, stroking it softly, and you can’t help but admire how she looks in this lighting–the dim glow of the bedroom lamps, the floor-to-ceiling windows that cast the white light of New York City into the room, the shadows on the left side of her face seem to sharpen all of her features.

The features that turn hard and dark as she scowls at you. 

“Suck,” she commands, her fingers twisting into your hair and jerking your head forward.

You look up at Agatha with wide eyes and lean forward. Slowly taking the strap in your hand, you can feel the light hum of magic and judging by her facial reaction, she can feel every brush of your fingers on the fake cock.

Your head feels light and airy as you take it in your mouth. She huffs, letting out a breathy laugh, “That’s it, baby. Suck Mommy’s cock like the good little slut you are.”

Her fingers tighten in your hair and start pushing your head forward. You feel tears flood your eyes and drool drip from your lip as you begin to choke on the fake dick. Above you, Agatha wears a wicked smile as she looks down. When the tears fall from your eyes, rolling down your flushed cheeks, she reaches down with one hand and wipes them away. “Aww, the poor baby,” she pouts. “Can’t even wrap your hand all the way around Mommy’s cock because it’s so big.”

She pulls your head back roughly and drops you like a rag doll. “Get on the bed.” You stand up and walk slowly over, only moving quicker when she comes up behind you and slaps your ass. “Faster,” she spits. 

She practically manhandles you when you get onto the bed, maneuvering you to the middle and giving you no chance to breathe before her lips are on yours again.  Her hand grips your jaw tightly, “You suck Mommy’s cock so well, you know that?”

“I do know that,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Someone’s full of herself tonight,” she says smugly. “You’re such a brat.”

You sigh as Agatha leans down to kiss you, “You love it.”

She hums against your lips. “I’d never admit it,” she mutters. 

“Who’s the brat now, Mommy?” you tease.

She pulls back and tightens her grip on your face. “Someone needs to fix that filthy mouth of yours,” she growls. “You don’t get to speak to me that way. Do you understand?”

Heat rushes straight to your core and you squirm beneath her, trying to hold back a drunken giggle.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing right now,” she says, shaking her head. “Things are only going to get much worse…but that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

You bite the inside of your lip, knowing that the look you give her when you do it drives her up the walls. Nodding your head, you let out a little, “Mhm.”

“You’re such a slut,” she sighs, shaking her head lightly. “Do you remember your safe word?” she asks, and when you say yes, she leans down, smiling softly. “Good…I love you.”

“I love you too,” you mutter back, receiving the softest kiss of the night so far.

When she sits back, all the warmth that was in her eyes when she kissed you has dissipated. “Now…what to do with you…” Her hands roam your body as she begins to slowly strip you of your black dress and pantyhose. “You’ve been such a brat all a week…teasing me during training–you know how I get when you wear those leggings.” Her voice, though syrupy sweet, is laced with venom. “And your hands when I was driving us home from dinner…” She clicks her tongue, “distracted driving…so dangerous. And now, on my birthday, letting Nat put her hands on you just so you’d get me wound up…” She raises her voice and the sweetness in her voice has gone. “Oh…you’ve been…Such. A bad. Girl…”

Agatha’s hands pull your legs apart roughly, fingers coming down to rub the gusset of your underwear. “Hmm…and look how worked up you’re getting from it.” She moves it aside and drags a finger up and down your slit. “So wet for me, baby. Did choking on Mommy’s cock really get you this turned on?”

The tip of her finger teases your entrance and goes back up to circle your clit. You let out a shuddering breath. “Yes,” you breathe

She hums. “So fucking filthy.” And without warning she tears your lace underwear, discarding them on the bed.

“Agatha!” you gasp. “Those were expensive!”

She shrugs nonchalantly and rubs the inside of your thighs, “Don’t worry about it, toots.” She leans down and kisses your torso, trailing them down to your thighs. “I’ll get you a new pair. I’ll get you ten new pairs. And each one will be sexier than the last.”

She dips her head and licks a long, slow stripe up your slit. She circles the tip of it over your clit before inching it down to your entrance and keeping it there as your head spins with pleasure. She moves it in and out, collecting every last drop of your arousal.

Agatha sits up and leans over you, her hand coming up to grab your jaw again. “Open your mouth.” You obey and she lets a slow string of her spit and your arousal drip into your mouth. “Good girls swallow,” she says, and you do exactly that. She smiles, but it’s condescending on every level. “There she is…What do you say?”

“That you no longer taste like makeup wipes,” you say with a mischievous look and anticipating the reaction that would come after.

Her eyes are the darkest you’ve seen them, but you don’t dwell on it for much longer because the slap that comes to your face is quick and sharp. Her hand grabs your jaw again and squeezes your cheeks hard enough that your lips pucker. “I give you exactly what you want, and you don’t even have the decency to say ‘thank you’.” She looks over your face and sneers. “You really are enjoying this, hm? I wonder how much you’d enjoy it if I edged you to the point of insanity.”

She laughs at the look of fear in your eyes when you realize she’s serious. Her hands grab your wrists and cross them, holding them over your head.

“Keep your hands there,” Agatha mutters dangerously. “Or I’ll tie them up.”

The words “Yes, mommy” are on the tip of your tongue, but instead, you push her to the edge, hands wriggling in her grasp. “If I were you, I’d tie them up.” Your eyes become soft and pleading. “You just fuck me so well, Mommy, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay still.”

Your words have a clear effect on her because she closes her eyes momentarily and steadies her breathing. She climbs off the bed, goes back to the walk-in closet, and returns with your favorite vibrator and the black satin restraints that you use more than you care to admit.

So much so, that you had six hooks installed–four in discrete areas of the bottom of the headboard and footboard, and two on either side of the bed frame, tucked underneath and out of sight. 

And after Agatha removes your bra, she utilizes them quickly. Your hands are tied together tightly above your head and she stands beside the bed, looking over you and thinking. “Hmm…Should I tie your legs up too? Completely bound while I fuck you, but never let you cum.”

Silently, she answers her own question and takes four more restraints, tying two to your ankles and the other two to your thighs. You couldn’t lie, you weren’t expecting it to go this far, but, god, you’re not complaining. Her fingers glide through your folds before landing a hard slap on your pussy.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me now?” she asks, face hovering over yours. 

“Maybe…” you sigh. 

“Maybe?” she repeats. “Well, hopefully, by the time you’re begging to cum, you’ll change your answer.”

She reaches for the vibrator, looking down at you like a predator with its prey. “I’m going to have so much fun with this,” she groans, turning the vibrator on to its lowest setting and pressing to your clit. As your back arches and your jaw drops, two fingers are slipped inside you easily.

Her fingers curl and speed up quickly, the sound of your wetness and your moans filling the room. You don’t think you’ve ever had an orgasm approach so quickly. 

“Agatha! I need–!” You choke on your words as you struggle against the restraints.

She stops her motions and the vibrator entirely, running her hands over spread thighs. “Still having fun?” she says, patronizing you.

You huff, keeping on your facade that’s quickly fading, “Yes, I am, actually.”

Agatha sees right through you, of course, and after giving you a few minutes to settle down, she turns the vibrator back on. She repeats this routine until you lose track in counting and you’re sobbing.

“You wanna cum?” she asks, pouting. When you nod your head and let out a strangled cry, she removes the vibrator and her fingers. “Oh, poor baby…I thought this is what you wanted, though?”

Your chest is heaving and tears blur your vision. You choke on your sobs through the most pleasurable pain you’ve ever experienced. “Mommy, please! Please, please, please!” you sob.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum,” she says, her hand wrapping around your throat. “You know that. So, I’ll ask you again. Are you going to be a good girl?”

You whimper beneath her, the tip of her strap grazing your clit as the pressure inside becomes unbearable. “Yes!” you say finally. “Yes, I’ll be good! I promise!”

“Will you use your manners?” she asks. “Say please and thank you? And take everything that I give you, and do everything I tell you?”

“Yes, Mommy!” you say, arching your back into her. “I’ll do anything, I promise! Please!”

Agatha hums and kisses you, trailing her lips to your cheeks and licking the tears from them. She sits back and slips her fingers back into your cunt with ease before turning the vibrator back on. You moan loudly, verging on a scream as your orgasm comes hurtling toward you. You cry and beg and plead for Agatha to let you cum, and finally, those words leave her mouth.

“Cum for Mommy, baby,” she tells you. “That’s it! Good girl!”

“Thank you!” you cry. “Thank you!”

Your body shakes and you scream as you gush all over her hand. She throws the vibrator aside, fucking you through your orgasm as you sob. “There she is! Good girl! Look at you!”

When you go limp, she leans over you, opening your mouth and sticking her middle and pointer fingers inside. You close your lips around them immediately, moaning at the taste of yourself. Agatha presses her fingers on your tongue, pushing them back far and fucking your mouth until you choke. When she pulls them out, spit following, she grabs your face hard and kisses you even harder. 

It all happens quickly. She sits up, not giving you a moment to recover, releases your legs from their bounds, throws her robe on the floor, and takes a pillow from behind you and places it under your hips. Her hands come under your knees, gripping your thighs and pushing them wide open. 

A loud moan escapes your throat as she slowly thrusts into you. “It’s too big!” you cry. “Agatha–”

“Ah, ah,” she tuts. “No complaining.” She softens her voice, comforting you with a hand over your stomach. “I know, baby. It’s bigger than usual, but you can take it.” When her hand presses down, she gasps and pulls it away. “Oh, look at that…so fucking big, you can see it peeking through…”

The feeling of magic buzzes through you faintly as she pulls out and pushes back in. Agatha’s head falls back and her eyes close as you clench around her. “Fuck, your pussy feels so fucking good.” 

Your arms strain against their restraints, desperate to get your hands on her as her hips speed up. The sound of skin slapping against skin reverberates around the room and she leans in close with her hand on your throat, squeezing lightly. You’re gasping into each other’s mouths, and just as you’re about to beg her to untie your hands, she reaches up and pulls the tail end of the ribbon.

Your hands claw at Agatha’s back, holding onto her tightly as you tremble beneath her. “Fuck, I want you to cum inside me,” you gasp. “Please!”

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she huffs following it with a breathy chuckle. “You want me to fuck you so good that you end up pregnant. How fucking amazing would that be? Knowing I did that. You’d look so fucking beautiful, baby.” Her thrusts grow messier as she continues and you’re beginning to teeter on the brink of bliss. “Carrying our child, everybody–even that slut downstairs–knowing you’re taken–that you’re mine.”

You let out a strangled gasp and your hand slaps over your mouth, only for her to remove it and lace her fingers with yours. “Don’t cover your mouth, baby,” she says. “I want to hear everything. So, tell me, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” you seethe, your teeth clenching as you look up at her desperately. “Fuck, yes, I would! Cum inside me! I want to carry your baby, and I want everyone to know who I belong to! I’m yours! I’m fucking yours, Agatha! I love you so fucking much!”

“Then let’s fucking do it,” she breathes. “Let’s have a baby and let everyone know who you belong to.” She can see you struggling to hold on, to hold off finishing before her. But she forces you to look at her, and with a crazed, heated look in her eyes, she says, “Cum. Now. Cum for me.”

“Fuck! Thank you, Mommy!” you sob, shaking violently underneath her as you start to finish. You can feel her throb inside you and as you just get over the peak of your orgasm, you feel the warmth of her own spread through you. 

Agatha goes limp on top of you, a comforting weight as she presses soft kisses to your shoulder and neck. You’re both out of breath, but still, she kisses you on the lips tenderly and trails them from your cheeks to your ear.

“I love you,” she says softly. She sits up, pulling out slowly and removing the strap. After tossing it on the floor, she rests on top of you again, leaning on her elbow and supporting her head with her hand. “Thank you for a wonderful birthday,” she mutters, kissing you again. “But if that bitch ever touches you again, she’ll be a sacrifice at our next coven meeting.”

Agatha ends her threat with a boop to your nose, a smile, and then a kiss on your lips. You giggle into it, smiling against her lips, “Come on, let’s go take a bath.”

After helping each other out of bed, Agatha wraps her robe around herself and guides you to the bathroom with a hand on your back. As you prepare the bath, she cleans herself up and retrieves the towels, placing them on the towel warmer that you insisted your room have. 

She comes up behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, lips brushing your ear. “I’m going to put some pants on and sneak downstairs to the kitchen to get us some wine and snacks. Would you like anything specific?”

“Oh, good,” you muse. “My drunken haze is starting to wear off, and I cannot have that.” You turn your head, giggling, “No, hon. It’s your birthday. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

“Well, technically it’s not my birthday anymore,” she mutters. “It’s almost four in the morning.”

“Go get the wine,” you say.

When she returns with the wine, two glasses, and crackers underneath her arm, she sighs. “Everyone’s gone and Gin Rummy lies abandoned on the coffee table.”

“Surprise, surprise,” you hum, taking the opened bottle from her hand and pouring yourself a glass. “Probably at Taco Bell. Now get in while it’s still hot.”

These are your favorite nights. The quiet ones. The ones spent in a hot bath and Agatha’s arms, with a glass of wine and snacks. Sure, you enjoyed the nights out and the parties, but these–when it's just the two of you–are your favorite.

You lean into Agatha’s touch, back against her chest as she wraps her arms around you. “Mm, don’t forget you owe me a hundred dollars.”

Her lips dip to the meeting place of your shoulder and neck, leaving soft kisses. “I think I just gave you something worth a lot more than a hundred dollars.”

You laugh at her response and turn partially in her arms to give her a proper kiss. “You’re right. Plenty of people would pay for that.”

She giggles into your neck, hands roaming your body in the water. Everything’s quiet and peaceful, perfect, but one question lingers in your mind.

“Agatha?” you say quietly. 

“Hm?”

“Um…” You try to think of the phrasing, not trying to sound too eager. “Were you serious when you said ‘let’s have a baby’?”

You feel her arms tighten and lips press to your neck. Her voice is quiet, “Do you want me to be serious?”

“I–Well–We’re not even married.” You try to reason, but it’s not with her. It’s with yourself, and your voice is tight, “But…Maybe…?”

“Remember when we had that tea party with Morgan a few months ago?” Agatha asks, and you nod. “That whole time I couldn’t stop looking at you–that silly tiara and those clip-on earrings, every time you made her laugh, played along and talked to her stuffed animals…” She sighs, “I just couldn’t stop thinking about how good of a mother you would make.”

You turn your head and look at her, trying to keep your tears at bay. “Really?”

She kisses you softly. “Really. You know, up until that day, I didn’t think I could love you any more than I already did. But when you sat down at that pink table with her, and you put on that ridiculous tiara, I was proven very wrong.” 

Her thumb wipes away a stray tear on your cheek as you sniffle, and she smiles softly when she says her next words, the arm around your waist tightening. “So, let’s get married, and we’ll see what the future has in store for us.”

[douqhnxtss]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ THE SINNER'S ANGEL ⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚✧˖°.

you were young and gullible, your sister had no choice but to keep you with herself to make sure you were protected. however, she forgot to protect you from the biggest womanizer and her boss, karina— who was determined to make you hers.

✧ mafia/gang!au, reader is minjeong's younger sister, a little age gap (reader is five years younger than karina), karina is 27 ('98 liner) and reader is 22 ('03 liner), medical student!reader, injuries and blood, little fighting, very flirty!jimin, shy & easily flustered!reader, minjeong is SUPER over-protective, jimin falls in love at first sight, jimin is lwk obsessed (in not a good way tbh), petname (angel), fluff, some angst (not too bad fyi), downbad!jimin, lots of angel/sinner talk, opposites attract trope, proofread — gang leader!jimin x soft fem!reader ⋆ wc! 5.41k °° by how the teaser of this fic already has 150+ notes as I was writing this, I think yall will love this!! And I also LIVE for this like I'm a sucker for a good opposites attract trope okay? Idc what u think, I love this, this is one if not my best fic yet, this is also the new longest fic I've written as of now (i cant believe i wrote this much what), likes n reblogs r appreciated very much, ty love yall<33

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

THE AUTUMN LEAVES BLEW ALONG WITH THE WIND. your head turned to the side as you heard the sound of leaves crunching. your legs swung loosely in the air while you watched a black cat walk into view cautiously.

you gasped at the sight, cooing at the cutie to come closer, it cat-walked to you and you immediately scooped it in your arms, dropping her on your lap. it stared up at you, it's head snuggling into your hand that was around it's head with a satisfied purr.

you giggled, finally having found anyone ever since you sat on the front porch of the gigantic mansion that resided in the woods. you'd been waiting for your sister for about an hour now, with zero signs of human life in sight.

you were questioning whether it was actually where your sister lived, in the middle of nowhere, or you were just sitting on the porch of a random haunted house with a cute cat snuggled in your lap.

you heard soft voices coming from further in the woods, am i hallucinating now? you thought, looking as far as you could to see the faces of the voices.

"was it necessary to murder him, jimin?" minjeong rolled her eyes at the ravenette who had her arm around her shoulders. "obviously, he was going to kill you, jeong."

yizhou chuckled, swinging her intertwined hand with aeri's. "girl, your sister is coming, we don't wanna explain to her that your sister got killed because she was busy talking to a cat."

"well, he was adorable, okay?" minjeong retorted and then, the wires in her brain shortcircuited, "wait.. my sister... my sister was coming at four and now it five-fifteen!"

the four halted in their tracks at the revelation and minjeong let out a string of curses, her sister was the most punctual person she knew.

the korean ran her way to their shared mansion, gaze eagerly looking for the shorter kim she loved, to see you kissing her cat. a wide grin pulled up her lips, "y/nie!!" she yelled and your hold on the cat loosened.

you quickly sat the cat down and ran into minjeong's arms. she lifted you up, swirling with you in circles as you both giggled non-stop. "that's enough! put me down, minie!"

she finally put you on the ground and pecked your forehead, "i'm so sorry for making you wait, y/nie. work took longer than expected." she apologized over and over.

"it's okay, in the meantime i got to chat with ninie!" you pulled away from the hug to see three women lined up beside one another.

"hello, i'm kim y/n! i was born 2003, i'm minie's little sister." you bowed and introduced yourself with a smile. "they'll introduce themselves inside the house, now come on in!"

minjeong picked your luggage up as if it weighed nothing to her while you almost passed out getting it all from the road to the porch.

once you were seated in the middle of the couch in the living room with the three teammates of minjeong and herself, they started introducing themselves one by one.

"hello, lil' kim, i'm aeri uchinaga, known as giselle too. welcome to the team!"

"hi sexylicious queen, i'm ning yizhou, many call me ning, some call me a bitch. i'm the youngest out of us and you're younger than me, it's a sign we're going to be besties."

you giggled as yizhou threw a quick wink at you making aeri shove her, "cute and all, but i'm here." you remembered that minjeong did say two of the four were dating each other, you assumed it was them.

then all eyes went to the ravenette sitting beside you with unreal features, almost as if she was a robot. she had an underlying smirk as she spoke, her eyes looking so deep into yours that you were sure she saw through your soul and more.

"hey, i'm yu jimin, i'm often referred to as karina. i promise you'll be taken good care of as long as you're with me." her words were basic reassurances but there was a dark edge to them that you couldn't decipher entirely.

she extended her hand for you to take, which you did with a smile. as you pulled back, her touch lingered, like sparks emitted from the little contact.

that night, it was harder to sleep. you're usually knocked out in five minutes flat, just so tired from studying, you were a medical student after all. but tonight was different, you chalked it up to the unfamiliar environment from your previous home.

on the other hand, jimin was also awake for what felt like all night. she didn't know why, her mind kept drifting to the afternoon earlier.

something about you, she couldn't place her finger on it but she felt drawn to you, she hated that. she swore to herself that she'd never let herself feel anything for anyone, she promised to herself she'd always stick to flings and would never fall for anyone.

she was just overthinking it at this point, she was obviously not going to be anything with her bestfriend's sister, who was five years younger than her, duh.

──────── ✧✦

turning all the lights off, you plopped down on the bed. you took the pillow beside you, hugging it tight. your teeth held your bottom lip captive as you stared at the ceiling, your mind fuzzy from this new and unknown feeling that bloomed in your heart.

you couldn't get the incidents out of your head, they kept replaying over and over. the woman was stuck in your head and you didn't know if it was a good thing or not.

your heart was in shambles, on the brink of popping out of your chest. the room felt suddenly more hot as if the air conditioner wasn't working when it was already on a high setting.

gosh, what am i thinking? you thought. yet you also couldn't get the moments out of your system. she'd practically plagued you, like a deadly virus spreading through your veins.

good thing you like villains.

──── ୨ৎ

it'd been a week since you initially moved in, the premises of the house were now more familiar. you decided to cook breakfast for you all, so the four can have a meal before work and you can past some time.

you knew you should savor the few days of complete stressfree-ness you have, but you'd adjusted to the busy and hectic schedule of uni and life.

you were either too preoccupied in cooking or had hearing problems as you missed to hear jimin's footsteps come up.

she had a scowl on her face as she walked closer, she thought you should stay away from stuff like cooking, thinking you knew as much about it as she knew about medicine.

however, as the milkshake and waffles came into view, her scowl dropped, replaced with a open mouth-full of shock face. "you made that?" she asked incredulously.

"uh, yeah, i did." you nodded, mouthing a good morning and turning away as fast as you could. had you known she was in a sports bra and shorts, covered in sweat indicating she just came from the inbuilt gym, you wouldn't have turned.

she huffed and turned away, leaving you there with crimson red cheeks, eyes wide as saucers, the image flashing in your mind. you knew it was wrong to ogle at someone's body, but her toned abs? they were enough to make any man and woman drool.

you hurriedly wiped your mouth with your shirts sleeve, swiping your tongue over your bottom lip, did i just drool? over my sister's bestfriend? the thoughts raced in your mind,

what just happened?

──── ୨ৎ

you were peacefully in your room, scrolling on instagram, you'd finished all your work and had nothing to do. it was a boring day, you thought and let out a sigh.

you jumped as you heard a crash downstairs, your feet walking on their own, rushing down to see what the commotion was about to see a woman walk in with minjeong's support, yizhou and aeri following suit, both also holding onto eachother as well.

you ran over to them, the woman turning out to be jimin, her clothes stained vermillion, head thrown back, hand clutching her stomach. the girls were barely holding back their tears.

you got the first aid kit they'd kept for dangerous situations like this, you'd just tried removing a bullet wound yesterday at uni, all you had to do was do it again.

expect it's an actual woman, and jimin too at that.

you took a deep sigh, anxiety creeping in you. shaking your head, you knew you needed to let go of the fear, jimin's life was on the line. you helped her lay down and lifted her shirt.

you were astonished with just how much blood there was everywhere. stuffing all your other thoughts away, you focused on the task at hand.

meticulously removing the bullet, you breathed, unknowingly having held your breath throughout the removal. you rummaged through the kit to find anesthesia before you start stitching.

"we don't have anesthesia.. we don't have anesthesia." the silence was too unbearable as thier mouths were open, unsure of what to do. "i— i'll deal-deal with.. with it." jimin's hushed voice broke the silence.

your heart clenched hearing her cough and gasp in pain and to think of how much it was about to hurt as you stitched the wound? it was enough to make you tear up, but you had more important things to do.

"hold me tight, unnie." it was the first time you called her the respected term. she raised her hand and you took it, placing it on your shoulder for her to hold onto.

you balled up your handkerchief, gently hovering it over her mouth, "keep this in your mouth, please." she did as you asked, biting onto the cloth as you began.

each stitch you did, her grip tightened more around your shoulder, grasping it as if her life depended on it. you were sure her grip was ought to leave marks.

the thick air filled with silence and the only noise being you doing your job. "can you lift your hips for me, unnie?" you asked sweetly, your eyes glossed over, you were so going to scream into your pillow tonight.

she did so and you took some gause, wrapping it around her waist as to prevent her other clothes from getting stained and to protect the wound from any bacteria.

"we're done." the room broke out into relieved gasps, yizhou patted your shoulder and aeri tipped her head up, relieved that her boss was going to be okay.

you removed the handkerchief from the korean's mouth, helping her sit up straight. you ran into the kitchen and came out with some water.

you kept the glass at her lips, slowly helping her drink and cool down her nerves. "you should eat food that will increase your blood levels, unnie." you advised, her gentle nod following.

that day, jimin's annoyance wavered, you weren't the little kid she assumed you were, you were a kind soul— an angel.

a certain switch flicked in her brain and she was now very thrilled to live with you, and take care of you too, ofcourse.

your mind was a mess. you were happy she was okay; you weren't happy that you got to practice removing bullets and stitching so soon. most importantly, you didn't know why you were so relieved that she was alright.

yes, she was your sister's bestfriend, you being worried is justified but being so delighted to know that she trusted you, a medical student who'd never performed on a real person before, to save her? it made you question many possibilities.

and why did the term unnie slip off your tongue so easily? it just did, you also don't know why it did, but it did and that was enough to keep you perplexed and unable to sleep at all that night.

──── ୨ৎ

"what do you think you're doing, yu?" minjeong banged open the door, the hinges nearly breaking off. jimin looked up at minjeong with her signature devilish smile, she hummed, "what am i doing?"

minjeong huffed, "you know what you're doing, quit being stupid!" jimin stood up, eye-to-eye with the other, "i'm just working." she said, tilting her head innocently, with a sly smirk on her lips.

aeri and yizhou walked behind, curious as to why the two besties were arguing and it's necessary for the couple to know all the tea. you were back at uni, unaware of the commotion in the mansion.

"look, i don't give a fuck about your dating life, i don't care if you date a woman six or seven years younger than you; but i do care, a lot, when that woman is my little sister."

minjeong was seething at this point and seeing jimin be so relaxed only angered her further. she loved jimin, she was her ride or die, but her sister came first.

jimin sat back down on her chair, her legs crossed over her desk, hand playing with the smooth gold chain adorning her neck. "don't worry, i'll treat her the way she deserves to be treated, the kids her age won't be able to protect her."

"yeah, well, she doesn't need anyone to protect her, i'm enough to keep her safe!" minjeong's dark gaze pierced through the ravenette's soul, searching for any kind of emotion, anything, but it's her luck that jimin is perfect at masking her emotions.

"i disagree. you care for her, but i'll keep her better than anyone can." jimin stood her ground, she wasn't gonna miss an opportunity to secure her soon-to-be angel.

"weren't you all about, i'll never date anyone, i hate relationships, flings for life?" minjeong quoted, gritting her teeth, all she saw was red. her sister mattered most to her, who she was with mattered equally as much and you dating one of the most dangerous women in korea wasn't gonna happen.

"she's different." jimin retorted, her eyes narrowing and fury levels rising each passing second. minjeong is no one to question her choices. she's the owner of her decisions, you'll catch her dead listening to anyone.

"look, i said it, i don't care, i fucking need you to stay away from my sister." minjeong slammed her fist on the table, she'd never gone against jimin up until now, this wasn't something she wanted to do but the korean is not the one for her sister, in her eyes.

"exactly! i don't care either. whatever you say, i'll make her mine. she is my angel, nobody will get to say or think otherwise." her tone was dark, aura ominous like she could kill hundreds if she wanted to.

minjeong raised her brow, "like i'll let you. my y/nie listens to me. she'll do as i say and what i will say and what will happen is she'll stay away from you and you won't have a chance with her. so, for your sake, try to move on before you fall too deep, yu."

minjeong turned on her heel as if she wouldn't, she would make a rash decision that she'll regret later. her head snapped back as she heard jimin chuckle, taking a complete turn to face her again,

"you know me well, kim, i'll give you that. however... you don't know me well enough. my angel will listen to you but she'll be unhappy, constricted by her sister's beliefs of who i am and how i'll take care of her. now, it's your choice of what you want your sister to think. because, at the end of the day, she'll be my girl."

aeri and yizhou had their mouths hung open, they didn't expect the quarrel to escalate to this degree, but seeing the daggers the two korean's threw at eachother, this is gonna last a while.

jimin held the rising smirk on her face, walking past minjeong who scoffed, in your dreams, she muttered. "i'll make my dreams my reality, kim, i promise." jimin chuckled on her way down the stairs.

minjeong brought her hand up to massage her temples, her blood pressure was having a field day, "it'll be okay, min." yinzhou reassured with a smile.

"jimin's serious, i've never seen her so determined. i think you shouldn't worry, it'll be good that she's dating someone you trust, no?" aeri asked, minjeong only sighed before shaking her head and turning away, the couple following behind.

the three trailed downstairs to see jimin open the door with a sweet smile, "welcome back, angel." she stepped aside, letting you walk in. you greeted her with a grin.

jimin's heart melted at the sight, her hand unknowingly coming up to ruffle your hair, making you freeze. "let's have lunch." she said quickly and walked away, leaving you stunned for the umpteenth time since you started living here.

the three watched the interaction, minjeong's blood boiling at the sight, "kim y/n, come here." your head snapped at the voice and your flushed cheeks and pink ears came into your sister's view, angering her further.

you followed minjeong after dropping your phone and bag, the two of you walking into an empty guest room. "y/n, you're my obedient little sister, right?"

you nodded your head, still confused as to why she brought you alone and called you by your name and not your nickname. "then i need you to do one thing and one thing only, okay?"

you nodded again, "stay away from karina, you can do that for me, yeah?" she held your shoulders. you blinked your eyes, perplexed, "why should i stay away from ji unnie?"

she let out the most dramatic scoff she could in her mind, she has a cute nickname for herself too? "don't ask, just do as i say, understood?" you thought for a little while, you didn't like the idea, you had a better relationship after the bullet incident, you two were closer.

"but i like ji unnie." you said, looking up at minjeong with your soft doe-eyes, she shut her eyes for a moment, "y/n." it wasn't anything much, just a plain call of your name yet it spoke volumes.

you looked down, a pout forming on your lips, "oh-okay..." you drew out and your sister broke into the biggest grin, happily dragging you to the dining table.

you went to sit at your usual place, beside jimin on one side and yizhou on the other, opposite to minjeong when she tugged your wrist again, trying to take you to the furthest seat from the other korean.

jimin's smile dropped, her hand grasping out to hold yours, yanking you to the seat beside her, "come on, i won't eat her, min." she giggled, making minjeong huff before going to her seat.

what was happening, did they fight? why should you stay away from jimin?

the questions bubbled in your brain, zoning you out as the food on your plate was left untouched. jimin nudged you, holding a piece of meat near your lips, "why aren't you eating?"

you glanced at your sister, to see her jaw tight as she angrily chewed on her food. jimin caught your attention again by her hand gently flicking your forehead, "eat, angel."

jimin held a victorious smirk as you ate, confusion everywhere you looked. minjeong was sort of amused, you didn't say a word back, you did what jimin asked you to. was she a witch? were you bewitched?

what was happening was you weren't sure how you felt and jimin turned more down bad each day, little by little.

──────── ✧✦

lingering touches, stolen glances, the urge to go against your sister and try to maintain your blossoming relation with jimin. the three were increasing at an exponential rate.

by now, jimin was completely smitten by everything that was you and minjeong didn't know what she should do. this relationship shouldn't exist.

you save lives, she takes them. you're selfless— always ready to help anyone, she's selfish— she won't share or compromise. you're the epitome of pink, bows, clips, makeup, clothes, everything; she's black, smokey eyeshadow, chains, rings.

dare we say... she was a punk, you did ballet. except, she was a sinner, you were an angel.

jimin never failed to break minjeong's set boundary of her staying away from you. lame excuses, coming into your room through the window, taking you out for a walk at around 3a.m.

she wasn't good for you. she made you disobey your sister, you'd done this once before, but this time it felt different. you were constantly drowning in guilt while breaking the rule back then.

though now, with your hand interwined with jimin's swinging loosely as you two walked in a park with nobody in sight— it didn't feel wrong. heck, it felt nice, amazing, perfect even.

"i don't think we should keep meeting up like this, unnie." you stopped, turning your head to the ravenette who held a soft smile. "why, angel? is it because of me?"

she tilted her head, her face illuminated by the moonlight falling on her skin. the words were stuck in your throat, you opened your mouth only to look up at her blankly.

you quickly turned your head down, refusing to lock eyes with her. her giggle filled the cool winter air, her hand cupping your cheek, making you lightly shiver at the cold sensation against your practically burning red face.

she leaned down, pressing her lips on your forehead. you were frozen, eyes wide, mouth parted as she pulled back. jimin's eyes fell on your lips, her tongue instinctively swiping over her own bottom lip.

she wanted to kiss you so badly.

the hand that cupped your cheek dropped down to take your hand as she pulled you to sit on the grass with her. you didn't utter a word, your existence currently jumbled up, unsure of what you're feeling and what's happening and what she's doing to make you like this.

every second with jimin is unreal.

"i'll talk to minjeong tomorrow and then, if she wants you to stay away from me, then so be it." jimin felt shocked by what she said herself. she hadn't ever let someone decide on her matters before.

"what?" you whisper-said, your mind so close to completely malfunctioning. "i know you love minjeong, and i don't want you to pull away from her. as long as you're happy, i'm happy too."

jimin raised your hand, pressing another soft kiss on it. she kept your hands intertwined, she could get used to this. seeing you flustered, your head turned up to look at the stars and moon shining in the pool of darkness around them.

jimin turned to the side to stare at you shamelessly and comfortably. she was starstruck by the way you looked. you were bare-faced, in your pajamas and she couldn't keep her eyes away from you.

the moonlight shone on your skin, bouncing off giving it a soft glow, only making her further believe you were an angel. she wanted to call you her angel, she wished you were her angel.

she didn't know what she'll do if minjeong still disagreed. she looked down at her hand that enveloped yours, she didn't want to lose this. you mattered to her. it wasn't about your beauty or your body, it was about each and every thing that was yours.

she loved you, every part of you. your smile, your eyes, you personality, your laugh, your cooking, your style, you.

when did i fall this hard? she thought. the ravenette, too, turned away and looked at the celestial object you were admiring, the faintest rosy tint visible on her cheeks as she let out a sigh.

──── ୨ৎ

"so, you two have been going behind my back? all this time?" minjeong was in disbelief. jimin had told you she'd deal with your sister but you insisted, which leads you to now, with the three of you in jimin's room.

you looked at all places except at your sister, unable to form a coherent sentence, you'd never spoken against your sister. your silence made her sigh.

"have i ever forbid you from dating anyone? i set just one rule, no? all i wanted was for you to keep distance from her, then why did you not do that, y/n? entertain me with atleast one valid reason as to why out of the eight billion people in this world you chose jimin."

she stared at you expectantly, she knew you weren't gonna answer, she was just disappointed. "don't get mad at her, i always initiated our meet ups." the ravenette said sternly.

"so? what did that fact change? she still willingly chose to go out with you." minjeong was really starting to get on her nerves. "angel, leave the room." jimin looked at you, smiling.

"but—" you tried to reject but she beat you to it, "for me?" you slowly nodded, walking out of the room and walking to yours, tears lined your waterline. all you wanted was to be with jimin, what was so wrong in that?

once minjeong heard your door click, her hand directly came in contact with jimin's nose, landing a heavy blow. jimin was amused, to say the least, her finger wiped a little blood that dripped down from her nose.

if this was what it took for minjeong to calm down and get her anger out, she was okay with it. "c'mon, another hit for me, please." she said in a sing-song voice.

after multiple hits in her stomach, jaw, legs and more, minjeong huffed, sitting down beside jimin, where you sat. "i'm scared, yu." she said looking at her bloodied hands with her brows furrowed.

jimin wasn't good either, a big bruise on her cheek, busted lip and bloodied nose, yet she didn't care. it didn't hurt. "i know, i'm too. it's hard not to think of my parents and how their story went but i promised to myself the day we initially fought that i'd always protect her and never become who my parents were."

"it's very worrying, you're much more older than her. she's naïve and thinks the world is bows and smiles when it's not. with me being who i am, a gang member, it's hard for her to not be surrounded by the darkest things in this world."

jimin let out a dry chuckle, "i get it. i'm not much different, am i? i don't think twice before slicing someone's throat and she thinks a hundred times about what she needs to do before picking up her surgical blade."

minjeong laughed too, a emotionless laugh that held no humor or anything, "it's not been easy to make her be who she is and not let her be taken away from me in any shape of form by our rivals."

she continued, "the reason i wanted you to stay away was you're not only a gang member, you're the leader, the main boss that handles most dark things that happen in all of south korea."

jimin hummed, "i know but.. i tried, trust me i tried to stay away, to maintain distance, but fuck, i — i just couldn't. she made me break my own promise of never falling for anyone. with her, the thought that we could end up like my parents doesn't cross my mind."

"alright, you can be with y/n. but, i swear to god, if i see a—" minjeong couldn't complete her sentence before the ravenette jumped up, happiness etched on her features.

minjeong sighed with a smile, shaking her head, how is she twenty seven when she acts like this? "let me finish, yu." hearing the other call her by her last name, jimin knew the talk wasn't over.

she stood still, waiting for minjeong to talk, "if i see a single scratch on her or a singular tear in her eye because of you, i promise i will make sure you get the worst death possible. i hope you remember that i do most of the torturing."

minjeong held onto the collar of the korean's shirt, "trust me, i will. it hurts more to see her sad than it did when i got shot. and i've said this many times before, but she's my angel. i'll treat her better than anyone else."

with a roll of her eyes and a mock scoff, minjeong let go of jimin's shirt and pulled her in for a hug, jimin giggled, "finally, we're besties again and not enemies!" minjeong hit her on the back, "shut up before i hit you more."

"speaking of, let me get my wounds taken care of by my angel." jimin essentially skipped her way to your room with the most happy grin that the girls have ever seen her in.

"looks like the issues resolved." aeri laughed with yizhou, giving eachother a high-five. "mission jimy/n, accomplished."

you gasped as your eyes fell on jimin who was bloodied and had bruises littered on her arms, legs and face. "what happened?!" you got the first aid kit, pulling jimin to sit down on your bed.

you slowly treated her wounds, wondering why she was so giddy even though she was covered in bruises, "did minie do this?" you asked with gloomy eyes, making a pang resonate in jimin's heart.

"well, we just had a little fight, but she said that you can stay with me now!" jimin exclaimed, her smile widening impossibly more when you lit up. "really?" you asked, tilting your head, staring up at her with soft eyes.

she fell in love all over again.

she nodded, her hand softly ruffling your hair, making you giggle. deciding to be bold, you stood up, her brows furrowed as she waited for you to do something.

you leaned down, gently placing a kiss on her cheek, your own dusted pink and ears red. you stood straight again, biting your lip to see her reaction— she was speechless. heart racing a mile a minute and mind fuzzy from the contact.

"the wounds have been treated." you said before rushing out of your room and jimin was left lovestruck. love wasn't so bad after all.

──────── ✧✦

"now, can you tell me why we're here, ji?" you asked curiously looking around the beautiful cherry blossom garden jimin took you out to see.

she turned around, eyes full of love as you smiled at the pretty scene in front of you, "i brought you here to say what i've been wanting to for a while now."

you looked at her with anticipation, "what is it?" you pondered as she took a deep breath, "i know i'm not the best person in the world, i do bad things; i'm aware that i'm a sinner."

your brows furrowed as she talked, your heart racing, am i dreaming right now? you thought, "you, you're the most kind person i've met, so selfless and always ready to help whenever you can. you're an angel."

"so, y/nie, will you be my angel? will you accept my love? will you be my girlfriend?" you brain went haywire the moment she uttered the words, my angel.

your cheeks were crimson and your eyes were wide, lips parted, rendered unable to get a word out. she smiled, "too flustered to talk, my angel?" she leaned in closer.

you lightly nodded and whispered a yes, so softly that if she'd be even a little bit further away, the sound wouldn't have reached her ears.

she brought her bottom lip between her teeth, "can i kiss you, angel?" you meekly nodded again, you'd never kissed anyone before. to have your first kiss with jimin, surrounded by cherry blossoms, in spring? it was all a dream come true.

your eyes fluttered shut as she closed the gap between you two, connecting her lips with yours. her hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer.

having watched many romance dramas, you'd seen your fair share of kisses, your hands hesitantly went to her neck, her hair curling around your fingers. you did have to stand on your tippy toes, and she did have to lean down a bit— but, the kiss. the kiss was purely magical.

and like that, you became the sinner's angel.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚✧˖°.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ᯓ✦ 𝓊𝗻𝚒𝘷𝐞𝗋𝓢𝙚 !

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Douqhnxtss © 23032025 — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. do not edit, translate, repost or plagiarize any of my work !

[prythianpages]

Lay All Your Love On Me | Cassian x Reader

summary: Cassian is your best friend and best friend’s don’t thirst after one another. Best friends don’t get jealous. Best friends also don’t fall in love with one another. But you did.

warnings: mild angst; smut at the end; basically, mutual jealousy

a/n: this was inspired by ABBA's song. I'm working on a series where I dedicate a song to each of the ACOTAR men and you can find the masterlist here. I feel like this is borderline crack at some points tbh and probably the longest one shot I've ever written. Also, the amount of times I've rewritten this is insane so I hope you like this final version ❤

Adrenaline courses through your veins. The wind becomes your companion, offering a resistance that you always find yourself craving. It caresses your skin, leaving a bittersweet ache. Running is the closest feeling to flying. Though your wings, tucked behind you, remain, they are rendered useless and forever will be. Those sick Illyrian males, paid off by your own brother, made sure of that.

Sometimes, you wish they would’ve just sloughed them off. An Illyrian with no wings is a tragedy but an Illyrian with useless wings is a devastating tragedy. A fate that, unfortunately, all Illyrian females have to endure.

Heated frustration surges within you, spurred on by the luminous blue hues radiating from the siphons encircling your wrists. You shake your head and take deep breaths because you can not let those triggering thoughts win. You can’t let them win. The primal thud of your heart urges you to push forward and–

“Fuck, marry, kill.”

“Cassian,” you nearly hiss, though the flutter in your chest betrays you. 

“Come on,” he says, a grin playing on his lips as he matches your pace. “Me, Az, and Rhys. Go!”

You slow down your pace to shoot him a sidelong glance and pivot, turning to run the opposite direction. Heat rises to your cheeks. You blame it on your exercise. 

“We played this last night.”

Undeterred, Cassian picks up his pace to stay ahead of you, running backwards with ease. “And you didn’t answer me.”

As you both rounded a corner, someone bumped into you. Your steps faltered slightly before you caught your own balance. 

“Oops. Sorry, didn’t–”

The Illyrian male who collided with you didn’t even have time to finish his apology, as insincere as it was. Cassian shoved him, sending the male plummeting to the ground with a growl. You swear you hear him choke on dirt.

“Watch it, asshole.”

When Cassian turns back to you, you arch a brow at him and he gives you a nonchalant shrug. You both know that male intentionally bumped into you. As one of the few Illyrian females who has defied tradition and trained extensively, the disrespect constantly thrown at you is no surprise. Though you’re no longer fazed by it, you can’t say the same for Cassian.

His gaze softens and grin returns, the wind tousling his dark hair as he maintains his backward stride. “Now, where were we?”

“Fine,” you say with a huff.

It’s not in Cassian’s nature to give up. You’ve played this game multiple times, introduced by Mor, with the inner circle on drunken nights. You were always quick with your answers but not this time. Not when your options were three of your close friends and among them, there was one you secretly or maybe not so secretly harbored feelings for.  That and the lack of liquid courage you usually have at your side when playing.

“Fuck Azriel.”

Cassian’s steps come to a stop and so do yours, albeit reluctantly. There’s a glint in his hazel eyes as he looks at you. “I’m going to tell him.”

“Go ahead,” you reply because you don’t care if the Shadowsingers knows. He’s the safest choice of them all and he wouldn’t let this stupid game get to his head unlike Cassian. “You know that’d be your answer too.”

Both you and Cassian share a look because you’re not wrong.

Then, you both are turning your heads to find the Shadowsinger. Azriel stands at the far end of the training grounds, engaged in the rhythmic lifting of weights. Shirtless. The distance between you two and him is vast, rendering any audible communication impossible. However, the subtle play of shadows around his ears catches your attention, and as if sensing your gazes, he turns, narrowing his eyes at both you and Cassian with an uncanny perceptiveness.

Caught red-handed, both you and Cassian turn your heads away. He looks at you again. “So,” he starts once more and you bite back the urge to groan. At this moment, you’re almost inclined to reveal that you’d like to do all three to the Illyrian male in front of you.

 “Who will you be marrying? Me or Rhys?”

It’s as if he heard his name being called. Rhysand prods gently at the shields of your mind and when you allow him in, you know he relayed the same message to Cassian and Azriel. You both head over to the sparring grounds, where Azriel is already waiting for you. He throws a sword to you and then to Cassian.

Cassian wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively and you slap his arm. He pinches your side in retaliation, a reminder that you’re not going to live this one down. He moves into position and you mirror him.

He lifts his sword, feigning a lunge that you counter with a swift parry. Your movements are both graceful and calculated, a testament to the years of training under his guidance. Meanwhile, Azriel circles around you both, a silent spectator.

Cassian’s strikes intensify, growing more precise every time. Your swords clash, ringing in the air. But despite your skill, Cassian is stronger, more experienced. Seizing an opportune moment, he lunges with a force that sends you stumbling backward. Your sword clatters to the ground as you find yourself seated on the training grounds.

"Did I serve?" Cassian smirks, offering a mock salute, his muscles flexing in a playful display. "Or did I serve?"

He twirls his sword with a flourish, unaware of the glare you shoot his way. With a determined huff, you gather yourself, reaching for your fallen weapon and swiftly rising to your feet. In a strategic move, you deliver a swift kick, sweeping Cassian off his feet and onto his back.

With a triumphant grin, you step forward, placing a boot on his chest to keep him on the ground. You press your weight on him teasingly, knowing that Azriel is not the only one watching you two anymore. Hazel eyes sparkle back at you with a mixture of pride and a subtle undertone, a hint of something more lingering beneath the surface, as your sword hovers just above his neck. It brings forth an unspoken tension between you both and if you hadn’t blinked, you wouldn’t have missed the way Cassian licks his lips as he looks up at you.

"You got served."

Cassian laughs as you drop your sword and lift your boot. You don’t bother to offer him a hand, wanting to bask in your victory as much as possible but much to your dismay, Azriel helps him up.

Thank you for humbling him.

You turn around to see Rhysand. His lips purse, suppressing his amusement. His eyes become unreadable as he dons his High Lord mask. A palpable aura of immense power radiates from him. 

Beside him, stands another male, whose presence commands just as much attention as Rhysand. His skin is a rich brown and hair white. You’ve never met him before but you know who he is as Rhysand had informed you of his visit. It’s why you were conveniently training in Windhaven, despite your preference for the training grounds atop the House of Wind.

The three of you greet Rhysand first before bowing your heads in respect to the High Lord of the Summer Court.

“This is Cassian, general commander of my armies. This is y/n, one of our great Illyrian warriors and this is Azriel, my spymaster. They are all well equipped and are looking forward to working with your soldiers for the next two weeks.”

**

You’ve rarely traveled outside of the Night Court. You weren't a high fae like Mor or Rhysand so you couldn’t winnow and after the clipping of your wings, you couldn’t fly like Cassian or Azriel. So your friends were your main means of transportation and you were looking forward to working with High Lord Nostrus’s soldiers as it was a means for you to get to explore another one of Prythian’s lovely courts.

But now that you’re here, in their training grounds, you’re no longer looking forward to being here for the next two weeks.

Not when one particularly strikingly beautiful female soldier has set her eyes on Cassian and certainly not when there’s an unfamiliar burning resentment in your chest too strong to ignore. It flares every time her gaze or touch lingers too long. By the Cauldron, since when did every woman you see become a potential threat with Cassian? He is your friend.

A reminder that stings as much as the intensity of the burning feeling coursing through you. Though, you’ve never felt this way before, you realize that you’ve been more sensitive in anything Cassian these past couple of months–since starfall. It’s as if he casted a spell on you, one where you can only think about him. He’s your every waking thought and lingers as your final thought before sleep.

The feeling in your chest flares to a blazing fire when you overhear him praise the female soldier and the wooden sword splinters in your grasp, falling to the ground. 

This is going to be a long two weeks.

“Are you jealous?” Azriel muses beside you.

“Me?” You say with a huff, kicking the evidence of the broken sword away. Of course it doesn’t go unnoticed by Azriel, the skilled spymaster. The corner of his lips quirk up but you insist. “Jealous? Never.”

You send an amused Azriel a glare before picking up another practice sword. Determined to not let your jealousy get in the way, you engage yourself in training the small group assigned to you. You were here for a reason and you’d give the soldiers under your command your all.

**

After a full afternoon of training, you were eager to clean the dirt and sweat off your skin. You were also eager to distance yourself as much from Cassian and that female before you did something you’d regret. Your bath worked wonders to ease every tense muscle. If you hadn’t been invited by High Lord Nostrus to dinner, you would’ve basked in the warmth of the water a little longer. The sound of waves crashing soothes you as you make your way to your bed, ruffling your damp hair with a towel.

Nestled adjacent to Cassian's and Azriel's quarters, your room stands vast and breathtaking. It’s also missing an entire wall. In its place, vines adorned with blooming dahlias weave along the room's edges, seamlessly bridging the gap between the interior and the great sea outdoors. 

Your attention gravitates towards the bed, adorned in the softest silks, a sanctuary you can’t wait to sink into. Atop it rests a box, concealing an invitation to dinner and an outfit that differs greatly from your Illyrian leathers.

You find a dress. A pale blue masterpiece with a daring plunging neckline and high slits. You’ve never worn anything like it. The fabric is soft and weightless, its wispy texture feels like a gentle sea breeze caressing your skin with every step. You appreciate that it was backless to accommodate your wings.

Sitting down at the vanity, the jewelry that was in the box sparkles back up at you. You're touched by the High Lord’s gesture but you’re also wary of all his gifts. You settle on the most simplest of jewelry–diamond earrings and a sapphire necklace that reminds you of the siphons you wear. You have three in total but the one wrapped around your wrist is the only one you keep with you at all times. You save the other two for when you’re training or fighting to help you control your power.

As you step out of your room, Cassian and Azriel's eyes are drawn to you. You smile at them in greeting. Cassian's gaze lingers, a silent appreciation etched in every curve and contour he not so discreetly takes in. Warmth prickles at your skin, and an inexplicable spark ignites within your chest in response.

Azriel clears his throat, amused eyes dancing between you two. “Shall we?”

Cassian, as if emerging from a trance, regains his composure and grins at you. He extends his arm and you gratefully hook yours through his as he leads the way down the hall. You notice that he also switched his leathers into something more befitting the Summer court’s warmth. He wears dark navy linen pants that match Azriel’s but unlike the dark shirt the Shadowsinger wears, he chose a lighter colored one. The fabric is nearly see through, offering a teasing peek at the tattoos embellishing his chest and the defined muscles that lie beneath.

You feel his gaze on you as you walk beside him that prompts you to look up at him in question. He takes a moment to respond and finally with a sheepish smile says, “you smell nice.”

“Oh, thanks. I used coconut soap that was left in my bathroom,” you respond, a tinge of confusion and subtle disappointment coloring your words. At least it was an actual compliment unlike last starfall when all he said was “you look different.” Yet, it embarrassingly still had the same effect, leaving you blushing. 

Azriel, walking behind you, can't help but let out a snort. Idiots, he thinks to himself. His shadows agree.

**

There’s a wide assortment of delicious food laid out for you all. Your lips quirk up when you catch the way Cassian’s eyes light up at the sight. You take the seat next to him and Azriel the seat across from you. High Lord Nostrus sits at the head of the table, gesturing for you all to dive in. With a snap of his fingers, the golden chalices in front of you fill with a sweet wine.

“I appreciate you all for your efforts in helping strengthen my armies.”

Cassian’s mouth was full of food and Azriel brought his drink to his lips, not keen on the idea of making small talk with the High Lord. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at your male companions, you muster a smile and turn to Nostrus instead.

“I believe we should be the ones thanking you for being such a gracious host. As emissaries of our esteemed High Lord, it is our sincere desire that our efforts not only strengthen your armies but also fortify the bonds of alliance between the courts of Summer and Night.”

“Of course.” Nostrus's turquoise eyes study you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze settling on your wings. The instinct to protectively tuck them in tighter behind you flares, a vulnerable self-consciousness settling in. "From my understanding, it is not common for an Illyrian female to train and fight. Am I right?"

“Yes, you are correct. But I am working closely with my High Lord to rectify that.”

Cassian, sensing your unease, swallows his food, and a reassuring hand finds its place on your thigh, offering a comforting squeeze. You're familiar with Cassian's expressive and caring nature through touch. However, his simple and sweet gestures, such as the way he’s touching your thigh right now, sends your heart racing instead.

"I watched you from afar this afternoon. You took down some of my best soldiers with ease," Nostrus remarks, and a gentle breeze from the nearby sea courses through the open dining room, sending a shudder through your wings. His perceptive eyes catch the movement. "Your wings are different."

The hand on your thigh tightens, mirroring the constriction in your throat.

"High Lord–" Cassian begins, a subtle warning threaded through his otherwise light tone.

Nostrus raises his hand. "I mean no harm. Truly." 

His gaze remains fixed on you as he continues, "As you see, we pride ourselves on every soldier, regardless of gender. Anyone who swears loyalty to this court is held in great esteem. I protect them as much as they would protect my court. While I do not know your story, I now know your worth, and if the Night Court is not able to appreciate you, then–"

"The Night Court appreciates her just fine," Cassian interrupts, a protective edge slicing through his words. He hates Nostrus’s accusatory tone and ignores the warning look Azriel sends his way.

You place a hand over Cassian’s but keep your eyes on Nostrus. “You flatter me, High Lord,” you manage to say with a smile. “Though my scars may say otherwise, I can assure you that my High Lord treats me well. In fact, High Lord Rhysand is working on banning the practice of clipping wings so our future generations will not know the horrors enacted under previous rulers…”

**

Your wings, draped behind you, bear the burden of your trauma–the betrayal of your brother. You hate how sensitive you are at the mere mention of them. You wipe hastily at your eyes. Cassian, who refused to part ways with you at your door, stands silently beside you. Your haunting memories store themselves back into the depths of your mind as his movements catch your attention. It’s strange but comforting, the way he always knows when you don’t want to talk and are in need of a distraction instead.

But your cheeks heat up because you’re unsure if this distraction is a good idea. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Cassian grins at you as he continues stripping himself of his clothes. “I’m going for a swim.”

He winks at you as he kicks his pants off, leaving him in only his boxer briefs that are clinging to him in a way that makes your mouth nearly water. You pull your gaze away, hating the way your mind wants to drift to devious thoughts because you know what lies underneath. You’ve seen him in his full glory far too many times than you’d like to admit–each one of them on accident.

Your heart flutters madly against the fragile cage of your chest and you press a hand against it as if that would do anything to ease your racing heart. Because Cassian is your best friend and best friend’s don’t thirst after one another. Best friends also don’t fall in love with one another. 

But you did.

He was your mentor before he became your friend and each passing year since then seemed to usher in a quiet surrender. Almost as if every step was an unspoken agreement with your heart, blurring in between the fine line of friendship and something else. You navigated the staircase of emotions, unaware, until you stood near the bottom. Instead of gracefully reaching the last step, the sudden realization of your feelings felt like a forceful tumble, leaving you to hit the ground and boy did you hit it hard.

The sound of a joyful splash resonates through the air, harmonizing with the playful melody of droplets that dance against your bare legs. You shoot a glare Cassian’s way, even though you didn’t mind, and you can’t bring yourself to care when he flicks a middle finger at you in response. You’re far too used to them to be bothered. Realizing that the water felt nice and warm, you nestle yourself on the edge of the floor. You hike your dress up and then dip your legs into the soothing waters.

Bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight, Cassian floats on his back, allowing his wings to carry him through the soft waves. Your gaze lingers on him, tracing the moonlit contours of his muscles. Another splash pulls you out of your trance and this time, the droplets reach the thin fabric of your dress.

“Come on, bibble!” Cassian exclaims.

Your glare returns, irritation flickering in your eyes. “I told you to stop calling me that!”

His grin widens, undeterred. “Won’t you join me?”

You respond with a swift kick, creating a splash that dances towards him. Regret settles in immediately as his eyes light up in the moonlight, holding mischief, as he swims toward you.

“Bibble’,” he nearly purrs, somehow making the stupid nickname sound downright sinful. He braces his hands on either side of you, the muscles of his arms flexing. His chest brushes against your legs and all you can think about is how nice he feels so close to you. “Why won’t you join me?”

You’re looking anywhere but him. “I don’t feel like it.”

Cassian hums, his thoughtful gaze lingering for a moment longer than you'd expect. You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding when he turns his head. It’s a short lived moment of relief because in a heartbeat, he pulls your legs from underneath you and drags you into the water with him. You’re splashing and writhing and like an idiot, your mouth opens in panic.

Cassian's strong arms swiftly encircle you, pulling you up from the water's depths. As you resurface, you're coughing and sputtering, water droplets cascading down your face. He chuckles while you hit his chest. 

"I can't swim, you idiot!" 

"Relax," Cassian laughs, his hands holding your hips firmly to keep you afloat with him. His expression, though soft, morphs into something more serious. "I’ve got you. I always will.”

His words unrattle something deep within you and you can’t move, can’t think properly. You can only feel. Your mind goes blank and eyes grow distant as you’re brought back to the night he first said those words. Right after he found you laying in a pool of your own blood. It was the night your wings were clipped. A hand reaches out to caress your face and his fingers rest on your chin, directing your focus to him. 

Tears threaten the corners of your eyes. The desire to avert your gaze is strong, but he doesn't permit it. He needs you to answer him. "You know that, right?"

A breath catches in your throat before you finally manage to whisper, "Yeah."

Cassian's lips form a rare, softer smile. He draws you closer until you can feel his breath, sense his warmth. He kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer and when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. A thumb brushes gently against your cheek. His gaze dips to your lips and absentmindedly, his thumb slowly traces along your bottom lip. There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he’s lost in contemplation.

Your heart is roaring in your ears and there’s something singing madly in your chest because he’s never touched you like this before. Tell him. Your breath is shaky when you speak. "Cas?"

He holds his gaze to your lips, allowing the soft rocking of a wave to push him closer to you. "Yes?"

Suddenly, the night sky bursts into a kaleidoscope of colors. The unexpected spectacle and the resonating boom startles you, and on instinct, you find refuge in the safety of Cassian's embrace. If he weren’t caught up in the heat of the moment, he would’ve teased you for the way you are clinging madly onto him, legs and arms wrapped tightly around him.

"Wow," you exhale, the initial shock giving way to a relaxed sense of awe.

The fireworks continue to bloom overhead, their vibrant hues reflecting in your wonderstruck eyes. You gradually unwrap your legs from around Cassian, and your arms loosen their hold around his neck. Yet, he maintains a firm grip on your hips.

“Beautiful.”

You hum in agreement, and when you turn back to Cassian, you realize his gaze has never wavered from you throughout the entire display. "What were you going to say?"

"What?"

"What were you going to say earlier…"

"Oh, that," you stammer, panic subtly seeping in, eyebrows furrowing slightly. The courage you once possessed to voice your feelings has dissipated in the wake of the unexpected interruption. “Um, can you teach me how to swim?”

His gaze lingers on you. It’s as if he knows those were not the words you were going to say but he doesn’t push you on it. “Sure,” he says instead and clears his throat, looking away. “But maybe another night?”

“Why?”

You regret your question as soon as you ask it, eyes widening when you feel why. There’s something hard poking at your stomach. You freeze up, not knowing what to do, inadvertently making matters worse. Though the night is dark, the moon glows bright enough for you both to notice your peaked nipples as the thin light fabric of your dress is completely see through in the water.

“Stop staring!” You cry out, using one of your hands to splash water onto him. If he weren’t your lifeline, the only thing keeping you afloat in these deep waters, you would’ve shoved him under water.

Cassian snaps out of it with a flinch, blinking away the salty droplets of water that splashed into his eyes. “I was looking respectfully!”

“Respectfully my ass!”

“I mean, I could look at that too.”

You shoot him a glare, hating the way his words have your insides in a frenzy. He doesn’t seem to care about his obvious arousal poking at you and you don’t have it in you to tease him as you’re desperately trying to hide yours, praying that the vast sea surrounding you is enough to mask your scent. Your hands are grasping out for the vines that run along the edge of the tiles as soon as you can reach them, using them to guide you back into the safety of your room.

You pause before you hoist yourself back up, turning to look at a clearly amused Cassian. 

“Turn around.”

“Oh, come on,” he chuckles but saves you further embarrassment by doing as you asked. You wait until his back is fully turned to you, wings flaring out behind him and spraying you with sea water on purpose, to hoist yourself up into your room. Once you’re on your feet, you pull at one of the many sheets on your bed, wrapping it snug around your exposed body.

“You can turn back around now.” 

“You can look as much as you want, bibble.” He tells you though your gaze remains fixed on the seashell painting on one of your walls. Your mind is racing and if he asked you what colors were on the painting, you would fail miserably in answering him.  “Disrespectfully too.”

You can hear his agonizingly slow footsteps as he makes his way to the door, not bothering to pick up the clothes he left sprawled all over your floor.  “Get out,” you nearly growl at him, not caring anymore, as you turn around and shove at his back. Because if he doesn’t leave soon, you’re sure you’ll lose your self control.

“Mother’s tits, y/n! I’m going!” He exclaims in protest with a grin evident in his tone.

“Well, go faster!” You huff at him, hands still pressing against his back. “I’m.Tired.”

Tired of holding back your emotions, more like it. As soon as he steps out your door, you’re slamming it shut before he can catch a glimpse of your flustered face.

“Sweet dreams, bibble.”

Leaning against the door, you take a moment to catch your breath as Cassian's deep laughter echoes through the halls. You close your eyes, attempting to rein in the whirlwind of emotions surging within you. It’s not the first time Cassian’s teased you and it won’t be the last and you’re certainly not the only one he flirts with. The female soldier from earlier being a prime example of that.

You know he means no harm by it. Yet, his teasing stings. Because you want it to be real, for him to mean every flirtatious gesture and word. You want him to like you and only you.

**

Nostrus's attempts to entice you into staying in his court become increasingly overt with each passing day. Every evening unveils a new gown adorned with matching jewelry and shoes. Precisely at the stroke of ten, the night sky ignites in a display of vibrant fireworks dedicated to the three of you but when you commented the red ones were your favorite, you note more shades of reds lighting up the night skies. Each morning, a charming arrangement of summer flowers graces your presence. Even the soldiers in your training group can't help but notice the High Lord's watchful gaze whenever he deigns to join them.

Azriel finds the spectacle amusing, always the silent observer to any unfolding drama. However, Cassian is less entertained. During your nightly debriefs with Rhysand, he consistently raises the issue and you’ve noticed that during training, he sticks closer to you. 

None of you bring up the heated moment you shared on your first night in Summer. It’s almost as if it didn’t happen at all and you’re not surprised. While it meant something to you, you know it meant nothing to him.

The female soldier, Olianna, you reluctantly learned her name, is as persistent with him as Nostrus is to you. You’re nearing the end of your first week when the female soldier and a couple of others join your nightly dinner with Nostrus and tonight, in her ruby red dress, she looks devastatingly beautiful. She takes the seat beside Cassian. Your unassigned but assigned spot. You begrudgingly sit beside Azriel instead, who is quick to raise a brow at you.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies and when you kick his leg under the table, there’s the faintest of a coy smile on his lips.

You barely even touch your plate. There’s a bitter taste in your mouth and it’s not from the food. Cassian has barely even looked at you, engrossed in what appears to be a hilarious conversation with Olianna. You’re thankful when Nostrus excuses you all from dinner, quick to rise from your seat.

“Y/N, may I have a word?” Nostrus calls to you with a smile and when Cassian’s head perks up, finally sparing you a second of his attention, he adds: “In private.”

**

As you make your way back to your room, after a pointless conversation with Nostrus, your steps come abruptly to a halt. Your heart quickens and stomach tightens as you spot Cassian and Olianna down the hall.

Olianna’s hands rest on Cassian’s arms as she looks up at him. Her back is pressed against the wall. He leans down to whisper something that you can’t discern from your distance. It has her giggling and the sound is like a painful stab to your heart. They’re so, so close. That familiar ache settles in your chest, pushing down on you so harshly you can barely breathe. 

How desperately you wish to trade places with her and maybe that could’ve been you, if you had given in to his teasing the other night. While he’d give his body to you, you know his heart would not fall so easily such as the way yours did. Cassian is a true heartthrob, a man who effortlessly captivates the hearts of many but never the one to give his. Why would you be an exception?

You try to push away your unease but fail miserably when they walk further down the hall and disappear around a corner. Doubt begins to creep in, seeping into your bones with a terrifying chilling fear. Maybe, just maybe, there is something more between them and you had lost a battle only you were aware of fighting.

Tears burn at your eyes and as you hear the door shut behind him, you feel your heart shatter at the images that flood your mind. Of him kissing her, touching her and–Stop! 

You’re running blindly to your room, too caught up in your emotions to realize your mistake. Azriel blinks at your sudden entrance, seated on his bed. However, the distress etched across your face propels him to throw his book aside and jump to his feet. Shadows flit towards you, brushing against your exposed skin and he lets out a small exhale in relief when they report no injuries.

"Should I get Cas?" Azriel offers, eyes widening slightly as concern etches its way onto his features.

Your hand reaches out, stopping him before he can leave the room. "No."

He looks at you helplessly. He’s seen you cry before but Cassian was always there in those moments. Yes, Azriel regards you as a good friend–you’ve trained with him for many years alongside Cassian. He’d happily tend to your physical injuries because it was something he was capable of but the depth of your current pain is something he is unsure how to navigate. Something only Cassian uniquely understands.

"Okay," Azriel says slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "What do you need?"

Frustration colors your attempt to wipe away the tears, and a sniffle escapes you. You’ve never felt so small, so fragile and as Azriel watches you break in front of him, realization dawns on him. Something must’ve happened between you and Cassian and his mouth parts to ask but you beat him to it.

"I need you to teach me how to swim." 

**

The next morning you can’t bring yourself to meet Cassian’s gaze. Images of him with Oliana flood your mind every time you cast a glance in his direction and the ache in your chest resurfaces. It’s irrational, you know. He’s not at fault for your feelings. After all, you’re just a friend to him. You have no claim to his affection, even though every fiber of your being yearns for it.

You are the problem.

When he reaches out, his hand lightly grasping your arm, you muster only a feeble greeting. You hear the concern in his voice as he asks what's wrong.

"Nothing," you reply, forcing a smile. "I'm just tired."

You feel the weight of his gaze burning into you as you head over to your group. He casts a glance toward Azriel in silent questioning but the Shadowsinger simply shakes his head. 

**

The sun bathes Summer’s training grounds in a warm glow and sweat clings to your skin as you show one of your soldiers a delicate maneuver with your sword that Illyrians favor during battle.

As your gaze lifts with your sword, you catch a glimpse of Cassian and Oliana sparring. Your chest tightens when you can’t help but notice their proximity to one another. The sweet sound of her laughter follows shortly after and the tightening in your chest is replaced with a burning fire.

“I don’t think I’m doing it right. Can you teach me again?”

“Of course.”

Cassian's gaze briefly meets yours, and a sudden rush of emotion courses through you. You’re quickly averting your eyes, attempting to feign disinterest. You tell yourself you're no longer watching them, but deep down, your mind is painting vivid pictures, imprinting scenes of Cassian with her. 

However, this time, it's not sadness that simmers within. It’s a burning anger and your siphons flare. Cassian is free to do whatever he pleases in his spare time but during training? When you’re working and glaringly right in front of you?

Olianna’s laughter rings out again, the sound mingling with the clash of steel. Another pang of envy stabs through your chest, sharper than the blade in your hand. 

“Like this?”

“Yeah, you got it, sweetheart.”

Your blood runs cold, sending shivers down your spine yet, there’s an undeniable blaze burning fiercely within your chest. It’s a possessive fire, a primal instinct screaming “mine” in the depths of your very being. Why does she get a sweet nickname and you a stupid one? Why is he so gentle in training her when he was harsh with you?

“That’s it,” you hiss under your breath, looking back at your group. “I’m going to show you how a fight is won.”

Tightening your grip on your sword, you nearly stomp your way to Cassian. Azriel’s head perks up from where he stands, eyes widening for a fleeting moment as he catches the glow of your siphons. “Y/n, what are–”

“Stay out of it!” You exclaim, pointing your sword at him. The sharp blade teases at his throat and he falters. His shadows whisper to him in warning and he holds his hands up in surrender, catching something flickering in your eyes.

Cassian and Oliana turn their heads at the commotion. She instinctively takes a step behind Cassian and your jaw clenches at the sight. He doesn’t seem to notice it though, attention solely focused on you.

 “What’s the matter, bibble?”

 You point your sword at him. “You.”

“Me?” He responds, a bewildered expression crossing his face. However, he remains unfazed as your sword points directly at his chest. 

“You’ve gone soft, General.” you tell him, inclining your head towards Oliana and you can’t bring yourself to care if your emotions seep out. The envy is coursing through you like an unrelenting fire. “How is she to hone in her skills when she spends most of her training laughing and batting her pretty eyelashes at you?”

Cassian lets out a chuckle. It’s been years since you’ve referred to him by his title. His hazel eyes take you in, sparkling at you with something you can’t discern. He can read the challenge in your eyes and when he finally spares a glance to the female behind him, he turns back to you. His fingers grasp at your blade carefully, lowering your sword so he can take a step forward. 

“She’s not ready to be challenged.”

You smirk at him, standing your ground. “A soldier is never fully prepared for battle.”

Cassian takes another step forward and though your sword lowers further, your grip on the hilt tightens. “And a General knows when it’s best for their soldiers to refrain from entering the battlefield.”

You take pleasure in the way Oliana huffs out indignantly from behind him.

You arch an eyebrow at him in challenge. Deep down, you’re aware nothing good is going to come from this but your Illyrian blood craves an outlet for the pent-up emotions that have been brewing for many years. 

“You fight me then,” you demand and you can feel the simmering fire between you intensifying. You welcome it, almost seeking the chaos it promises. "And don't you dare go soft on me."

His pupils flare and a sly smirk curls upon his lips. “I don’t think you can handle me.”

“Lay it all on me.”

**

Two blood rubies, sinister in their crimson glow, glisten back at you, creating a dance of hues that pulse and flicker with an inner fire. One for Cassian. One for you. Your heart sinks to your stomach and you want to cry.

This is all your doing. Your fault. 

Cassian, however, does not regard the rubies sent from the Summer Court with the same gravity. "Might as well put these beauties to use. I’m sure it would look stunning on a necklace. Maybe, even a ring,” he quips as he picks his up, hazel eyes sparkling with mirth.

You immediately sense that nothing good is going to come from this–the same way you did before the two of you accidentally destroyed a building. He turns to you and gets down on one knee. There’s a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he looks up at you.

“Marry me?" 

A rush of heat floods your face, and your eyes instinctively seek out Rhysand, finding him far from amused. He's fuming with a quiet rage, his gaze icy and piercing. You quickly avert your eyes, shifting your attention back to the Illyrian male now kneeling before you. You nudge his knee with your leg, ignoring the twinge of hurt at the expense of his joke.

"Get up, Cas.”

"Say yes.”

"Get up.”

“You think this is funny??”

You flinch at the sharpness of Rhysand’s tone and Cassian stands with a sigh. His hand brushes against yours but you don’t dare take it. You don’t deserve it. It’s only been hours since your abrupt return from Summer–since your heated fight sent an entire building crumbling into rubble. If Azriel hadn’t used his shadows to return you home immediately after, you’re not sure you’d be alive right now.

“I’m so sorry, Rhys,” you say,  lowering your head and Rhysand’s gaze softens at the nervous fidgeting of your hands. “It’s all my fault.” 

“No, it’s mine.” Cassian steps forward, hand resting on your waist to gently push you back behind him as he takes full responsibility. “I got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“Cas, I’m the one who challenged you.”

He ignores you. “It was my blast that sent that building, as weak as it already was, to crumble down.”

Rhysand lets out a deep sigh. He leans back into his seat, fingers rubbing at his forehead at the images Azriel provides. He finds that you both are equally at fault. They’re complete wreck less idiots,  Rhysand groans into the Shadowsinger’s mind.

I know.  There’s a hint of amusement in Azriel’s response.

Running a hand down his face in exhaustion, Rhysand looks at both you and Cassian. 

You stand there, still behind Cassian, anxious as you await your impending punishment and he can literally hear your mind racing without having to intrude. Meanwhile, Cassian, seemingly unfazed, hums a carefree tune to himself, earning an incredulous glance from you. 

“Well I can kiss my alliance with the Summer Court goodbye but I will not have a High Lord from another court seeking vengeance on two of my closest friends. You each are going to write your most heartfelt apologies to Nostrus, beg if you must, and let us all pray to the Cauldron that he finds it in his heart to forgive you.”

Parchment, ink and quills appear at the desk before you. With a flick of his wrist, Rhysand uses his magic to bring forth two chairs, gesturing for you and Cassian to sit. “You two are not allowed to leave this room until those letters are finished.”

Rhysand then turns to Azriel. “I need you to watch them. Make sure they don’t destroy any of my buildings.”

A low, almost melodramatic groan escapes Azriel’s lips. “Why do I always have to babysit them?”

“Azriel.”

“Fine.”

Once Rhysand leaves, you slump into one of the chairs with a small sigh of relief. You pick up a quill, dipping it in ink and stare at the blank parchment. Cassian does the same. Azriel picks up a book from one of the shelves. He then seats himself at Rhysand’s chair, right across from you both.

“Please make this quick,” his voice almost pleads, eyes darting between you both.

“You write it for me then.” Cassian rips a piece of paper, crumbling it into a tiny ball before flicking it at his friend. Azriel rolls his eyes, his loyal shadows catching the piece of paper midair and sending it back to Cassian, hitting his forehead with a tiny “whoosh.”

Your eyebrows furrow in an attempt to focus, all the while trying to ignore the distracting bounce of Cassian's leg. Slowly but surely, you’re scribbling words onto the parchment and before you know it, you’re crafting the most sincere apology to High Lord Nostrus. 

Cassian picks up on your deep concentration. He leans in closer, warm breath tickling your ear. “Whatcha writing there, bibble?”

“An apology,” you respond dryly, shooting him a sideways glance. You take note that his paper is still blank. “Something you should be doing too if you want us to make it to dinner.”

“I am. I’m just brainstorming,” he retorts in a ‘duh’ tone. “Let me see yours!”

You’re sliding your parchment away from his prying eyes. “No. Use your own brain!”

Ever the persistent one, Cassian leans in even closer, his head now practically resting on your shoulder as your hands hover over your paper, careful not to smear the fresh ink. “Come on, just a peek. I promise not to steal your most heartfelt words.”

With an exasperated sigh, you relent, allowing him a quick glimpse. His eyes are skimming through the words with an appreciative tilt of his head. “I like it. But maybe add a bit more details and drama, you know? Tug at his heartstrings a little more, he seemed to like you a lot.”

“We’re not trying to craft a masterpiece to win an award, Cassian,” you hiss at him, snatching your letter away from him.

“But you are trying to free yourself of a death sentence.” Azriel remarks, peering over his book at you as he reminds you that receiving a blood ruby from the Summer Court is not something to be taken lightly.

“See? Az gets it.” Cassian chuckles.

“Shut up and get to writing.” Azriel snaps at the busybody beside you, a stern edge in his tone.

“Yes, sir!”

**

Fortunately, the three of you arrive just in time for dinner. Unfortunately, the predominant topic at the table centers around the destruction of the building in the Summer Court. Rhysand, having taken the time to cool down, is noticeably calmer. While he remains upset that you and Cassian veered off course from your assigned mission, there's also a hint of happiness in having his friends back home and safe.

Cassian casually drapes his arm over the back of your chair, and the room is filled with the melody of his laughter in response to something Mor said. Something you should’ve caught as you’re seated right across from her but it’s the rich scent of sandalwood that captivates all your senses, causing your stomach to flutter. You barely manage to swallow your food without choking–a fact not lost on Azriel. He, however, chooses not to comment, sparing you from further embarrassment and grinning into his glass of wine instead.

 Rhysand glares at Mor and you get a sense of what had been said when he says: “Please don’t encourage these architects of chaos.”

You groan, leaning back into your seat. The regret is instant as the edge of your wing brushes against Cassian’s arm. It sends a slight shiver down your spine and you’re mustering all your strength to keep it from causing your sensitive wings to twitch. You’re down bad.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Sure, but before we do…” Amren begins, a devious smile playing on her lips as she glances at you from across the table. “Can I keep the rubies?”

“Yeah and you can even keep the threat that comes with it too.”

The rest of dinner is, for the most part, uneventful. Rhysand excuses himself early to finish on some paperwork and before he leaves, he lets you and Cassian know that High Lord Nostrus should be receiving your written apologies by tomorrow morning. Amren leaves shortly after, eager to return to the quiet peace of her home. Just in time, too, as she manages to avoid a pointless argument between Cassian and Azriel over who has the best technique in training.

Not wanting to be dragged into it, you rise from your seat, grabbing a hold of the two remaining unopened wine bottles that Rhysand forgot to take back with him. You turn to Mor and you laugh when you don’t even have to say anything. She’s already standing from her seat, gesturing for you to lead the way.

The two of you end up in one of the living rooms and you’re touched when you find that the sentient house has a delicious assortment of desserts waiting for you on the coffee table. You sink into the comfort of the couch, feeling like you’re sitting on a cloud. Mor seats herself beside you, doing the honors of pouring you a glass of wine.

It doesn’t take long before the two of you are immersed into the dirtiest of gossip and catch up with one another. You move to pour yourself another glass only to find the second wine bottle empty, so you set your empty glass down on the coffee table. Leaning back into the comfort of the plush couch, you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know what he’s done to me,” you confess quietly, exhaustion taking over your features. “I’ve known him for years and all of sudden, I’m a possessive jealous mess? It doesn’t make sense to me.”

Mor raises a brow, as if it makes perfect sense to her. She then hums in contemplation, swirling the last drops of wine in her glass. “Maybe we should go out, have some fun, find a little distraction for you.”

“Or you can tell Cassian how you feel.”

The deep voice startles you both, causing Mor to gasp. Her glass falls from her grasps as Azriel emerges from the shadows. She regards the small specks of red tainting the white carpet with a frown before lifting her gaze to scowl at the Shadowsinger while you shoot him a mortified look.

“How dare you give her a reasonable option?” Mor chides him, waving her hands dramatically in the air.

“Stop with that nonsense, Az,” you say, a slight slur to your words. A frown settles onto your face, heart aching as your mind forces you to think of Cassian and Olianna. “He doesn’t feel the same for me as I do for him. I’ll only ruin our friendship if I do.”

Azriel’s eyes travel throughout the room. He takes in the empty bottles of wine, your hazy eyes and Mor’s flushed face. He looks like he wants to tell you something, on the verge of sharing a secret. Yet, whatever words linger on the tip of his tongue remain unspoken. He decides it’s best to turn around and leave, the inked wing on his arm burning further into his skin.

“Fine but don’t call me for help when you destroy another building.”

"Oh, fuck you."

He doesn't bother to turn around as he returns the gesture, a small chuckle escaping from him as he disappears into his shadows.

“So,” you turn back to Mor. “How about that distraction?” 

**

“By the Cauldron, you look absolutely ravishing.” Mor whistles, stepping back to appreciate her work and as you look at your reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but agree.

After asking Rhysand to fly you both down, Mor winnowed you both to the townhouse, where she kept most of her going out clothes as it was a shorter distance to Rita’s. Insisting on glamming you up, she took charge of your hair and makeup, even providing you with a choice from her wardrobe. Considering the wings, your options were limited, but your gaze was drawn to a striking red satin dress. It had an alluring lace-up open back and a daring slit hem.

After scouring the dance floor for an hour from your seat at the bar, you finally find someone who catches your interest and as you approach him, you’re happy to find that he isn't intimidated by the sight of your wings. Despite your determination to keep a low profile in Velaris, it becomes challenging to go unnoticed when your friends all possess such great reputations, especially when Cassian is by your side. Mor wishes you good luck, sending you a wink as you depart from her side. 

The male, who is named Felix, slings an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to him as you dance and you find yourself missing the scent of sandalwood immensely. He grins at you, intentions as clear as yours. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, drinking you under the neon lights of Rita’s. He licks his lips and glances over at your wings. “I’ve heard Illyrians can be very sensitive when it comes to their wings. Can I touch?”

Your mind immediately brings an image forward, of your wings being softly caressed, and heat pools down to your stomach. But in your head, it’s not the male in front of you. It’s Cassian’s.  

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her!”

By the Cauldron, your mind is playing tricks on you as you can even hear his voice too.

You feel the loss of warmth from the male and you open your eyes just in time to see Felix sent stumbling to the floor. Your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. Cassian is standing in front of you, chest heaving. The people who had stopped to stare quickly avert their gazes at his heated stare.

Felix gets up to his feet. He doesn’t even spare you a glance or a word as he disappears into the crowd. You’re immediately leaving the dance floor, not bothering to grab your coat before you exit the club with Cassian hot on your heels.

You pivot and Cassian nearly bumps into you. “What the fuck Cassian?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, returning your glare. “What the fuck?”

“Why are you even here?”

“I don’t know. Something didn't feel right." Cassian confesses, placing a hand over his chest as if to settle a pain.

You turn back around, knowing the towering Illyrian male was already planning to follow you. You begin to make your way to your place–a small apartment that Rhysand had gifted you on your first solstice in Velaris. You seldom used it, preferring to stay at either the house of wind or townhouse, but Rhysand insisted you have a place of your own in case you ever need space.

“And that gave you the right to ruin my night?” you huff over your shoulder.

“Ruin your night? I just saved you!”

“From what?” You laugh with sarcasm, grateful that the walk from your apartment and Rita’s was short. Pulling your key out from your bra, you hastily unlock your door.  “An orgasm? Gee, thanks. Love you for that,” and then under your breath mutter: “I didn’t stop you from yours in Summer.”

As soon as you step through your door, you turn and shut it behind you. A boot stops you from doing so and Cassian pushes against you and the door, allowing himself in. “What are you talking about?”

“You mean to tell me nothing happened between you and Olianna?”

“Yes, because nothing happened! She asked me to help her with a move after dinner so I did and…” His voice trails off, and then a heavy silence descends as realization washes over him. He looks at you, and you instinctively avert your gaze.

Without bothering to slip off your heels, you dart straight to your room, desperate to put as much distance between the two of you. You’re not ready to have this conversation. Relief mingles with embarrassment, both emotions flooding you and sending blood rushing to your face. But Cassian is determined. He follows after you.

“Were you jealous?”

Arms crossed over your chest, you keep your back to him, wings curled around you. “No.”

Cassian chuckles, and before you know it, he's spinning you around to face him. One hand presses against your lower back, the other at your face. A smirk plays on his lips as he reads the defiant expression on your face. He knows you’re lying.

“You were jealous.”

“So were you,” you manage to say back.

Cassian hums in what can only be agreement. A thumb reaches out to brush your lower lip, the same way he did your first night in Summer, and then he’s replacing his thumb with his lips. The way he wanted to that night. His kiss is anything but gentle. It’s pure heated desire–one that has been simmering for years. You kiss him back, matching his urgency and he groans, allowing both of his hands to cup your face as his lips mold perfectly against yours.

He pulls away, his hands still cradling your face as his gaze burns into yours. “You want to orgasm tonight? I can give it to you.”

A thrill runs down your spine and your wings shudder. You should push him away. Cassian is your friend. A friend… who is offering to give you an orgasm with a very promising look at this very moment. Though your heart tells you not to, that you might end up hurt after this, there’s that singing in your chest again. Give in.

“You sound so confident.”

His eyes darken as his legs push against yours, walking you both to your bed. The back of your knees meet your bed and you give in, allowing yourself to fall onto the soft sheets behind you. You land on your elbows and push yourself even further up on your bed until your back meets your headrest.

“Don’t test me, baby,” he purrs, watching the way your thighs clench in response to the new nickname. It makes his cock harden in his pants. “I can have you screaming all night long.”

“Lay it all on me,” you reply, heart be damned.

Cassian wastes no time in stripping himself of his clothes, lust filled eyes fixated on you. His hard cock springs free and your eyes widen because yes, you’ve seen him before but not like this. Not when he’s hard and leaking and it’s all for you. He pumps himself, licking his lips, as your arousal floods his senses before easing himself onto the bed.

He slips your heels off and discards them. His hands caress their way up your legs and the roughness of his hands, weathered by many battles and challenges, feels heavenly against you. As his hands make their way higher, they begin kneading at the soft flesh of your thighs, dragging your dress up along with his movements. He groans at the thin lace that greets him, pressing his lips against your clothed core.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

“Well, you did catch me in the middle of something promising earlier…”

Cassian growls at your words, a wave of possessiveness taking over him. “Yeah? Well, by the time I’m done with you, it will be my cum dripping out of this pretty pussy.”

He’s tugging at your underwear, hastily dragging it down your legs. With a devious smirk, he grasps your hands and places them over his hair.

It’s the only warning he gives you before diving right in and setting you alight with his mouth. His nose brushes against your clit as he begins to fuck you with his tongue. “Do you know how often I thought of this? Of tasting you.”

You want to tell him you’ve thought of this too but you’re too lost in the pleasure of his mouth. All you can do is moan and it spurs him on, urging him to bring you closer to your release.  “I can only imagine how good I’ll feel inside you.”

His words, a promise of what is to come, is your undoing. You’re squirming beneath him, back arching off the bed as you thread your fingers through his hair. A string of curses leaves your lips when he presses multiple kisses to your clit, overwhelming you in such a delightful way.

Cassian pulls away, mouth glistening with your release as he grins and your heart flutters. He crawls his way up your body, replacing his tongue with his fingers, reveling in the way they easily slide in. His lips slot over yours in a sloppy and heated kiss. When he slips another finger into you, you’re moaning into his mouth. His tongue dances with yours, wrestling for dominance that you ardently submit to.

“Please, Cassian,” you’re begging when his lips leave yours and his cock twitches at the pretty sounds that follow after. Another wave of white hot pleasure crashes over you and he groans, loving the way you're clenching so tightly around his fingers. “I need you.”

Cassian slips his fingers out of you, placing his hands at your hips to flip the both of you over. He adjusts you to straddle his lap, gaze burning into you with need. “Show me.”

“But let’s get rid of this first.” His fingers toy with the slit of your dress. “I need to see all of you.”

You nod, fingers reaching behind to undo the laces of your dress. The sound of fabric ripping reaches your ears before you can undo the first knot and cool air caresses against the newly exposed skin. 

“Cassian!”

“That’s my name, baby,” he grins at you, expertly unclasping your bra and throwing it behind you along with the torn dress.

“That wasn’t my dre–oh.” Your protest dies at your throat, eyes fluttering shut as he takes your breasts in his hands, kneading the soft flesh and pressing them together. The torn dress you borrowed from Mor is long forgotten, stored away in the back of your mind. The same way you stored away all your reservations. The desire that’s been consuming you is too much for you to think through reasonably so you succumb completely into it, knowing there will be consequences to deal with later.

**

It’s almost embarrassing how much Cassian has thought about this, especially after the tease you gave him in Summer. His desires had gone beyond wanting to kiss you that night. He wanted to see, feel and taste every part of you. To hear you moaning and screaming just for him. Now, that you’re completely bare before him, he can look, feel and taste all he wants. And he plans to bask in every second of your warmth.

 “So fucking beautiful,” he breathes, leaning in to take a breast into his mouth, tongue swirling around your hardening nipple with burning hunger. Your hands find purchase in his hair again as you arch yourself further, grinding against him. Lewd moans escape from both of you when the tip of his cock brushes against your sensitive clit. Cassian dives for your neck next, pressing hot open mouthed kisses everywhere he can. 

“Come on, baby girl. Show me how much you need me and ride me.”

Aligning yourself with him, you slowly sink down onto his cock, savoring the burn from the stretch. His fingers run up and down your sides before settling onto your hips. Eyes fluttering shut at the sheer intensity of your warmth, he can’t help but thrust up into you, fully sheathing himself inside you. His head tilts back when you begin to move and he releases a deep groan.

It’s when your thighs start to tremble and wings flare out that he takes over. He hugs you tightly, arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand rubs at your clit. While he pants and groans against your neck, you’re crying and screaming out his name. He plants his feet on the bed and thrusts ruthlessly up into you over and over again until you both reach your high, wings flaring out. 

**

As Cassian stirs in bed, a cool emptiness greets him, replacing the warmth he expected. Blinking his eyes open, he finds the spot beside him empty. You're gone. The lingering trace of your sweet scent is the only evidence of what transpired between you both. Fuck. Apprehension weighs down on his mind in your absence, threatening to sicken his stomach. He needs to talk to you. 

After freshening up and slipping into the spare clothes he keeps at your place, his determination to find you takes hold. It's as if he can sense the storm of emotions within you—guilt, anxiety, and fear. There’s an inkling in his mind as to where you are. He knows you so well. A soft smile graces his lips when he spots you on the training grounds of the house of wind, unleashing powerful strikes on a punching bag.

Your hair is gathered into a carefree bun, and today, you've traded your usual leathers for leggings and a sports bra. You’re a vision of strength and beauty and as loose strands of your hair dance in the breeze, Cassian finds himself lost in the realization of just how deeply in love with you he is. 

He lands softly, fighting the urge to frown when he notices the immediate tension in your body from his presence. He hesitates, his throat bobbing as he looks at you, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "Can we—"

"No, let me talk first," you interrupt with a deep sigh as you turn to face him.

"But I had something to say first," he insists with a slight shake of his head.

“I have something more important to say."

Cassian crosses his arms, challenging your claim. "My something is more important than your something."

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air and as the weight of your confession sinks in, a wave of fear grips you. You're certain you've just shattered any hopes of a remaining friendship with him. Because after last night, there's no way you can keep going on as a friend when you want to be so much more. The silence becomes maddening, and suddenly, you can't hold it any longer.

“I love you so much it hurts,” you admit with a trembling breath, tears welling in your eyes. “Because I want your every smile, your every laugh, but above all, I want your heart and–and I’m sorry for–”

“Oh, y/n,” Cassian interrupts with a chuckle.

The sound makes you go weak and you’re absolutely mortified. He rarely ever calls you by your name. He’s about to break your heart, the very thing you’ve been fearing since the realization of your feelings. The urge to run away grips you, but your feet remain planted. You lack the strength to escape the moment. Tears flow freely down your face, and your wings sag behind you, unable to bear the weight of vulnerability.

“You’ve had my heart from the start.”

Slowly, you lift your gaze. Hazel eyes bore into yours, the golden flecks glimmering at you. “What?”

He steps closer to you until he's standing right in front of you. His hands cradle your face as he wipes at your tears. “I’ve loved you for years. I thought I made it pretty obvious, especially after last night.”

“Not obvious enough,” you remark with a huff but there’s a playful and affectionate undertone in your voice.

“I could remind you again?”

"Please."

A radiant smile breaks onto Cassian’s face, and the warmth in his eyes washes away any doubt that may have lingered in your heart. Something within you flutters madly against your ribs. All these years…the teasing, the flirting, the lingering touches. They all meant something to him, the same way it did for you. You’ve loved him and he loved you back. So many years wasted, yearning and pining for one another. As you gaze into each other’s eyes, so many unspoken words are said and there’s a shared understanding that you’re not wasting another moment.

**

Rhysand raises his cup of coffee to his lips, the rich aroma swirling around him as he catches a glimpse of Cassian, carrying you over his shoulder, with an eagerness he’s familiar with. He then glances over the rim of his mug at Azriel, seated across from him at the breakfast table.

"Do you think they know?"

Azriel snorts in response. "Doubt it. I think you should tell them."

“No.” Rhysand's lips curve into a smirk. "Let's see how long it takes them to realize that their mating bond has snapped into place."

“We should probably head out.”

“Good idea,” Rhysand replies with a nod of his head.

In the blink of an eye, the sentient house packs the remnants of their breakfast for them to enjoy elsewhere. Without a moment's delay, they make their way to one of the balconies. Their wings gracefully unfurl behind them, catching the morning sunlight that bathes them in a golden glow.

As they soar away, you and Cassian remain blissfully unaware of the invisible thread that has silently bound your souls together for years.

tagging: @historiaxvanserra

a/n: I always wanted to write a fic where a mating bond has snapped but neither of them have a clue because they already loved each other, might be a bit unrealistic but 🤷‍♀️ I came across this bibble meme while writing this and it reminded me of both reader and Cas in some aspects. Since I couldn't think of an embarrassing nickname, I went with Bibble and so now the cute little character is canon in Prythian in this lol.

if you want more background info on reader and cas: click here

Other things that I included in this part:

This scene from Vampire Diaries.

also, this tiktok.

[mythicmanuscripts]

Hey, I actually started watching HOTD just some days ago (thanks to tumblr constantly throwing fics at me with very promising summaries and gifs of very pretty men until I couldn't resist any more) and now I keep rereading everything you write about Aegon because it's just so good and just everything I need.

Could I maybe request some more about Aegon crying during sex, maybe he tries to hide it but he can't keep it quite so his wive notices anyways. I'm currently just really addicted to the idea of holding him and telling him he's doing fine

And thank you so much for everything you've written ❤️

Absolutely we can discuss all of this!!! I am always glad to welcome another into the crybaby!aegon agenda. I intended for this to be fully soft and smutty and well... there's a fair amount of angst too I am sorry in in advance but I promise it ends well!! Also this got so far away from me oh my god I thought I was writing a quick blurb and it turned into one of the longest pieces I've ever written.

Soft NSFW sub!aegon below the cut :))

So obviously as we all know, Aegon is not exactly a virgin. You knew this going into your marriage with him, hell just about every person in the entire seven kingdoms knew this. You were fine with it, well, as fine as you can be. You weren't expecting a marriage of love, or even of companionship. You knew you'd have to give him a few heirs, and then after that you doubted you'd even see much of him. That was fine, you wanted to be queen and you are queen. You can withstand a bit of Aegon's infidelity for that title.

What you don't expect, however, is how utterly shocked and taken with you your new husband seems to be the moment you show him any amount of human decency? It's like he expected you to actively try to kill him and the fact that you actually greet him in the mornings and ask him how his day went during dinner means he must now follow you around like some sort of sad puppy?

Meanwhile for Aegon, he was also certain he'd just make some heirs and then barely see you. I think his belief would mostly be because of Allicent actually? All Allicent ever told him from the moment he came of age was how much of a disappointment he was and how she would need to find a way to ensure that he doesn't completely fuck up the entire of the seven kingdoms. And when she tells him that she's found him a wife, he immediately knows she would have chosen someone who was with her agenda and would have already convinced the person that he would be useless.

But, nevertheless, he decided he would do his duty.

What he did not expect, however, was how... cordial you were with him? And not only that, you seemed to actually try to be nice to him?? He really doesn't know what to do with himself when he comes into your shared quarters after dinner to perform his required duties and instead of just rolling over and telling him to be done with it, you actually start by talking to him? And... and asking about his day??

And then when he answers, you respond? And you lament with him about how ridiculous and uptight most of the people in the castle are? He's so shocked that you even want to converse with him at all.

He doesn't even end up trying for an heir. He just... has an hour long conversation with you that ends with him nearly falling asleep against your shoulder and then when he realises the position he's in, he quickly bids you goodnight and leaves to his quarters.

It goes like that for a little while, except now you seem to be seeing Aegon everywhere? It's like he's actually trying to run into you as much as possible so that he can ask what you've been doing and have even the smallest conversation with you.

It reaches a point where you actually start to see his eyes light up every time he sees you, and well, you have no fucking idea what to do with that because your husband hasn't tried for an heir since your wedding night and has instead been scrambling for any ounce of your attention.

You consider going to Allicent about it, because she's starting to ask questions about whether you've bled for the month yet or not to figure out if you have an heir for them, but then you decided it against it because honest Aegon just looks so happy? You know if you speak to Allicent then she will set Aegon straight and it'll go back to how it was the first night. You don't want that. You don't want to see the weight back on Aegon's shoulders.

I actually think that as you get closer, and Aegon starts to realise he might have a real genuine confidant, he gets more and more nervous about actually having sex with you?

Aegon thinks he knows all there is to know about sex, and he's certainly has enough women in his bed to understand the mechanics if nothing else, but he doesnt want that with you. The women in the brothels he's been with... sure it felt good but deep down he knew it was fake and they knew it too. They'd put on a show for him, do whatever they thought would make him happy and while yes it most certainly did make him happy, it also made him... empty? Yeah, empty.

As he gets to know you and enjoy being with you, his heart starts to ache at the thought of you going into that mode that all the others seemed to where they just let him get his business over with and then promptly left the room. He knows that's what you're supposed to do, but he can't quite bring himself to do it because fuck he just, he really likes you and he's not sure where to go with this.

He's never had anyone actually make him feel safe before? And yeah you're extremely attractive but you also listen to him complain and make him laugh and genuinely care about him and he's just very lost.

He goes back to the brothel then, because he thinks he needs to just sleep with another woman and remind himself how good that feels and then he'll be able to bring himself to go do what he's supposed to do with you.

You don't know this of course.

Well, you don't know until about 2 hours after Aegon left for the brothel when he comes barging into your private chambers with tears in his eyes and promptly begs for forgiveness.

You obviously haven't a clue what's going on, but you pull him into a hug anyway and ask him what this is about.

Through many whines and sobs he eventually manages to explain that he went to a brothel, tried to fuck a whore and... couldnt? You try to get him to explain what he could mean by that and he kinda just buries his head in his hands and sobs even harder.

So at this point you've fully given up trying to figure out what's going on and you just pull him against your chest and press soft kisses into his hair. He melts against you, his body going slack as he nuzzles his nose against the exposed skin at your gown's neckline.

Once he's calmed down, he still doesn't move, but he does manage to whisper what happened.

He went to a brothel intent on fucking a whore to get himself back into the swing of things and then the following day to actually fulfil his duties as husband. Except, the moment the brothel worker kissed him he felt terrible and pushed her off. They brought in more women, and he couldnt do it. He... he felt like he was betraying you.

Eventually you just pull away to make him look at you and ask him, "What do you want? Genuinely, what do you want?"

He's silent for a moment, then he surges forward and kisses you. It's the first time you've kissed him since your wedding night, and this time it's like he's melting into your arms.

You kiss him back, and you have to tug at his hair to make him stop so you can breathe and repeat the question. He tries to kiss you again, but you tighten your grip on his hair to prevent him. The whine he lets out at being denied is fucking sinful, but you won't give in until he's actually told you want he wants.

"Wanna... wanna be good for you," he says eventually, "I don't want to be how I was before, I don't want all that emptiness I just... how do I be good?"

This time, you're the one that starts the kiss and he lets you just manhandle him so easily. He's so pliant under you, whining and whimpering and looking insanely gorgeous as he tries to touch you.

You ride him, and fuck the way tears just run down his eyes as he thanks you and grips your hips is life changing. He's so good like this, all worked up and squirmy and so so turned on. But he doesn't act, not at all. You started this, and he's not going to do a thing, he wants to your plaything, nothing more.

He turns his head to the side as you start to ride him properly, trying to hide how tears are just streaming down his cheeks but you take his chin in your hand and turn him to face you. You stop riding him for a second to wipe the tears away.

"You're so good," you promise him, "couldnt even get yourself off anymore, huh?" He whines and nods and cries, because you get it, you get it.

"I'll take care of you then," you say, smirking when he actually groans in relief, "but," you carry on, "then you're mine, yeah? Only mine, no more brothels or whores or servants."

And fuck if that isnt the easiest promise he's ever made.

(Just a quick sidenote to end off this novel: We should discuss himbo!aegon with his queen who does absolutely everything. Yes he's technically the king but in practice his only job is to look pretty and listen to wife and he is truly living his absolute best life)

[writingquestionsanswered]

Not to be a downer, but I actually finished my novel and now I’m confused because I don’t want to publish it. I don’t even particularly want anyone other than maybe my two close friends to even read it. What on Earth did I write 40k words (which I know is not really long enough for a novel, but it’s still far and away the longest thing I’ve ever written) for? I know people say “write for yourself” but like… am I just wasting my time? Help?

(p.s. you can leave this off anon)

(p.p.s your blog is really great 👍)

There's No Such Thing as Wasted Writing

I'm going to tackle this two ways...

#1 - "Write For Yourself" - there's a reason this common phrase has echoed through the Hall of Writers since time immemorial. It's because it's true! Writing doesn't have to be anything more than a pastime. It doesn't have to be anything more than something you do for your own benefit and enjoyment.

I have an in-joke with family members about how any time one of us does something the least bit crafty, DIY, skilled, whatever, a particular family member will always say, "You did a great job! You should do it for a living!" Like, someone can't even crochet a Kawaii mushroom without being pressured to turn it into an Etsy dynasty, or paint a cabinet without being pressured to become the next Property Brothers. And that's such a BANANAS capitalistic mindset, isn't it? This idea that nothing can be done purely for our own enjoyment. That you can't just write a novel because you want to... you can only write it if you plan to share it or publish it? It's just so silly.

And, the thing is, we don't even apply that mentality to a lot of other things people do purely for enjoyment. No one is streaming all of Bridgerton in two nights and saying, "I enjoyed every second of that, but why did I do that? Such a waste of time!" No one spends an hour strumming their guitar under the stars on a beach, and then says, "That was so relaxing and fun, but I didn't charge for that performance and I didn't record it to sell it, so that was obviously a waste of time."

You know what I mean?

#2 - And Anyway, Practice Makes Perfect - And if you keep writing--even if you continue not to share or publish--you'll get better and better with each story you write. Which, maybe all that means is you get to appreciate your own improvement, but also, should you ever change your mind and decide to write something to share or publish, you've now spent time honing your skills. Even if those other stories never see the light of day, they're still an important foundation of the writer you become. Do you know how many unpublished novellas, novels, and short stories I have? Too many to count. Hundreds of fan-fiction and original fiction short stories I've only shared with one or two other people, if anyone. A dozen or so novels and novellas that have only been read by a few people, and some haven't been read by anyone else or have only been read by my CPs. I would never consider those stories and novels and novellas to be a waste of time, because I know every single one made me a better writer. My published work is better because I wrote those other things.

So, I hope that makes you feel better. At the very least you hopefully enjoyed writing your novel--or at least got something out of it--and you definitely honed your writing skills, which matters! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[angelremnants]

Between Strength & Style l L. Laufeyson

PART THREE.⠀....THE RESTRAINTS TURN TO RUINS.

summary : Loki’s probationary stint with the Avengers takes a surprising turn when Thor insists on dragging him to the team’s fluorescent-lit gym—a place he deems far beneath his dignity. His disdain shifts the moment you stride in with effortless confidence, transforming the mundane gym into your personal runway, commanding the room and worse, directly challenging his ego. Determined not to be overshadowed, Loki initiated a playful competition, vying to outshine you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. Yet, what began as irritation soon evolved into intrigue—and an electric chemistry taking place between you and forcing him to confront not only your undeniable allure but also his own battle for self-control. The only question left was: how many Fridays would pass before one of you finally caves in?

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), eventual romance, resolved sexual tension (finally!), kind of dub-con but also not?, love/hate sex, rough sex, dry humping, thigh riding, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, cum eating, shower sex, risky sex, power play, unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it!), implied oral sex (female receiving), creampie, hard dom!Loki/sub!reader, lots of heavy dirty talking, praise/degradation kink, hand gagging, flirting & teasing, emotional conflict, aftercare, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 27.8k

author's notes : My sincere apologies for the tardiness of the upload, uni started back a few days ago and I had, for some reason, quite some difficulty crafting this chapter—which is by far the filthiest smut I've ever written until now and possibly the longest, as I had to make up for the wait. Here is the long-awaited climax (no, really) of this three-shots. I'm pleased to see that this story was so well-received, as it was really written on impulse.

Make sure to read the first two parts if you haven't done it yet, not just for the context but also because the build-up makes it so much more worth it. ;)

(ao3 version)

⠀

Saturday. It ought to have been your haven—a priceless, untouchable day dedicated to rest. A day set aside for relief—a unique, treasured chance to relax, get some much-needed sleep or even enjoy a few blissful hours of inactivity. Maybe you would have gotten the sleep you had been missing all these days due to some godly parasite lingering inside of your head, or you would have spent a few hours of delightful indolence watching your favorite shows in the comfort of your cozy bed. Instead, like a prisoner heading to their execution, you found yourself stumbling toward the gym in the early hours of the following day, each step laden with fear.

And it was all become of him.

One month. It had been thirty maddening days since Loki had chosen to make you the center of his entertainment, enticing you into his intricate little game of battling for the spotlight and disrupting your carefully crafted lifestyle. You hadn't been offered the chance to decline or be offered a volunteer position. In fact, you didn't even know there was a game until he walked into the gym that fateful morning with his trademark arrogant smile, his piercing eyes, and his incredibly sharp tongue that seemed to be designed specifically to rile you up, strutting around like some arrogant peacock and prompting in you the burning sensation of desperately wanting to put him back in his place. It was as if he had come in with the express intent of making you lose your mind, and ever since, he had made it his goal to constantly torture, mock, and irritate you.

You thought you had done a great job of pretending it didn't bother you. It had all been part of your improvised plan to keep some semblance of sanity, brushing off his scathing remarks and acting as though you were unaware of the way his gaze lingered just a bit too long whenever he peered in your direction. However, the reality was that Loki had a strange way of getting under your skin, digging deep, and burning it like no one else ever could, ultimately making you enter many weekly rounds of push and pull and leaving the unforeseen public wanting more in their bets on which of the two would finally crack from their infantile provocations. 

The culmination of it all had been the previous day. You had completely failed to fall asleep, your heart still pounding with adrenaline, and your restless mind replaying over and over your last encounter with him. It was simply another verbal sparring match, a battle of glares and scathing retorts, nothing extraordinary. The shared spark hovering on the verge of burning was the only extra taste. It was enough to set your entire body on fire when he brashly pushed you against the shake bar counter and smiled menacingly, promising to ruin you in the finest way possible. Although it didn't completely rock your world, it certainly did cause your ovaries to tremble, which fueled the restless energy that had persisted in you ever since.

Hours passed slowly and you were still staring at the ceiling, scrutinizing any specks on it while attempting to interpret his final words when the first rays of sunlight came through your window. "When I settle things, I make sure it’s unforgettable." What on Earth had he meant by that? And more significantly, what fresh torment had he in store for you?

The questions flitted through your head like vultures as you dressed, putting on bras sports, a basic tank top and leggings with weak motions and a tired sigh—you didn’t feel the need to go all out for this morning, as you would be practically caged with your sworn attention-hungry enemy. Your body felt slow and fatigued, but your mind was racing at full speed. A part of you wanted to march into that gym and slam his smirk-adorned pretty face against the nearest wall until it was unrecognizable. Another part... well, you didn’t want to think about what the other part of you wanted. 

You pushed the treacherous thoughts away as you finished lacing your sneakers and turned to face the mirror, giving yourself a stern, no-nonsense look. “Get. it. together,” you muttered, insisting on each word that was coming out as much as a plea as it was an order.

Desperate to shake off the grogginess—and the simmering frustration—you bounced on your toes a few times, throwing a few half-hearted shadow punches. Some quick jumps, fists raised and throwing jabs here and there and a sharp exhale. The motion sent a small jolt of energy through your muscles, enough to strengthen your resolve, but it did little to alleviate the knot of apprehension that was tightly wound in your chest.

Whatever the god had planned, you promised yourself you would not let him get the best of you. Not this time, not ever, and not anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly walked out of your room, your footsteps echoing off the walls as you made your way to the gym. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting long, shifting shadows that added to your sense of foreboding. The closer you got, the heavier each step felt, as if the weight of expectation was dragging you down. 

The gym loomed ahead, having evolved into something more than just a room full of machines. It was a battleground, a crucible. Loki seemed so determined to push you to your limits, testing your patience, strength, and willpower with each encounter. You could not decide which bothered you more: the fear of losing control in his presence or the nagging suspicion that he was purposefully trying to break you to see how far he could go. Upper motives are Loki's specialty, after all. But, on the other hand, was this really just a game for him?

At last, you reached your destination, staying still in front of the entrance. Your fingers curled around the handle, allowing the cool metal to ground you for a moment while you paused, your pulse quickening as a dozen different scenarios raced through your head.

Was this your doom or your solace? And which one did you hope to find today?

You didn’t know. But as you pushed open the door and stepped inside, you braced yourself for whatever Loki had planned for you.

Surprisingly, it was already slightly ajar when you arrived, allowing just a sliver of light to pass through. The first rays of the rising sun spilled in, casting a soft, golden glow across the immaculate gym floor, which had been completely cleared of the chaos left by the Hulk's rampage. The sunbeams pierced through the towering windows, their warm light reaching all corners of the gym and illuminating the grandeur of Manhattan beyond—a city still waking up, its skyline bathed in the soft hues of dawn, almost as if holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

But it was not the breathtaking scenery that halted you in your tracks. 

No. What really drew your attention, leaving you momentarily speechless, was the sight of Loki. There he was, in the middle of it all, surprisingly barefoot. His form stood in stark contrast against the polished surroundings, like a shadow amidst the brilliance. The god of mischief was leaning against the cracked wall, his fingers moving with effortless precision over the remaining damage, the last traces of destruction fading beneath his fingertips. The ground had been thoroughly cleaned up, free of any debris from the mutant's rampage, so you did not have to worry about him injuring himself—not that you would be concerned anyway. 

The air around him buzzed with magical remnants that seemed to belong there, blending in with the repairs he was doing. His posture was lazy and languid, as if he were bored with the task at hand, and repairing a wall was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

It irked you more than you cared to admit.

Despite his outward calm, a familiar knot twisted in your chest—a mix of irritation, resentment, and, for reasons you could not fathom, bubbling excitement. The same sensation that seemed to arise whenever Loki was nearby—a dangerous combination that you were all too familiar with.

And yet, he didn’t even acknowledge your presence. It was as if you hadn’t walked in at all.

You stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. There he was, the god who had turned your world upside down, with his back turned to you. You couldn’t decide whether to wait and see if his ever-annoying smirk would appear or if he would look at you with that cold, calculating stare he wore when sent out on missions, which always made your skin prickle.

A moment stretched. Then—

"Late as usual," Loki's voice broke the silence, smooth and taunting as always, his gaze fixed on his work.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Here it is, you bitterly thought as you deeply inhaled, bracing yourself for what was coming next.

“I’m sorry, was I supposed to be impressed?” You retorted, stepping deeper into the room, sarcasm laced throughout your words. “You’re fixing a wall, not saving the world. Do you want me to give you a standing ovation?”

He let out a soft, almost bored sigh and continued to work as if your words did not bother him. "And good morrow to you as well. The first rays appear, and you are already up and taunting me. But I suppose that is part of your appeal, is it not?"

You moved around the room, your gaze scanning the gym. It was still a mess in places, but nothing you could not handle with a little effort—and probably Loki's self-assured arrogance as well. If you weren’t any pettier, you would be surprisingly grateful towards him doing most of the hard job—which is saying something, coming from Loki himself. Perhaps your worries weren’t misplaced, after all—as far as you knew, the god never did anything out of the kindness of his heart. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. Honestly, I have seen better magic tricks in street performances," you replied, your voice light but your irritation simmering beneath the surface. You focused your attention on the task at hand, preparing for the impending manual labor.

But your treacherous gaze quickly returned to him, still bathed in sunlight as he worked to complete the repairs. The golden light illuminated the muscular expanse of his back, accentuating every ridge and dip with almost agonizing clarity. Each movement was a seamless display of strength and precision, the sinews of his shoulders rolling effortlessly beneath his skin. A faint sheen clung to his torso, highlighting the sharp lines that drew the eye down the length of his spine.

Your eyes then lowered unwantedly, drawn to the way his trousers hugged his figure, especially the firm curve of his ass. The fabric clung in a way that left little to the imagination, draping over him with an almost sculptural elegance. Each subtle shift of his weight made the material stretch and conform, as though emphasizing every detail of his form.

Your cheeks flushed as your imagination deceived you, racing with uncontrollable thoughts of how you wanted to explore that body. You were split between silent adoration and an almost painful need to close the gap between you. The silence weighed down hard, interrupted only by the faint hum of his power. There was an electric tension in the air, thick enough to taste, as if something was going to snap. Perhaps another volley of sharp words—or something more physical.

Loki gradually stepped aside from his work, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. His lips curled into an irritating, all-knowing smirk. “Are you finished inspecting my masterpiece, or do you plan to continue judging my artwork?” he asked, his tone almost playful, yet it carried a challenge beneath it.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the pointless instigation. “Oh, I’m sure it’s magnificent, Loki. Just like everything you touch," you sarcastically said, your tone basking in mockery.

His smirk unfortunately only deepened at your retort, a glint of mischief sparking in his eyes. “Do you always arm yourself with such wit before breakfast, or am I to feel especially privileged today?” He teased, his gaze lingering on you for just a little too long, never leaving yours.

It was tempting to fire back, to throw another retort his way, but you forced yourself to bite your tongue. You had a task at hand, and you were damn well going to finish it—no matter how insufferable Loki was being.

With a deep breath, you set aside your irritation. “Fine, let’s just get this over with. "The sooner it is finished, the sooner I can leave your delightful company," you muttered under your breath, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

Loki raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the wall, his lips curled into a lazy smirk as he crossed his arms. “My, such ambition. One might almost think you find my presence unbearable.”

You did not grace him with the privilege of an answer, instead reaching for a nearby broom and beginning to sweep up the last of the debris. Each step you took felt heavier than the previous one as you mentally prepared for the physical labor ahead. Whether it was the oppressive atmosphere or Loki's unyielding presence, you could not help but sense the tension building, hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

The only thing you were certain of?

Today was going to be longer than you anticipated.

After a while, you took a purposeful stride behind the bar, the motion almost automatic, deciding that a shake was exactly what you needed to boost your energy and, more importantly, to prepare yourself for the mental endurance you were sure this morning would require. The frustration from the previous few moments persisted beneath the surface, like an ember that refused to die. You forced yourself to concentrate on the simple task at hand: preparing your beverage. After all, getting through the rest of the day would require all of your strength and endurance, especially with the man in the background.

As you reached for the blender, his voice rang out behind you while he was seemingly approaching you, slow and taunting, as if he had all the time in the world. "I have already repaired the marble, you know. The only thing left to do is put the glasses away and clean the countertops. But, of course, you would rather stand there and make yourself a drink, would you not?"

You didn’t turn to face him, focusing instead on measuring the ingredients for your shake, with your back to him as you gathered your supplies. "I am making myself something to drink because I have not eaten yet," you answered with a clipped tone, revealing your growing irritation. “And trust me, I’m going to need it if I’m going to survive being in the same room as you.”

You could almost hear the smirk curling on his lips. He moved closer and titled his head over your shoulder, his voice dropping to a timbre of contempt. “A shake? How… pedestrian.” You sensed his obvious presence behind you, like a shadow too near for comfort. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about what you really need.” 

His breath tickled the back of your neck as he leaned in, and his words sounded almost sensual. Your pulse quickened at the implication, and a flash of annoyance coursed through you. You couldn’t let him get under your skin—not this early at least. Taking a steadying breath, you returned your attention to the blender, attempting to ignore Loki's magnetic pull and the way he appeared to consume the space around him.

Then, just as you were about to finish blending your shake, Loki's voice dropped once more, this time with a sly, dangerous edge. “Do you think that shake will be enough to cool you off? Or would you rather I provide a more... appropriate remedy?”

Never mind him not getting under your skin—that pushed your patience over the edge.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the nearest glass of water, spun on your heel, and splashed it directly into his face. “How’s that for cooling off?” You returned with a strained smile, your words as sharp as your gaze, your chest rising and falling with the rage you could not control. You immediately spun away, determined to leave before your temper flared.

There was a brief period of silence. Loki stood perfectly still, his eyes closed since receiving the impromptu attack. He inhaled deeply as the magic around him crackled like a storm on the horizon, his irritation settled in the air, thick and heavy, like a warning. He slowly wiped the water off his face, his lips curling into that same infuriatingly composed smirk that made your blood boil.

"Fine," he finally said, his voice strained with barely contained irritation, though his smirk remained intact. “If this is the game you wish to play, so be it.”

He slowly peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside, taking you completely by surprise. The sight of his sculpted, damp chest was enough to send shivers up your spine. He did not seem to notice—or care, for that matter. Your stomach churned, and you immediately regretted throwing the water, especially since your gaze was drawn involuntarily to the muscle lines that rippled across his abdomen. Fuck. This wasn’t helping.

You could feel a flush creeping up your neck, but you quickly pushed the warmth away. You did not have time to get sucked into whatever game Loki was playing. If you wanted to get through today, you had to keep your cool.

"Whatever," you mumbled to yourself, taking a long, leisurely drink of your shake, as if it could somehow relieve the tension between you. The cool beverage flowed down your throat, yet the room was hot, the air thick with unspoken murmurs. It was going to be a long day. A very long day.

⠀

⠀

For an extended period, the two of you moved silently. It was as if you were in sync without saying anything, each of you was quietly immersed in your allotted job. You remained firmly rooted in your corner, concentrating solely on your task as a weird, even unsettling rhythm emerged between the two of you. The room, which had once been a chaotic mess after the Hulk's destruction, now appeared unsettlingly calm. You found yourself wishing for your headphones, something to drown out the oppressive silence, help you focus, and speed up the process. But with Loki there, you couldn't afford such a luxury—his mere existence made it impossible to escape into that peaceful seclusion.

The heavy sense of imminent peril lingered around you, like a weight suspended just above the earth, ready to fall. Loki, the deity of mischief and master of deception, has never been so silent before. His customary snark and demand for attention were strangely gone, and it was disturbing. It felt like a physical force weighing down on the room, choking you with its severity. He wasn't moving or looking at you, but you could sense him. His presence appeared to penetrate beneath your skin, a persistent, stifling awareness that hung over you like a shadow that refused to go away.

Even more unsettling was the fact that, despite all that had transpired, he wasn’t even looking directly at you—yet you were certain, without question, that his eyes were fixed on you and penetrating through the back of your head, even if they were out of sight. This unseen stare appeared to track your every action, causing your skin to tingle with a heightened sense of awareness, akin to a faint pressure that made it difficult to draw a breath.

Unavoidably, you found yourself matching his phantom gaze. Your vigilant eyes remained fixed on him, not merely out of wariness but also because you were unable to resist. It was unsettling how your mind wandered toward him in fundamentally inappropriate ways, particularly to his chest. That aggravating chest. Each time he shifted, it appeared to ripple, and you couldn’t pull your gaze away from the sleek, sculpted muscles that moved with effortless elegance. The arrogance that seemed to seep from him only exacerbated the situation, as he exuded an air of perfection, fully aware of the impact he had on you. And that drove you completely mad.

You despised the fact that you couldn't settle on a single opinion of him. A part of you wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Maybe even grope him to see how he reacts. Another, darker part of you wanted to lean in and lick, kiss, and feel the smoothness of his chest against your lips. Every part of you ached with the urge to claim him in some manner. But then you'd remember your current situation, the tension in the air, and the ridiculousness of it all. You couldn't let it. You could not allow those ideas to dominate you again.

It was nice that you had superhuman strength. Without it, you weren't sure how you'd get through moments like this—when your mind would wander into dangerous terrain, your body would betray you with a deep, frustrated need, and you'd most likely let a dumbbell drop from your fingers and land on your foot. Your strength kept you anchored, but it didn't alleviate the strain that coiled within you like a live wire, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else.

And, worst of all, you were furious. Furious with him for just existing and being so mesmerizing. Furious with the way he handled himself, the arrogance that radiated off him, and, damn it, his body. You were upset with yourself for allowing him to get under your skin and for the way he put your insides on fire. But, more than anything, you were enraged by how easily he had entangled your thoughts in his clutches, without ever lifting a finger. It was as if he didn't even have to try to get inside your thoughts, and yet here you were—lost in a maelstrom of frustration and need, entangled in the web he had spun around you with effortless grace.

You moved through your set, the rhythmic clang of metal filling the otherwise quiet room, breaking the stillness with every shift of the dumbbells. Each time you bent to pick one up, the sound reverberated in the large, nearly empty space. You made sure to place each weight back precisely where it belonged, your movements deliberate and controlled, your focus unwavering, even as the strain of the workout began to wear on you.

Yet, every time you turned away, something peculiar began to happen. A faint shift, just enough to unsettle your balance. The weights would move, imperceptibly, enough for you to notice but not quite enough to confirm at first. You'd look back, only to discover that one weight had shifted slightly, a minor tweak that seemed to challenge your every action. Initially, you put it on exhaustion, but as the strange happenings continued, your displeasure grew. It felt as if your mind was conspiring against you.

With each shift, your nerves strained, and unease crept up your spine. You couldn't escape the idea that you were losing control, that something—or someone—was interfering with your thoughts. "What the hell..." you muttered under your breath as you hefted another dumbbell into position, the metallic clang too loud in the otherwise silent room.

"Be careful," Loki said from the other side, his voice shrill and mocking. "Or you'll cause more of a ruckus than the green beast did." His words were delivered with that exacerbating air of superiority that made your blood boil even as you tightened your jaw to avoid snapping back. You could clearly feel how much he was loving it.

You gritted your teeth and concentrated on the task at hand, ignoring him as much as you could. "It's not my fault," you murmured back, your voice tinged with displeasure as you kneeled to pick up another weight. You needed to finish. You couldn't allow him to get under your skin, yet again.

Regardless, as you proceeded, the disturbing adjustments in the rack became more regular, with the weights moving gently every time you turned your back. Something was certainly off, and you could no longer pretend otherwise. The unease in the air, the sensation of eyes on you, and the bizarre, inexplicable shifts had all contributed to something more planned than just chance.

At long last, after completing the final set of weights and ensuring that everything was in its proper place, you turned away from the rack, ready to move on to the next part of the gym. You had your back to the rack when you heard the unmistakable crash of weights hitting the ground. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your mind raced as you spun around, your eyes narrowing in surprise.

The dumbbells were scattered across the floor. The revelation struck you like a ton of bricks—or dumbbells, in this context.

"Loki," you snarled, the name tumbling out of your mouth before you could control it. You pushed the rack aside, your wrath pouring over as you stormed towards him.

The aforementioned deity stood several feet away, watching you with an aggravating smile on his lips and an incredibly calm posture, as if he hadn't done anything wrong. There was something almost sickeningly pleasant about his apparent enjoyment of the turmoil he had produced, as if he were enjoying every ounce of your frustration. 

You crossed the gap between you without hesitation, taking hurried steps towards him. "What's your fucking problem?" you demanded, your hands curled tightly at your sides and your voice tinged with rage. "This is your doing, isn't it?"

The Asgardian's grin widened further, and he inclined his head slightly in fake inquiry. "Problem?" he repeated, a nasty gleam in his eyes. "I wasn't aware I had one." His comments hung in the air, acting as an open invitation to retaliate. He was testing you, pressing your buttons just for the fun of it.

"You've been messing with me this whole damn time!" You fired back, your rage escalating as your fury boiled over. "What exactly are you trying to prove?"

Loki leaned in slightly, his stare sharp and calculated, with a glimmer of threat in his eyes. "Easily distracted, are we?" he asked, his voice silky and full of challenge. "I thought that perhaps you simply needed something to... redirect your focus."

Every ounce of patience you had was slipping away, and your fury was simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to explode. You took a step closer, your resolve firm, ready to confront him full on and force him to account for his little game. But as you did, your foot got snagged on something—your own, traitorous shoelaces.

"What the—" you exclaimed, taken aback by the sudden loss of control. You lost your footing and stumbled forward, unable to break the momentum. Before you could recover, you collapsed to the floor, your hands just reaching out to catch yourself. As you scrambled to lift yourself up, your gaze fell on the source of your clumsiness: your shoelaces—both of them—tied together in a knot that was too perfect and exact to be an accident. 

Heat flooded your face, a blush of humiliation rising in your chest as you slowly stood, the weight of your embarrassment sinking in. "You... you little shit," you hissed, angry and mortified. You instantly tried to unravel the knot, but your rage just grew.

Loki's laughter rang around the room, a low chuckle that made your blood boil even more. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, observing you with almost predatory delight. He wasn't going to help you; it was evident he was enjoying every moment of your annoyance.

"Really?" you snapped, your expression tightening as you stared at him. "Tying my shoelaces? What are you, a child?"

His grin intensified, and his eyes shone with a lethal, mischievous light. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a taunting divulgence. "I thought I might remind you not to forget your place, darling."

The combination of fury and shame pushed you over the limit. "Try me, Loki. Just one more time, and I’ll make you regret it," you threatened, your fists clenched so hard that your knuckles became white, raw rage barely restrained beneath the surface.

Loki raised an eyebrow and smiled unwaveringly. "And what exactly do you plan to do?" he inquired, his tone challenging.

You seethed, torn between the overwhelming desire to strike out and the strange pull he always seemed to have over you. The air between you was heavy with tension, suffocating, and the more you looked at his infuriatingly handsome face, the more you couldn't decide whether to lash out with your fists, pull him in for a kiss, or do both in an explosive clash of vexation and longing.

You deeply inhaled, muttering hopeful prayers for peace and quiet while attempting to calm the maelstrom of emotions forming within you. The soreness persisted beneath your skin, although there was no immediate way to release it. His attention was riveted on you, and the thought of your next move formed in your mind and slowly brought a wicked smile to your lips. You knew just how to make him squirm, and you were confident you could send his mind racing just like yours was.

As you crouched to relace your shoes, you took a moment to fix your shirt. The fabric changed, adapting to your shape with subtle precision—just enough to draw his attention without being obvious. The way the cloth clung to your body felt like a challenge, inviting him to gaze. And you knew he wasn't going to refuse. His eyes, though well guarded, revealed the admiration he could not conceal. You felt a surge of satisfaction as you realized you had the ability to divert him however you wished him to be.

Your fingers worked carefully, lacing the shoes with calculated precision, ensuring that your actions were slow enough to keep him focused. You could feel his stare sharpen and his breath quicken, as if just seeing you was enough to divert his attention. You had him exactly where you wanted him: utterly trapped in a whirlwind of unwelcome cogitation.

Once finished, you stood with deliberate slowness, savoring the moment as you straightened your posture and brushed your shoulders with exaggerated care. You discreetly looked at him from behind your lashes, noticing the lingering heat in his eyes—a flash of doubt, that tiny break in his otherwise immaculate composure that made your approaching win all the sweeter.

And now, it was time to seal it.

With a quick, careful rotation, you spun on your heel, your action graceful and calculated. Your leg sprang out sharply, catching him squarely in the shin. The hit resonated, pushing Loki to stagger back, his beautiful stance breaking for a fleeting instant. His stance failed, and he went on one knee, his sharp inhale revealing his normal calm.

A flicker of disbelief crossed his features, revealing a rare, fleeting breach in his mask of supremacy. His palms braced on the floor as he straightened himself, his movements calm and measured, as if he refused to give you the pleasure of watching him rush.

You stood over him, chin lifted, admiring the unusual sight of Loki humbled low. Your lips formed a cynical smirk as you cocked your head, and your voice sickly sweet with deadly sarcasm. "Aw, look at you," you drawled, every word dripping with arrogance. "You wear that position nicely. Almost as if it's second nature."

His jaw tightened, the glitter in his eyes increasing as your words slithered into his ego and pricked old wounds. You leaned in slightly, your tone becoming softer and more venomous. "It’s almost like that match a few weeks ago… you remember, right? The one where you ended up in the exact same position. Thanks to me." You allowed a beat of stillness and the weight of your words. settling between you like a blade poised to strike.

For a brief instant, you noticed it—that frightening flare of fire beneath his cold, calculating eyes. His lips curled into a smile that did not extend to his eyes—a vicious and knowing twist that sent shivers down your spine. "Smug," he finally uttered, his voice silky yet twisted with tempered rage. "I suppose you're entitled to it for the right reasons."

The faintest emphasis on the final lines struck like a warning, a thread strained tight and about to snap. He straightened effortlessly, rising to his full height with startling ease. You were aware of the purposeful character of his movement, however. Loki didn't just stand there; he reclaimed the area, his presence becoming stronger with each step he took closer.

His gaze was fixed on yours, haughtily looking down as his countenance meticulously honed into that annoying mask of distant enjoyment. But the tension in the air was unmistakable, like an electric charge buzzing between you. "Careful now, darling," he whispered, his voice honeyed but tinged with a dangerous undercurrent. "You might start to believe you’ve truly bested me. A dangerous illusion, don’t you think?”

Your victory faded as his words set in, his mocking tone slithering around you like a serpent. Loki moved closer as you defensively crossed your arms and maintained his molten stare, his motions leisurely and predatory. He was now examining you, his eyes searching your every twitch and breath, as if he were recording this moment for future revenge.

"Victory," he said almost to himself, his smirk broadening when he noticed you tensing at his sudden closeness. "What an ephemeral thing, isn't it? So fragile, so easily reversed." His voice faded into a whisper that permeated the room. "Enjoy it while you can."

The oppressive atmosphere squeezed in, heavy and real. Loki's lack of retaliation was more troubling than any outburst, his quiet intensity serving as a clear reminder of how dangerous he was. He didn't have to lash out to make his presence known; his deliberate silence was far more effective. You attempted to maintain his look, to equal the boiling challenge in his eyes, but it was like staring into the depths of a venomous forest—lush and vibrant, yet steeped in danger, each glance pulling you deeper into its poisonous embrace. The corners of his mouth curved as if to guarantee that this moment would not go unanswered, and without saying anything else, he turned on his heel and marched away, as if nothing had conspired.

The room somehow felt colder without his presence, but the weight of his words hovered over you like a wildfire gradually rising your body. Loki usually never forgets or forgives, and you were confident that he would make sure you remembered this.

Shaking your head, you pushed those thoughts aside, determined not to let him get to you. You knew his games. This sudden shift in behavior—this silence—it was just another trick, another part of his elaborate act. But still, something was unsettling about it, something that gnawed at you. 

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to concentrate, your attention returning to the cable station. You moved with experienced ease, your hands painstakingly cleaning the area and your body nearly swaying in time with the task. Before you knew it, a gentle hum slid from your lips, providing a distraction and drowning out the electric tension crackling in the room. Even if it was only for a moment, the sound was relaxing.

But you couldn't shake the impression that Loki was watching again, lurking like a famished hawk and waiting—his eyes fastened on you with a weight that made you feel as if he could see straight through you. Even though you attempted to dismiss it, you knew he wasn't planning to let you go on unscathed. Definitely not.

That theory was proven correct when you found yourself falling once again.

Your foot got hooked on one of the cables that had been left lying around indiscriminately on the floor. Your body lurched forward, unbalanced, and the objects in your hands flew through the air. You gasped, prepared for the inevitable crash, but a strong arm wrapped around your waist and drew you back into a solid chest.

Your breath froze and your chest clenched as you processed the sudden and unexpected contact. You were overpowered by the perfume of mint and something more, which was unmistakably his. You stiffened in his arms, but he held you comfortably, his presence overwhelming and unsettling. The warmth of his chest pressing against your back, his breath soothing against your neck, and the steady rise and fall of his chest served as a painful reminder that he had been, once again, the one to catch you.

As he held you, you couldn't help but notice how well his body fit against yours. The way his frame fit against your back was both shocking and comfortable, as if every muscle and contour were designed to match yours. You could feel the tightness in his body, the hardness of his chest pressing against you, but there was an undeniable ease in the way he embraced you, his touch strangely possessive but comfortable. For a time, you were hesitant to release the hold, your heart speeding with the weird mix of emotions he elicited in you.

You blinked, attempting to get your bearings, your heart pounding in your chest. Every nerve in your body seemed to tingle with his touch, prompting a flood of emotions to flow within you—frustration, rage, and, screw him for this, desire. You tried to concentrate on the chaos beneath your feet, but everything about him—the way his body fitted into yours, the sensation of his arms about you—made it nearly hard to think properly.

Looking down, you noticed a cable wrapped around your foot. Your rage boiled up, your eyes glaring with irritability. But before you could draw a full breath, Loki's voice cut through the air. "Having trouble, darling?" He commented with a smirk on his lips. His taunting tone, combined with the ease with which he unraveled the cable, exacerbated your aggravation.

You clenched your jaw, attempting to keep your bearings as you watched him deftly mend the mess you had created. His arrogance was bothersome, but you couldn't deny that his charm still managed to make you squirm.

"Another tangled mess, I see," he remarked with delight. "I was starting to think we’d finally outgrown these little mishaps." He let the words linger, an amused gleam in his eyes. Then, almost as if he couldn't resist, he continued softly and teasingly, "But I should’ve known better—you do have a knack for falling for me."

The subtle suggestion of the infamous treadmill event sparked a surge of rage in your chest, and the room suddenly became unbearably hot. Your face flushed, heat crawled up your neck, and your hands clenched into fists by your sides. The recollection of that day came forward—sharp, searing, and persistent. It was the same thing: his words and actions distracted you and caused you to lose your footing. And as usual, just as you were about to fall, he came out with his arms wrapped around you, reminding you of your powerlessness.

"Why do you keep doing this?" You fumed, vehemently frustrated. "Every time, you find a new way to mess with me. Is this some sick joke to you?"

Loki's demeanor changed slightly, his smirk still curling at the corners of his lips, but it was colder and tinged with something sinister. His gaze tightened, locking onto yours with such intensity that the air between you felt dense and menacing. "A joke?" he reiterated, his voice falling to a frightening, even poisonous purr. “No, darling. This is not a joke." He took a hesitant stride toward you, the space between you sparking with tension, as if the air itself was charged with an unspoken promise. "It's a reminder that no matter how hard you try, you'll always wind up back here, tied up to me. In this. In us."

His words hung in the air like smoke, heavy and oppressive, with an undertone of insult and something darker—something primal. It caused your blood to rush, a heat swelling in your veins that was both furious and something more—because while he was an asshole in his wording, he was, in a twisted way, correct. He knew exactly how to distort every statement and encounter, convincing you that you were always one step behind before taking you by surprise and knocking you down a peg in hopes of flustering you. And, as usual, you despised how effective it was.

You took a step forward with your hands so clenched that your nails dug into your palms. You were about to lash out, to deliver the punch you had been keeping back for far too long, but something stopped you—something in the way he stood there, his posture so nonchalant, his gaze never leaving yours. He was daring you, challenging you with a look that demanded you make the first move. The air between you hummed with unresolved frustration and suffocating tension. Your breath came in rapid, short bursts as you tried to maintain control.

"What exactly do you want from me?" The words came out rougher than you intended, colored with a barely contained wrath. "What, is it because you can’t stand that I beat you once?"

Loki cocked his head slightly, as if considering your remarks, his eyes narrowing with a mix of interest and amusement. He leaned in just enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, I think you know exactly what I want, darling," he replied softly, his voice becoming a more intimidating whisper. "You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet." His lips twisted into a more troubling smile, one of sullen triumph. "But I'll leave you to figure that out on your own."

The smirk hovered between you like a dark cloud, an unspoken demand requiring you to act or reply. It was maddening—relentless. His presence loomed over you, stifling you, and his arrogance oozed from every word and breath. The weight of his confidence pressed against every nerve you had left, like an invisible hand around your throat.

You gripped your fists tighter, your knuckles turning white, your nails sinking into your palms, as if to steady yourself against the raging tempest within you. But it was useless. The rage, the frustration, the raw emotion—everything swirled in your chest, threatening to burst over, and you knew deep down that no matter how hard you tried to hold it in, you'd eventually lose control.

The frustration that had been building for weeks—no, a straight-up month—had now reached a breaking point. Every insulting remark, arrogant smirk, and sneaky innuendo he'd directed at you had piled up, brick by brick, into an unstable tower of contained wrath. Now that he was staring at you with that uncontrollable mix of merriment and something much darker, you weren't sure how much longer you could keep yourself together.

If looks could kill, Loki would surely be dead by now, buried so far in Dante's Inferno that even the devil himself would be shaking his head in sympathy. Even then, that would not have been enough. No, you would have gone all the way down to the circles of hell and dragged his arrogant ass back to the top just to get the joy of killing him again. And even then, it wouldn't have been enough to quench your fury.

You maintained eye contact despite the fact that your vision was beginning to warp at the borders, with red leaking into your concentration like a warning signal. Your heartbeat was loudly beating in your ears, blotting out everything else, including the slight creak of the gym equipment and the hum of the lights above.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you broke the stillness, your voice low and venomous, quivering with your rage. "You know what I've figured out, Loki?" Your look could have pierced steel, and the words that came out of your mouth were like a dagger drawn in rage. "That you’re nothing more than a twisted, kinky, masochistic little shit who’s desperate for a beating. And I’ll be more than happy to deliver."

The words barely had time to be registered before you charged at him, throwing all logic out the window. Your fist lunged toward him with all of your pent-up rage, aiming directly at his foolishly smug face. You weren't holding back this time—not like the sparring bout or the constant taunting. No, this was different. This was not about training or teasing. This was utterly personal.

This time, Loki was prepared to fight back. He always was, when he was willing to put his mind to it.

With an infuriatingly graceful sidestep, the god avoided your strike with ease, his movements so fluid and deliberate it was as though he was dancing rather than dodging. The sheer elegance of it made your blood boil. Your momentum carried you forward, forcing you to twist awkwardly as you fought to regain your footing. But he didn’t retaliate—not physically at least.

Instead, that low, mocking chuckle of his slid into the air, its rich, velvet tone wrapping around your growing frustration like a vice. “Oh, dear,” he drawled, tilting his head, his smirk cutting like a blade. “Was that meant to hit me? Or were you aiming for the floor? Do clarify—I’d hate to misjudge your prowess.”

The heat in your chest flared dangerously, your jaw tightening as you straightened to face him again. He was playing with you, and worse, it was working. Every carefully chosen word of his burrowed into your head, twisting tighter, feeding the fire inside you.

“Keep running your mouth,” you growled, your voice low, coiled with the promise of violence. “We’ll see how smug you are when I finally smash your teeth off your face.”

His smirk only deepened, the corners of his lips curling with maddening ease. He leaned forward slightly, as though letting you in on a secret, his piercing gaze alight with mock amusement. “Darling,” he purred, the word drenched in condescension. “You wound me. This isn’t smugness—it’s confidence. Surely you can make the distinction.” He paused, letting his eyes flick lazily over you, every movement of his a calculated provocation. “But do continue—it’s delightful to watch you burn yourself alive while trying to best me. Your delicious little outbursts… they’re the highlight of my day.”

That was it. The dam broke.

With a sharp stomp, your foot struck the ground, the sound reverberating like a gunshot. The vibrations rippled through the gym, and the barbell lying nearby quivered before sliding toward you with an almost supernatural pull. Your hand snapped out, catching it mid-slide, your rage fueling the motion as you hurled it at him with all the strength you could muster.

For the briefest moment, Loki’s eyes widened, betraying the slightest flicker of surprise. He merely stepped aside, the barbell flying past him and clattering noisily to the ground. He turned his head to watch it roll, then looked back at you, his smirk firmly intact. If anything, it had grown.

“Temper, temper,” he chided, his voice a silken reprimand that only stoked the fire burning inside you. “Must you always resort to such dramatics? I thought we were past breaking walls after yesterday. Though I must admit, it’s terribly endearing.” He straightened, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve, his expression unbothered save for the glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes. 

His infuriatingly calm demeanor added fuel to the fire blazing within you. You lunged at him without hesitation, your gaze fixed on the one target of his smug, condescending expression. But, as usual, Loki was faster. He avoided you with uncanny accuracy, his motions a dance of seamless escape.

Your momentum propelled you forward, and your foot caught the edge of the mat beneath you. Gravity took over, and your heart lurched as you stumbled. Before you could reach the ground, a pair of powerful hands seized your waist, keeping you steady.

Loki's touch seared against your skin, even through the thin fabric of your tank top, and the proximity jarred your senses. His grip was solid yet oddly soft, as if he hadn't yet decided whether to save you or let you fall. But as he adjusted his grip, something caught—the hem of your tank top, snagged in his fingers.

The sound of tearing fabric cut through the silence like a knife. In an instant, you were on your knees, skidding to a halt on the floor, the cool air brushing against your skin where your tank top had once been. All that remained was your sports bra, leaving you exposed to his gaze.

For a long, weighty moment, the world appeared to come to a halt. You looked down at yourself and then at the ruined strip of fabric hanging from his palm. Heat flooded your face, sending an explosive mix of embarrassment and rage through you. 

Loki stood frozen, his usual poise shaken. His lips parted slightly, and for once, there was no smirk—just wide eyes and something uncharacteristically uncertain flickering across his face.

“I—” he began, his voice oddly hesitant, almost... apologetic. “That wasn’t intentional."

But you weren’t listening. You scrambled to your feet, your cheeks burning as you shoved him hard against the wall. He barely had time to react before his back hit the surface with a dull thud.

"You—!" you spat, your hands gripping his shoulders as you glared up at him. "What the fuck is your problem? Is your ego so fragile that you have to act like a spoiled, overgrown brat just to get my attention?"

His countenance changed in an instant, the flicker of regret in his eyes was replaced with something harsher. His hands raised and gripped your wrists, not to push you away but to keep you there. His emerald gaze locked on yours, the teasing gleam replaced with a smoldering intensity that made your breath catch.

"My ego?" he hissed, his voice low and sharp. "You dare lecture me about ego when you've spent this entire morning pestering me like a petulant child desperate for validation? Tell me, dear, is your righteous fury truly directed at me, or are you simply lashing out because I won’t grovel at your feet like your precious Avengers?"

Your jaw tightened as his words hit their mark, but you refused to flinch. You met his gaze with a venomous glare, your breath faint with fury. "That's fucking rich," you bit out, your voice trembling with anger. "The pot calling the kettle black. You’ve spent the entire month skulking around like a fucking peacock and pushing every button you could find, all because you can’t stand being ignored for one damn second. Newsflash: I am not here to stroke your fragile ego or cater to your every pathetic whim. Grow up, Loki."

"Grow up, you say?" Loki's voice dropped to a silken murmur, laced with derision. "How amusing, coming from someone who stomps around like a resentful little girl when things don’t go her way. If I truly bother you so much, why are you still here, clinging to me with all the conviction of a martyr in a tantrum?"

Your frustration boiled over, and you tried to wrench your wrists free, but his grip held firm. His smile widened—a sharp edge to it now. "Perhaps it’s time we skipped the tiresome little charade of insults," he growled, his voice lower, rougher, and laced with an edge that made your stomach tighten, "and got to something far more... direct."

Before he even had a chance to savor his words, your retaliation was immediate and brutal. You jerked your arm down hard, breaking his grip on your wrist, and swung a quick jab at his smug face. Your punch cut through the air, but he easily sidestepped it, his motions crisper and more precise. His jaw tightened, and the storm in his eyes burned brighter.

You didn't need another invitation. You lunged at him, your attacks faster and more powerful, anger coursing through each hit. But Loki was no longer ducking with ease; he was matching your aggressiveness with equal vigor, his motions swift and unwavering. His attacks were no longer teasing; they were charged, with his full attention on you, and the air between you crackled with a dangerous tension. Each time your fists collided, it felt like a spark was lit, and with each dodge and counter, his frustration intensified. His jaw tightened, and his eyes burned with a mix of rage and something more primitive. His breathing rate increased, and his poise deteriorated as the struggle progressed.

The struggle began afresh, each of you moving with exactitude and fierceness, demonstrating your resolve to win. The gym became a whirlwind of movement as you traded blows, each swing propelled by your enmity. But Loki was a skilled opponent whose agility and ingenuity made him a frustratingly difficult target.

Your rage rose with each dodge and sneer that crossed his infuriatingly beautiful face. He wasn't just fighting you; he was playing with you, extending the engagement as if it were a game he couldn't lose.

"Stop holding back," he commanded, catching your next strike and bending your arm just enough to make you go closer. His wild and greedy eyes fastened on yours. "Do you think I don't see it? That fire burning inside you? Do you think I don't feel it every damned time I challenge you?"

His remarks threw you off, and that split-second hesitation was all he needed. He yanked your arm, dragging you forward and twisting your body against his. In one seamless action, he reversed your speed and pushed you back onto one of the exercise benches. The breath left your lungs as your back impacted the hard surface, and before you could react, he was on you. 

"Yield," he ordered, his face mere inches from yours.

"No way," you responded harshly, defiance shining in your eyes.

His grip tightened slightly to remind you of his strength, and his sheer size intimidated you. His sneer reappeared, somehow darker and more menacing.

"Stubborn little one," he murmured, his tone deceptively sweet yet full of threat. "Always quick to retaliate and keen to defend your position. Tell me—" He drew in closer, his breath warm on your skin, and his voice dropped to a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. "What are you hoping to prove? That you are my equal—my better? Or are you too proud to admit the truth?"

Your chest heaved with each strained breath, and your heart pounded in your ears. "And what truth is that?" You spat, your voice shaking with rage and something you refused to mention.

He tilted his head, his searing emerald eyes meeting yours. "That you crave this," he remarked gently, his voice a velvet caress. "That you desire conflict and chaos because you enjoy the thrill of it. But more than that..." His smirk broadened, and his attitude became almost predatory. "You don't only want to win. You want me to break you. To force you to submit."

Your heart stuttered, heat rushing to your face as his words cut through your defenses. “You’re delusional,” you snapped, struggling against his hold, though the tension in your body betrayed you.

“Am I?” he countered, his tone maddeningly calm. His grip on your wrists didn’t waver, his strength a reminder of how utterly in control he was. “Tell me, then, why do you fight so hard to deny it? To deny me?”

His words sent a fresh surge of anger through you, and you thrashed against him, desperate to escape the weight of his presence. But he held firm, his body pressing closer until the air between you was charged with unspoken tension.

“I don’t want you in the first place, you idiot,” you lied in a hiss, glaring up at him with all the fire and resolve you could muster.

“And yet, here you are, beneath me, fighting a battle you know you cannot win,” he replied, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “How long will it take for you to realize that resistance only makes it sweeter?”

The crackling energy between you was almost unbearable now, every inch of space charged with frustration, fury, and something far more dangerous. His grip loosened slightly—not enough to free you, but enough to make you aware of the choice he was offering.

“Yield,” he ordered again, his voice low and hypnotic, his gaze burning into yours. “Submit to me, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

You could feel your pulse hammering in your ears, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His face was so close now, the faint scent of him—something clean and sharp, like the forest after rain—invading your senses. His eyes, once gleaming with mischief, searched yours as though he were trying to unravel your very soul. And for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw hesitation flicker across his face, a crack in the unyielding armor he always wore.

"We both know," he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intense. His tone wasn’t mocking this time; it was raw, vulnerable, almost pleading. "That you’re not angry with me—you’re angry with yourself. Because you hate that I get to you like this."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to let his words sink in. But the way his gaze roamed over your face, lingering on the flush in your cheeks and the way your lips parted with unsteady breaths—it was too much. Your heart betrayed you, fluttering wildly in your chest as though it were answering an unspoken call.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," you shot back, though your voice lacked its usual bite. It trembled, weak and unconvincing, even to your ears.

Loki’s lips curled into a faint, bittersweet smile. "Don’t I? When I know that feeling all too well." He leaned in ever so slightly, his breath brushing against your skin, igniting a shiver that spread down your spine. His grip on your wrists loosened—not enough to let you go, but enough to let you know he wasn’t trying to hold you there anymore. He was waiting. Watching. And it scared you how much you wanted to close the remaining distance between you.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering to his mouth before snapping back up to his eyes. The way he looked at you now—it was almost reverent. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he blinked. That smirk you hated so much was gone, replaced by something fragile, something unspoken that hung heavy in the space between you.

"Don’t do this," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Your body was frozen, caught in the gravitational pull of his presence. "Don’t make this something it’s not."

Loki’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression softening even further. His thumb ghosted over the inside of your wrist, a featherlight touch that sent a jolt through you. "And what is this, then?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with something that sounded almost like... fear. "Tell me, so I can stop pretending I don’t feel it too."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. You opened your mouth to respond, to deny everything another time, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead, you stared at him, your chest aching with the weight of everything left unsaid. And in that moment, the world around you faded away—no gym, no walls, no barbell lodged in the plaster. Just the two of you, teetering on the edge of something you wouldn’t name.

His gaze flickered to your lips, and you felt yourself leaning in—just a fraction, just enough to bridge the invisible chasm between you. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as the tension pulled taut, every second stretching into an eternity. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as the space between you grew impossibly small.

But just as your lips were about to brush his, reality crashed down around you. You turned your head sharply to the side, breaking the moment before it could shatter you entirely. "No," you said hoarsely, your voice cracking under the strain of everything you were feeling. "Get off me. I’m done with this. You win, congratulations—you’ve embarrassed me enough."

Loki’s hands fell away immediately, his expression flickering with something unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might let you leave—that he might let this be the end of it. You pushed yourself up, brushing past him as you tried to steady your trembling hands. But before you could make it more than a few steps, his hand shot out, closing around your arm with surprising gentleness.

"No," he said firmly, his voice low and strained. "Not this time."

You turned to scowl at him, ready to lash out—but before you could say anything or even process the action, he drew you closer and pressed his lips to yours. The force of it took your breath away, and your head reeled from his unexpected strike.

It began tentatively, as if he were testing your resilience. His lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that belied the heat seething beneath the surface. But when you didn't back away—when your body tightened but didn't resist—his restraint crumbled. The kiss intensified, primal and unrestrained, an implicit confession of everything he had been keeping hidden.

It was all there—his fury, rage, and ravenous desire—expressed in the way his mouth pushed against yours, engulfing you whole. His hands encircled your face, fingers weaving into your hair with a tenderness that was almost painful, and his lips crushed into yours with bruising force. He kissed you like a starving man, trying to take what he thought was his, and it left you gasping for oxygen.

You clutched to your rage, desperately looking for the reasons why this was wrong—for the endless excuses to push him away. But every time his lips touched yours or his body drew closer, it weakened your barriers. His scent, intoxicating and unmistakably his, surrounded you, and the warmth of his body burned into yours, grounding you in a way that only made the moment feel more inevitable.

When you finally answered, it wasn't with caution or uncertainty, but with all of the fire that had been growing inside you for weeks. Your fingers worked their way into his hair, tangling and pulling with such force that he groaned into your mouth. The sound shot a shockwave through you, sparking something primordial and irrefutable.

All of the emotions you had tried so hard to suppress—frustration, desire, and an excruciating vulnerability—rose to the surface, spilling out in the manner you kissed him back. It wasn't gentle or forgiving. It was a fight of wills, one neither of you appeared willing to lose, and yet, in that moment, surrender had never felt more inevitable.

His lips moved with an exhilarating blend of dominance and desperation, pressing into yours with such force that every inch of your body vibrated. His grip was firm, not unpleasant, but forceful, drawing you in as if he could swallow you whole. You pushed against his chest, desperate to create distance, but your attempts were futile—he was like stone, and you were nothing more than a passing breeze. Each kiss seemed like an expression of authority, as if he were claiming your every thought and breath. Between the crashing of his lips into yours, you managed to half-heartedly say, "You arrogant piece of—"

Whatever sharp retort you had brewing was swallowed by his lips once again crashing against yours, cutting you off with a force that was as maddening as it was intoxicating. His kiss was fervent, urgent, and relentless, like he was determined to strip every shred of defiance from you.

“Yes, yes, I am,” he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. The mocking lilt of his tone was sharper than the grin you could feel tugging at his mouth, even as his lips pressed against yours with deliberate force. Heat rushed to your face, and you could feel the unmistakable warmth spreading across your cheeks, the betrayal of your body making your embarrassment all the more acute. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body seeping into yours and making your heart pound so loudly you were certain he could feel it through the layers of fabric between you.

The kiss wasn’t tender—it was ferocious, consuming, a raw claim that left no room for subtlety. It made your breath hitch and your stomach flip in a confusing mix of indignation and undeniable, treacherous want. His lips moved against yours with a precision that left you dizzy, and the pressure of his mouth sent sparks of heat racing through your veins.

You shoved at his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your hands burning like a brand as you tried to push him away. Your breath was uneven, catching in your throat as you tried to summon your voice and push past the dizzying haze he had thrown you into. “You think you can just—”

“Take what I want?” he interrupted smoothly, his voice dark and velvety, curling around you like smoke. The deliberate arrogance in his words sent a jolt of anger through you, but it only added to the fire coursing through your body. He leaned back just enough to look at you, his piercing green eyes locking onto yours, and the sheer intensity of his gaze made your stomach twist.

“I thought we already established that I was hedonistic in nature.” His expression was insufferably smug, the smirk on his lips deepening as he noticed the way your chest rose and fell with each labored breath. You hated how flustered you felt under his gaze, how the heat in your cheeks betrayed your composure. 

Your skin burned with the flush of embarrassment and frustration, your nails digging into his chest as you tried to shove him away again. Before you could form a response, his lips claimed yours once more, harder this time, his teeth grazing your bottom lip in a way that sent a sharp thrill racing down your spine. The heat of his mouth was almost too much, overwhelming in its intensity, and you felt your knees weaken even as you tried to fight against him.

His hands were everywhere—rough, unapologetic, and searing as they roamed up your sides, holding you in place as though daring you to resist him. Each touch left a trail of fire in its wake, and your body betrayed you further with every brush of his fingers. Your heart was hammering in your chest, a wild rhythm that only seemed to match the chaotic pull of his kiss.

“Get off me—” you gasped, your voice trembling as you tried to summon even an ounce of strength to push him away. Your hands pressed against his chest again, your palms tingling from the sheer heat radiating off him.

His response was a low, dark chuckle that vibrated through you, making your face flush even hotter. “Off you?” he repeated mockingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm and maddening amusement. “Mh, of course.” His lips crashed into yours again, stealing your breath with a ferocity that left you spinning, your heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears.

When he pulled back, his lips brushed against your jaw, leaving a trail of heat across your skin. “But, pet,” he murmured, his voice soft and dangerous. “I can’t help but notice… you haven’t exactly been making much of an effort to stop me.”

The audacity of his words sent another surge of frustration coursing through you, your face burning with a mix of anger and something far more treacherous. “You infuriating—”

“Go on, darling,” he interrupted smoothly, his smirk widening as his hands slid down to grip your hips with maddening confidence. The warmth of his touch seared through the fabric of your clothes, making it impossible to ignore the way your body reacted despite your fury. “Do you know how intoxicating you look when you're like this?”

You clenched your jaw, trying to suppress the wave of heat that rushed through you at his words. Your pulse was erratic, every inch of your skin buzzing with the infuriating, magnetic pull of him. “You’re insufferable,” you hissed, your voice trembling as you glared at him.

“And yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, the teasing intimacy of the gesture making your stomach flutter, “you enjoy every single second of it.”

Your hands fisted into the confines of his naked chest, your cheeks burning hotter as you realized you didn’t have a retort, couldn’t form the words to push him back. But before you could dwell on it, he kissed you again, his mouth moving against yours with a devastating mix of skill and dominance. His tongue swept into your mouth, a bold, possessive motion that left you gasping, your head spinning as every coherent thought scattered like ash.

“Don’t stop now,” he whispered against your lips when you finally managed to pull back, his voice low and intoxicating as his hands traced slow, torturous patterns along your back. “Tell me how much you hate this. Tell me how much you hate me.”

Your breath hitched, the heat in your face now searing as you tried to summon a response. “You—”

“Yes, yes, I’m a bastard, impossible, utterly intolerable,” he concluded, his voice laced with mocking amusement as his lips trailed down the column of your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, sending a shiver racing down your spine, and you hated the way your body leaned into him despite your anger.

“You—”

“Keep going,” he urged, his voice a silken taunt as his hands slid lower, his touch rough and deliberate. “I can take it.”

You hated him. You despised the way his words wrapped around you like a vice, turning your rage into something deeper, more frightening. You loathed the way his hands felt so nice against your flesh and how your body betrayed you by leaning into him when you should've moved away.

But then his lips grabbed yours again, in a slow and devastating manner that you could not resist, and every ounce of rage, every carefully built wall, shattered beneath the wildfire he had started, leaving only the heat and mayhem he sparked within you.

Each kiss was a war, each touch a challenge you couldn't win, and when he eventually pulled back, his lips swollen and his eyes flaming with triumph, you knew with a mix of umbrage and exhilaration that you were utterly undone.

Loki’s hands steadied you instantly, strong and sure, as though he sensed you were teetering on the edge of losing control. His grip tightened at your hips, grounding you with an infuriating ease that only he could manage. His lips ghosted over your ear as he leaned closer, his voice dripping with mock concern.

“Are you quite finished throwing your tantrum, sweet thing?” He purred, his tone both soothing and maddeningly condescending.

Your breath hitched, and you opened your mouth to snap back at him, but the words caught in your throat. You opened your mouth to retort, but the words tangled in your throat. “I—You think—” You stumbled over your indignation, frustration bubbling up as you tried to form a coherent insult. 

You hated how your voice wavered and how the overwhelming sensations he drew out of you made it impossible to sound as sharp as you wanted. “You conceited, pompous bastard,” you finally stammered, the insult tumbling out far less venomous than you’d intended.

He chuckled low and rich, the sound vibrating through you. “Hm,” he mused, tilting his head as though deep in thought. “I thought as much.” That infuriating, shit-eating grin widened, and before you could fire back another insult, his lips descended to your neck, and every coherent thought you had dissolved in an instant. 

His mouth was warm, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of your neck. Each kiss seemed designed to unravel you further, his lips moving with calculated precision as if he were taking his time savoring your reaction.

“Loki, don’t—” You managed to gasp, your hands bracing against his chest, though your push lacked conviction.

“Don’t?” He echoed mockingly, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “Don’t what, darling? Don’t mark what’s mine?”

Your breath hitched again, and your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “I’m not—”

“Not what?” he cut in once again, his lips curling into a wicked smile against your neck. “Not mine?” His voice was a silken taunt, each word dragging across your senses as his mouth continued its relentless assault. “I hope you weren’t really planning to utter such lies.”

Hot, open-mouthed kisses trailed down your skin, each one igniting a fire that made it hard to focus on anything but the pleasure he was drawing from you. His teeth grazed your pulse point, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his mouth, and a moan escaped your lips before you could stop it. The sound seemed to encourage him, and he continued his assault, leaving marks that would serve as reminders of his claim on you. 

“Stop it,” you hissed, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Stop?” he repeated, amusement lacing his tone as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he studied the flush in your cheeks and the way your lips parted as you tried to catch your breath. “Tell me you’re not enjoying this far too much to mean that.”

You glared at him, desperate to reclaim even a shred of control, but the smirk tugging at his lips only deepened as he leaned back in, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. He pressed a lingering kiss there, his tongue teasing your skin before his teeth followed, and you couldn’t stop the soft sound that escaped you.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured against your neck, his voice a low growl that sent another wave of heat coursing through you. With that, he shifted slightly, positioning you perfectly in his lap. The heat between you was undeniable, and as he began to work his fingers beneath your waistband, you realized you were on the precipice of surrender. 

Loki’s fingers slid beneath your waistband, his touch sparking a fire within you, sending a jolt of heat straight through your veins. “Just give in,” he urged, his breath warm against your skin, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, teasing the distance with maddening slowness, never quite allowing the connection you craved. “You know you want to.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering as he shifted you in his lap, guiding you to press against his thigh. The warmth radiating from him was nearly unbearable, and your breath faltered as the intensity of it suffocated you. Without thinking, your body instinctively moved, grinding against him, eliciting a low, almost painful hiss from his lips at the contact.

“Look at you,” he crooned, his voice laced with a dark, sultry edge that made your spine tingle. “So eager, yet so defiant. Why fight it?” His hands seized your hips, his grip unyielding, forcing your movements with a possessive strength that left no room for dissent. “You’re reveling in this far too much to deny it.”

Your gaze seethed with defiance, your mind struggling to maintain its composure beneath the weight of the pleasure clouding your senses. “I’m not—”

“Not begging for more? Because it certainly feels like you are.” With a sudden, deliberate motion, he pressed you harder against his thigh, the friction pushing you nearer the edge, sending a flood of pleasure crashing through you like an unstoppable wave. Heat gathered in your core, and you fought to suppress the moan building in your throat, your teeth sinking into your lip. But your resolve was weak, crumbling with every movement as you ground down again, feeling the unmistakable bulge beneath you.

“See?” he whispered, his voice thick with raw lust. “You can’t resist.” His eyes, darkened with hunger, bore into yours, and his lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Admit it. You’re mine.”

“Fuck you,” you managed to rasp through the haze of desire clouding your thoughts, your nails digging into the taut, bare skin of his shoulders in search of something to hold onto.

A cruel laugh rumbled in his chest, and he leaned in, his lips finding the sensitive curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin with an almost brutal tenderness. The sharp sting of his bite left a mark, a claim that would undoubtedly linger. “In an instant, darling,” he promised against your pulse, his voice thick with wicked amusement.

With a swift motion, he reached for your sports bra, expertly unclasping it and tossing it aside as if it were inconsequential. “Now, let’s see if you can behave,” he murmured, his gaze ravenously consuming you as his hands roamed freely over your exposed skin, igniting every nerve ending in their wake.

“Loki!” You gasped, feeling both exposed and vulnerable, yet exhilarated by his unyielding attention.

“Such a beautiful sight,” he breathed, his fingers trailing down your sides, teasingly slow. “You should be thanking me for this opportunity.”

As he urged you to grind harder against his thigh, the tension coiled tighter within you, like a spring ready to snap. His lips found your breasts, leaving a trail of bite marks as he savored every inch of you. “You’re going to be my good girl, aren’t you? Just let go,” he coaxed, his voice smooth like silk yet laced with a commanding undertone.

The pleasure began to overtake you, and with each movement, your anger ebbed away, replaced by an intoxicating mix of desire and frustration. You wanted to resist, to reclaim your defiance, but it slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

You bit back another retort, but it faltered on your lips as he pushed you closer to the precipice, the sweet friction against his thigh sending you spiraling. “Come on, darling, let me hear you admit it,” he urged, his fingers digging into your hips, anchoring you to him as you lost yourself in the rhythm.

With every grinding motion, he intensified the sensations coursing through you, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s it. Just like that,” he whispered, his tone both sultry and commanding. “Feel how much you crave this.”

As the lingering tremors of your release slowly began to fade, your body quivered, the aftershocks of the overwhelming pleasure still coursing through you. Each tremble seemed to ignite a spark deep within, the reverberations of desire echoing in every inch of your skin. Your mind, once sharp and defiant, now felt hazy and disoriented, like a fog had settled over your thoughts. Every breath you drew was a laborious effort, slow and uneven, as though each inhale was a battle. The fortress you’d painstakingly constructed around yourself had crumbled, completely undone by the weight of your surrender.

Loki observed it all, his gaze darkening with satisfaction, an almost predatory pleasure gleaming in his eyes. His lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk as he took in the slow unraveling of your resistance. He hummed a low, approving sound, the vibrations of it reverberating through the space between you, sending a ripple of shivers across your skin. “There it is,” he whispered, his voice a velvety murmur that held a trace of something far more tender. “So well done, pet. You come so beautifully. Let it wash over you... Feel it.”

The world outside seemed to blur, the edges of reality dissolving until only he remained, his presence enveloping you like an inescapable fog. You struggled to regain your breath, your body still quivering in the aftermath, and as the final whispers of pleasure ebbed away, your thoughts slowly began to clear. And in that clarity, only one question emerged from the haze.

“Why?” The word left your lips before you could stop it, fragile and uncertain, hanging in the air between you like a whisper in the dark. “Why did you do all of this?” Confusion twisted through you as you sought to understand his motives—why he’d driven you to this point, leaving you trembling, vulnerable, and exposed.

Loki's gaze softened, and his intensity subsided for a moment. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin as he looked down at you, the play of light in his eyes reflecting a dangerous, intoxicating satisfaction. His smile was slow and deliberate, curling at the corners of his mouth with a satisfaction that alluded to something much darker. "Why?" he asked with a gentle pretense, his voice like smooth honey, taunting but also laced with something more. “Is it really so difficult to grasp?”

His brow quirked, a glint of devilish amusement flashing in his eyes as his fingers traced slow, possessive patterns across your skin, his touch leaving a trail of warmth behind. The way you shuddered at his touch seemed to delight him, as if your vulnerability were a prize only he could claim. “It’s because I don’t share,” he continued, his voice taking on a darker tone, thick with possessiveness. “I can’t stand the thought of others looking at you... wanting you. You’re mine, darling. Only mine.”

He moved beneath you, his hands tightening around your hips with a possessive force that sent shivers of submission through you. He drew you closer, his body hard and unyielding against yours, as if he were marking you in the most intimate way possible. His face loomed over you, his eyes penetrating, dark and intense, as if reading your soul. “I can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching you... of anyone else claiming what belongs to me.” His lips brushed against your temple in a soft, lingering kiss, and the words that followed were barely a whisper but full of danger. 

“And if you must know, I would do it again a thousand times over, just to see that look on your face.” His hands, firm and unwavering, held you as though you were a precious treasure, a fragile thing meant only for him. In that moment, his words sank deep within you, causing your heart to race again, each beat a reminder of his power over you. Loki was claiming more than just your body—he was claiming every aspect of you, from your desires to your thoughts, your very essence. He was claiming your soul, and with each passing second, you realized there was nowhere else you wanted to be than in his arms, surrounded by the intoxicating pull of his dominance.

He leaned in, his breath grazing your ear, the intimacy too intense, too overwhelming. “You’ve been quite the handful, haven’t you?” His voice was silky, but there was an unmistakable edge to it, a calm before the storm. “Your defiance, your little acts of rebellion… amusing, certainly. But now, I think you’ve earned yourself a well-deserved punishment.”

You felt a tremor come over you as you heard the words, but you refused to cower. Your heart rate quickened, and the fire in your chest flared, anger combining with the heat of the moment. “That wall you carelessly dented?” His voice dropped low, dangerously calm. “I’ve already fixed it. I don't care to repeat myself, so I think I’ll find another way to make you see the error of your ways.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against you while Loki's grip on you tightened, and you felt him lower your leggings, removing your underwear and setting them aside. The cool air in the room brushed against your exposed skin, causing you to shiver as much as his fingers did, trailing softly along your inner thighs, teasing you. Then, with maddening slowness, his fingers found their mark, and he began to stroke your clit in a steady rhythm. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp at the contact.

"Wait, Loki, I’m—” you began, your voice shaking but steady, trying to fight the way his touch made your body respond. You tried to pull away, but it was too late—his hold was firm, guiding you exactly where he wanted you.

“Sensitive?” he interjected, his chuckle dark and mocking. “I know, darling. That’s the point. You’ve always liked to test your limits, haven’t you? Pushing yourself at that absurd sanctuary of yours.” His eyes gleamed dangerously. “Well, now I’ll test your endurance, and see how well you fare.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck at his words, your heart thumping harder in your chest. Despite the vulnerability creeping over you, a flash of irritation flickered within you, and you lifted your chin slightly, meeting his gaze with a flicker of defiance. “I’m not some… toy for you to play with,” you snapped, though your breath was shaky, betraying your body’s response to him.

Loki’s eyes darkened with something much more possessive, almost predatory. “Of course not, you’re my pet,” he purred, his fingers still relentless, pressing you deeper into him. “You’re mine to test, to push, to bend to my will.”

His fingers continued to move with slow precision, each touch deliberate, sending waves of heat through your overstimulated skin. You bit down on your lip, your chest rising and falling in quick breaths, your hands curling against his shoulders, trying to find some control. You lowered your head in frustration, your forehead resting against the marks you had left on his skin earlier. His fingers never stopped, each motion calculated and designed to remind you of just who had control here.

With every touch, you could feel yourself growing more and more sensitive, your body responding involuntarily to his skillful touch. It was as if he knew exactly how to push your buttons and how to manipulate your body to his will. And despite yourself, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your body begging for more.

Loki's laughter was low and dark, full of satisfaction. "That's it," he whispered in your ear, his breath sending shivers down your spine. "Let go. Give in to the sensation. You know you want to."

You wanted to resist, to fight against him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Your body was betraying you, responding to his touch in ways you couldn't control. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with need.

"Loki, please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn't know what you were asking for, but you knew you needed something.

His fingers stilled, the sudden absence a stark contrast to the overwhelming sensations that had just been coursing through you. The heat that had been building within you seemed to retract, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. A frustrated whimper escaped your lips—a sound that surprised even you. Your hands tightened on his shoulders, unconsciously seeking to bring back the exquisite torture, the delicious torment he had so skillfully inflicted.

"Loki," you insistantly repeated in a whine, the word now a plea laced with a desperation you hadn't intended to reveal. You lifted your head, eyes wide and pleading, searching his dark gaze for understanding, though you knew, deep down, he understood far more than you ever wanted him to.

His expression was unreadable, a mask of cool amusement playing on his lips. "Please what, darling?" he purred, his voice a silken whisper that both enticed and unnerved. He tilted his head, a challenge in his eyes. "Beg me for what you want."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and potent. You knew what he wanted. He wanted you to break, to crumble beneath his touch, to admit the weakness he so clearly enjoyed. It was a game he reveled in, and you were caught firmly in his web. You had been prepared for punishment, for a battle of wills, but the exquisite pleasure, the sheer intensity of what he had been doing, had left you utterly vulnerable.

Your hesitation was palpable, your dignity clashing with the urgent demands of your body. Each breath came in ragged gasps, and the lack of his touch felt almost unbearable. He observed you with a gleam of victory in his eyes, a silent victor savoring his moment.

"You are supposed to be punished, pet," he finally spoke, his voice a low, menacing rumble. His gaze swept over you, pausing at the blush on your cheeks, the rapid ascent and descent of your chest, and the instinctive shift of your hips toward him. "Moments ago, you were so responsive, so eager. You exposed your vulnerability so swiftly."

He chuckled, his mirth evident. "If you want more, show me just how much you crave it," he commanded, his tone authoritative. "Ride my fingers, sweet thing. Prove how resilient you truly are."

For a moment, you wavered, uncertain of your next move. But your body’s yearning overpowered your doubt, and you began to move your hips against his fingers, pressing down to find the friction and sensation you yearned for. You lifted and lowered your hips, gasping as his firm digits slipped inside you. The wetness and readiness made the slight stretch both intense and delightful. Feeling more confident, you moved your hips in a rolling motion, taking him deeper.

Loki’s smile widened as he watched, his eyes darkening with desire at the sight of you riding his fingers. "That’s it, pet," he encouraged, his voice brimming with satisfaction. "Just like that. Show me how much you yearn for this."

After weeks of being teased, taunted, and pushed to the brink of madness, you felt yourself finally surrendering, utterly lost in the pleasure. It was as if every nerve in your body had been strung tight, coiled with need and frustration, until now, when Loki’s touch unraveled you completely. Your thoughts, once sharp and defiant, were reduced to a foggy haze as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, each one more overwhelming than the last. The build-up, the anticipation—it was all worth it. Every tormenting moment led to this, and now, with him, there was nothing but release. Your body responded to him instinctively, desperate for more, drowning in a sea of bliss that left no room for resistance. You were lost to it, to him, to the intoxicating pleasure that had been so cruelly withheld for so long.

You moaned, your movements becoming more frantic as his provocative words filled your ears. "Fuck, you’re so tight," he groaned, his fingers curling inside you. "I bet you’re imagining this is my cock, stretching you open, filling you so perfectly."

The vivid imagery his words painted sent a surge of heat to your core, and you cried out, your inner muscles tightening around his fingers. "Mmh, yes," you babbled, "M’gonna kill you—oh, Loki—want you to take me."

"Oh, I will take you, indeed," he growled, his fingers thrusting more forcefully. "I’ll take you so hard you’ll forget your name. But first, you’re going to come all over my fingers, just like the eager little thing you are. Drench them, show me how sorry you are."

The combination of his words and the relentless thrusting of his fingers pushed you to the brink. You came with a silent scream, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Loki continued to move through your orgasm, prolonging the ecstasy until you collapsed against his chest, utterly spent. The intensity left you feeling weightless, as if you were floating on a euphoric cloud. Your mind was blissfully empty, thoughts hazy and disjointed. All you could focus on was the pleasing buzz coursing through your veins, the residual heat between your thighs, and Loki's strong arms wrapped around you.For a few moments, there was only the sound of your slowing heartbeats and Loki's slightly elevated breathing as he held you close.

His fingers stirred within your sensitive folds, and you jolted at the sudden stimulation, a whimper escaping your lips. "Too much, too much," you protested weakly, but it was a token objection at best. Your body felt electrified, every nerve-ending raw and overwrought.

"Just a little more," Loki soothed, and you keened, moving your hips as much as your sated body would allow. The bench beneath you was rapidly growing damp, and you could feel a fresh surge of arousal building despite your recent release.

"Look at you, still desperate for it," he chuckled darkly, rubbing his thumb against your swollen clit. "Such a greedy little thing. I think you've earned another reward, pet."

His ministrations intensified, and you found yourself climbing towards another peak entirely too soon. "Please, please, fuck," you whined, unsure if you were begging for more or for mercy. The stimulation was almost too intense, pushing you towards the edge again. He worked you expertly, no longer teasing but fully focused on wringing every last drop of pleasure from you.

"So responsive," he commented appreciatively, urging you on with filthy encouragement. Your hips rocked of their own accord, meeting the thrusts of his fingers. "Come for me again. Show me how well you've learned your place."

The coil within you tightened, tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, and you cried out sharply, your inner muscles clenching viciously around Loki's fingers. A gush of liquid heat flooded his hand and soaked through his trousers where you straddled his lap, dripping onto the bench below. The sensation was so intense it bordered on painful, whiting out your vision as you shook and shuddered through it.

Finally, you collapsed against him, utterly spent and dazed. Loki withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth. Maintaining eye contact, he licked them clean of your essence, his gaze smoldering. "Exquisite," he hummed, savoring your taste. "I knew you'd be delectable. Don't think we're done, sweet one. That was merely the beginning."

You could only whimper in response, your body still trembling with aftershocks. You were sure Loki would make good on his promise, bringing you to peak after peak as he had his wicked way with you, until you were a boneless, oversensitive puddle. He'd take you thoroughly, claiming you in every way imaginable, pushing your boundaries and wringing out every last drop of pleasure before finally allowing you a moment's respite.

Loki ran his fingers lightly down your spine, making you shiver and whimper at the hypersensitive touch. "Breathe, sweet girl, breathe," he murmured soothingly. "Let it all go, let yourself feel every aftershock."

⠀

⠀

As the aftermath of your third release rippled through you, you lay sprawled against Loki, still buzzing in the wake of the overwhelming sensations. He, on the other hand, appeared perfectly composed, with the exception of slightly ragged breaths—his eyes gleaming with that familiar, mischievous glint as he watched you recover, his fingers tracing absent patterns along your skin.

"Mind you," he began, his voice low and smooth, the slightest chuckle hinting at the amusement dancing behind his words. "I’ve heard some rather... curious things about the female body. And considering how often you frequent this ridiculous section, I couldn’t help but recall an interesting tidbit I came across not long ago."

You raised an eyebrow, your breathing still unsteady as you managed a tired glance at him, your voice weak but laced with a hint of defiance. "What now?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect his words were having on you. "Ah, nothing too extraordinary. Just a small fact about a certain... fluid that the female body produces.” He scooped some of your combined essences from where they trickled down your thigh. He brought his fingers to his lips, maintaining eye contact as he licked them clean with a lingering purr. “Ever heard of it, darling?" 

You narrowed your eyes, the heat of your previous high still lingering in your chest as your mind slowly returned to focus. "What are you getting at, Loki?"

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers began to caress your side, bringing another shiver to your already overstimulated body. "Well," he continued, his voice dark and teasing, "it seems there's a certain substance in that fluid that shares some similarities with... the things you consume at the gym. Creatine, for instance.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise at his insinuation. The exhaustion from your highs didn't quell the stirring of your mind—nor the slight flush creeping up your neck as you caught onto his meaning.

"Are you suggesting..." you started, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Loki chuckled softly, eyes gleaming. "Oh, darling, I merely thought you might like to share a bit of what you regularly consume. Not that I need it, of course." He gave you a teasing look, his lips quirking into that devilish grin. “But I'd gladly go down for a taste any time. All day long if you'd like. Or would you rather I bend you over and show you the depths of my stamina, pretty pet? Take you apart on my cock until you're thoroughly wrecked and dripping with both our spend? Mmh, so many delightful ways to sully you."

He nipped at your earlobe. "So what shall it be, pet? Shall I feast on your pretty cunt or fuck you senseless? Or perhaps..." His hand drifted teasingly between your thighs, collecting more of your slick. He brought the coated fingers to your lips. "Both? Knowing what an insatiable little thing you are, I suspect you want it all."

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the tender remnants of pleasure still humming beneath your skin, making you all the more flustered as the dizziness of Loki’s teasing lingered. Each breath you took felt shallow, almost unsteady, and your body, still too sensitive, seemed to vibrate with a heightened awareness of him. You blinked up at him, your mind reeling, trying to push away the wave of heat that had gathered in your chest. But even as you tried to regain some composure, the words escaped you, weak and unsteady. "You're a heathen," you managed, your voice a breathless rasp, the remnants of his touch still pulsing through you.

Loki’s grin deepened, the corners of his mouth curling with dark satisfaction. His gaze flickered with amusement as he ran his tongue across his lips in a deliberate, almost languid motion. "Perhaps, but isn’t that just the way you like it?" His voice purred in your ear, smooth and velvety, tinged with a teasing edge. His hands began to shift, moving with slow intent, preparing to follow through on his words. But just as he was about to act, something in his expression shifted—a sudden, almost imperceptible change. The playful light in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something far more intense, more focused.

"What’s wrong?" you asked, your voice breathy and thick with confusion as you struggled to make sense of the sudden shift in his demeanor.

Loki abruptly moved with startling speed, his hands gripping you firmly and lifting you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your body pressing flush against his, the closeness exacerbating the heat and tension between you. The world around you spun in an instant, and the disorienting sensation of teleportation swept you away. The familiar surroundings vanished, leaving behind the sterile, strangely fragrant air of a men's locker room—fresh towels, wood, and the space's cool, musky scent filling your senses.

"What’s going on?" You gasped, still trying to orient yourself as the confusion clawed at you. Your heart raced in your chest, still fluttering from the previous onslaught of pleasure. 

"You’ll find out soon enough," Loki replied, his voice hardening, no trace of humor left. It was almost as though he were impatient with your questions, his tone clipped and direct.

You scowled at the sudden shift in energy and pushed against his chest with an exasperated huff. "You could have at least warned me!" You grumbled, smacking his chest lightly, but your action only seemed to amuse him further, his lips curling into an unreadable smile. "Where are we?"

Loki’s gaze darkened just a fraction, a subtle glint in his eyes as his mood shifted again. "Careful, darling," he warned with a touch of mockery, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "I wouldn’t want you to lose your balance..."

Before you could respond, the god shifted his weight, his hands loosening just enough to make you tilt precariously. Your body slipped dangerously from his grasp, and a startled squeal tore from your lips as panic surged through you. The disorienting sensation of falling sent your arms flailing instinctively, grasping at nothing in a desperate attempt to stabilize yourself.

Effortlessly, Loki caught you at the last possible moment, his grip tightening with practiced ease. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he steadied you, his lips curling into that signature, maddening smirk. “Come now, pet,” he taunted, and a low chuckle vibrated in his chest as he shifted your position, holding you securely once more. “What’s the matter? I thought you might enjoy a little... thrill.”

The sudden movement had brought a rush of delicious friction, making you shudder and gasp out loud. Loki didn't miss the effect, and his smirk turned downright sinful as he teased, "My, my, what a naughty little pet you are. Barely grazing you and you’re already trembling for me again." 

He ground you down deliberately, his hard length stroking your sensitive spots in the most tempting way. "Three times you've found your pleasure, and yet you're still desperate for more, aren't you? Greedy girl."

His voice was a deep, seductive murmur, the words dripping with sinful promise. You could only moan in response, too lost in sensation to form a coherent reply. All you could focus on was the delicious friction of his body rubbing against your swollen, sensitive flesh with each roll of his hips.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he used his magic to make the remaining clothes vanish, leaving nothing between your bodies. "Much better," he purred approvingly, his heated gaze raking over your naked form.

You couldn't help but blush, suddenly self-conscious under his intense scrutiny. His eyes devoured you, drinking in every dip and curve of your body like a man dying of thirst. You resisted the urge to cover yourself, knowing it would be pointless. Instead, you forced yourself to meet his stare, trying to project a confidence you didn't quite feel.

And as yours moved down his chiseled chest and abs, you noticed your cheeks flushing for entirely different reasons. God, he was perfection incarnate. All lean muscle and smooth skin, his body a testament to his otherworldly heritage. You reached out a tentative hand, trailing your fingers along the defined ridges of his stomach. He sucked in a sharp breath at the touch, his muscles clenching under your palm.

"Like what you see, pet?" He caught your chin, tilting your face up to meet his knowing smirk. Slowly, teasingly, he stroked your cheek with his thumb. "You're quite the vision yourself. A body made to drive a god mad with lust…"

You hid your burning face into his neck, nuzzling into him and breathing in his intoxicating scent. Unable to resist, you started peppering his throat with open-mouthed kisses, sucking on his pulse point. He groaned, his head falling back in bliss. The sound emitted from him emboldened you, and you began marking him with hickeys, determined to leave your claim on his skin. He shuddered in response, hips rocking into yours with desperate little thrusts. "You're playing with fire," he warned thickly, though he made no move to stop your ministrations.

Your fingers, originally clasped against the firm skin of his trapezius, wound up into the roots of his hair, the strands soft yet strong under your touch. You allowed yourself to revel in the warmth of his presence for a brief moment, noting the subtle tremors that coursed through his relaxing body beneath your gentle ministrations with a wicked thought. Every movement, every shift of your fingers was purposeful, exploring the sensitive area just beneath his hairline, feeling the heat of his skin radiate in response.

But all of a sudden, Loki's entire demeanor changed. His body tensed and he bristled at your touch, as if you had poured cold water on him. He moved again in long and hurried strides, carrying you swiftly toward one of the shower cabinets. The abruptness of his movement startled you, and you let out a small shout in surprise, hands instinctively clutching at him, fingers digging into the solid curve of his sides as you struggled to steady yourself. "What’s it to you?" You asked, your voice thick with confusion and a hint of frustration, before Loki suddenly spun back around, the quickness of his motion almost making your head spin.

He reached for the showerhead, turning it on with a forceful twist. The sudden jet of water splashed over you, drenching you in a cascade of cold droplets. You couldn’t help the startled exclamation that left your lips as the shock of the—now real—cold water hit your skin, and your body instinctively flinched from the unexpected deluge.

You gasped in shock as the icy liquid splashed over you, the cold sensation cutting through you like a blade. “Really, Loki? This is how you choose to handle things now?” You sputtered, your voice thick with irritation. The water clung to your skin, and you barely registered the chill as your exasperation grew. “We haven’t even finished rearranging the gym, and you’re wasting precious time with this nonsense!”

Before you could pronounce another word, Loki's hand shot up, leaving you breathless, and pressed firmly against your mouth. "Hush," he hissed, the command so sharp and forceful it sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes, intense and unreadable, narrowed as he gazed at you, the glint of something dangerous flashing in his expression. "We’ve got company."

You bit your lip, unable to tear your gaze away as the water dripped off his skin, each droplet catching the light and glistening like liquid pearls. The way it traced the contours of his body, gliding over every inch, was almost unbearably erotic. It was a sight that made your pulse quicken, the temptation to reach out and touch was almost overwhelming. But as you shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of the trance his presence had placed you in, you couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading through you, despite your best efforts to push the thought away.

Your eyes bore into him, brimming with frustration as your words rang out with increasing annoyance. “It’s your fault we’re behind schedule. Your endless antics, your distractions—” You threw your hands up in the air, as if to emphasize your point. “We could have been done by now!”

But Loki, ever the embodiment of calm control, merely leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering as a wicked glint danced in his eyes. The smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips only deepened, like a cat toying with its prey. His amusement was palpable, and it only made your blood boil more. He cut you off once more in your tirade by swiftly moving his hand, gripping your hips with an iron hold and thrusting into you without so much as a warning. 

Your words died on your lips as a startled gasp escaped you, your nails lodging into their previous place in his skin, your body yielding to his intrusion in a burst of pleasure and pain. You were soaked from the precedent orgasms, but it didn’t feel nearly enough to take him comfortably. The stretch of his thick length filling you sent sparks of raw sensation ricocheting through your nerves and a river of whines and curses flowed out of your mouth. 

"Not so defiant now, are we?" He drawled in your ear, his voice a sinful rasp. "Moan for me, sweet thing. Let me hear what a needy little whore you are for me." His hips snapped against yours, driving into you with brutal force. The tile wall scraped your back as he held you in place, each powerful stroke jolting your body. Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. 

The conflicting sensations overwhelmed you—his rough treatment, the cold water still splashing over your skin, the depravity of being taken so publicly. Anyone could round that corner and guess you pinned and split open on his cock, helpless. It seemed your thightening also proved to be too much for the Asgardian, considering the lowly grunts emitting from him at each move.

"Gods above, you’re so fucking tight. Always so fussy," he growled, nipping at your throat hard enough to leave a mark. "Complaining and bossing around as if you don't crave this. Admit it."

One hand hastily found temporary refuge against the shower tiles, against which he sharply tackled you, sending you nearly howling before he slid it between your bodies to circle your clit, the touch searing in intensity. Loki pinched the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending jolts through your core. "Tell me how badly you want it. How desperate you are for my cock."

"Fuck you," you spat, but it was breathless, and you bit your lips to retain another moan as your hips started to meet his thrusts. He was relentless, pummeling into your cunt like it was a personal challenge. The wet slap of flesh echoed obscenely in the cabinet, and your nails rivered down the mount of his back at each meeting.

"Filthy mouth. Keep running it, darling, and I’ll give you something far better to do with it. Though I much prefer the sound of you undone beneath me—such a dirty, desperate slut, getting fucked where anyone could see. Say it." He punctuated each of his words with hard and punishing thrusts, successfully pulling out a scream out of you. "Say you're my dirty little cock sleeve. Say it."

Humiliated tears pricked your eyes but you couldn't deny the intense pleasure coiling hot and low in your belly. He played your body like he had mastered it for years, winding you tighter with every roll of his hips and ruthless touch.

"I—ah, fuck, fuck! Loki, Loki—mmh, I..." You babbled, unable to form a proper sentence as you felt your walls repeatedly flutter around him, so close to the edge.

"Are you going to come like the wanton whore you are, pet? Show me what a depraved little fucktoy you are for me." His fingers worked your clit as he mercilessly pounded into your clenching heat.

You were teetering on the edge, every nerve in your body tingling with anticipation as Loki's unstoppable movements propelled you higher and higher. But just as the tension was about to break, a grating sound pierced the air: a door dragging on the floor as it was pulled open. Loki froze quickly, his sharp inhale the only sound above your ragged gasping. The abrupt halt caused a desperate moan to escape from your lips, your forehead pressing against his as your body trembled from the harsh interruption. His warm breath brushed over your inflamed cheeks, and both of you were frozen in place, chests heaving as the faint echo of the disturbance hung between you like a thick cloud.

Desperation gripped at you, and your hips shifted reflexively, sliding against him in a frantic attempt to pursue the high he had cruelly paused for. But as swiftly as you moved, Loki's solid hands grasped your hips, immobilizing you with relentless force. "Oh, you—" you began, your voice filled with irritation, the insult poised to spill from your lips. But before you could continue, a deep, booming voice resonated across the room, making your blood run cold. Thor. You froze entirely, your wide eyes focusing on Loki's face as his jaw clenched in displeasure. He cocked his head toward the sound, his cheeky grin replaced by a scowl, as if quietly evaluating the risk of being detected.

You pressed your back against the cool, tiled walls of the cramped shower cabinet, the water cascading over you in a rhythmic, steady flow. The silence that enveloped the space felt almost suffocating after the intensity of earlier, the echoes of your heated exchange still lingering in the air. Despite the cold water, your body hummed with unresolved tension, each nerve alive with the memory of the raw desire that had coursed through you moments before. Your gaze narrowed, locking onto Loki, whose expression was far too smug for your liking. His sharp features seemed even more defined in the low, flickering light, an almost predatory gleam dancing in his emerald eyes.

“You’re such a dumbass,” you spat in a harsh whisper, your voice too loud in the confined space, but it felt necessary. “Thor definitely heard us. How could he not? We weren’t exactly quiet!”

Loki's lips curled slightly at the corners, his gaze sharpening as he brought a finger to his mouth in a gesture that screamed mockery. “Silence, darling,” he purred, though there was an underlying tension in his voice, a trace of something darker beneath the usual arrogance. “I’ve cast a spell on you. Every delightful sound you might’ve made is now rendered... inaudible to him. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?” you shot back, incredulity tinging your whisper as you poked a finger firmly into his chest. “We’re hiding in a damn shower because of your brilliant idea to—”

Before you could finish, a heavy footstep echoed through the empty locker room, the unmistakable sound of a boot scraping against the floor. The noise sliced through the air, halting both of you in your tracks. Loki’s jaw clenched in reaction, and before you could say anything more, he pulled you closer, one arm wrapping around your waist protectively.

“Loki?” Thor’s booming voice echoed through the gym, reverberating off the walls and setting your heart hammering in your chest.

Loki cleared his throat with practiced ease, his voice smooth, a mask of indifference slipping effortlessly into place. “I’m here, brother. Must you bellow like a wounded ox?”

The footsteps grew louder, nearing the cabinet, and you felt your pulse spike, your body coiling with anxiety. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Why are you in here?” Thor’s voice was laced with curiosity, though there was an undercurrent of suspicion. “And... why are you alone?”

Thinking quickly, Loki leaned toward the door, his tone shifting to one of feigned irritation. “Because,” he began smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease, “the company I’ve been forced to endure is entirely... unfit to handle my presence. She’s utterly incapable of composure, and I needed a moment of reprieve.”

Your eyes widened, and without thinking, your hand shot up to slap his arm. The sharp sound of your palm meeting his skin echoed in the confined space, making Loki’s head snap toward you in surprise. His gaze, normally filled with confident mischief, was now heavy with a silent warning.

Thor, hearing only Loki’s part of the conversation, paused, a flicker of concern in his voice. “Brother... are you all right?”

Loki sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down his face in mock exasperation. “Perfectly fine, Thor. Must you make everything sound so dramatic?”

“Perhaps,” Thor replied, his tone softening with genuine sympathy. “But I can’t help but feel some pity for her, having to endure your antics. It was foolish of you to start this little game, Loki. You knew it wasn’t a good idea.”

The air grew thick and heavy with the weight of Thor’s words, and you bit your lip to suppress a scoff. “He’s got a point,” you whispered under your breath, unable to resist the jab.

Loki’s eyes narrowed dangerously, the irises darkening as he turned his head toward you, his voice now a low growl. “I thought I told you to shut up,” he muttered, the words dripping with frustration and a simmering heat. 

Without warning, he pulled you closer to him, and you gasped at the sudden, almost punishing thrust of his hips. You couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips as he controlled the rhythm with possessive intent, mewling at each slow shove made into you. You attempted to move yours again in response, but his hands gripped your hips even tighter, preventing you from properly chasing the sensation.

Loki leaned in closer to you, his breath warm against your ear as he muttered under his breath, "You're lucky I know magic, darling," his tone laced with an edge of irritation. "I’ve muted the sound of you for the surroundings, but you still need to be quiet so I can maintain some semblance of normalcy here. Honestly, you’re as insolent as ever." His eyes flashed with barely-contained frustration, a sharp contrast to his usual composure, as he gave you a pointed look, warning you to hold your tongue. 

The smile that spread across your face was inevitable. This little concession of his? It only gave you the perfect idea to be even more of a brat. You leaned closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered just loud enough for him to hear, tightening your vice on him just enough to make him groan. "Maybe I like being a little insolent," you teased, your voice dripping with mischief.

Thor, hearing only Loki’s seemingly pained sound, furrowed his brows in concern. “Are you certain you’re fine? You sound... agitated.”

“Careful. He’s onto you.” The god gave you a warning glare, his lips curling in annoyance, and he was about to retaliate once more to silence you, but Thor's voice boomed again, this time with the wisdom of an older brother.

“Loki,” The blonde began, his tone shifting from concern to a rare, heartfelt sincerity, “I understand why you’re frustrated. But if you wish to court her, there are better ways than to rile her up like this. Annoyance is not an effective courting method, no matter how clever you think yourself for your strategy.”

The tension in the shower cabinet escalated, the air thick with the weight of Thor’s words. Loki’s posture stiffened immediately, his body rigid as he struggled to hide his surprise. You could not keep your mouth from hanging open, your head tilting as you processed what had just been revealed.

“Excuse me?” You scoffed with equal parts of incredulity and amusement.

Thor, completely oblivious to the storm he’d just unleashed, barreled on with the kind of brotherly advice only he could deliver, his voice booming in that way only he could manage. “I thought I made it clear in our previous talk, brother—though, granted, I had to drag it out of you. You’re not exactly being sneaky about it, too. The way you look at her, the way you seem to enjoy making her miserable... everyone sees it. If you just—”

“Thor!” Loki’s voice cracked with a mix of frustration and alarm, the sharp command of his words cutting through the tension like a hot knife.

The silence that followed was thick with disbelief. You blinked up at the raven-haired, your mind reeling as the puzzle pieces finally fit together. A slow, teasing smile spread across your face as realization hit you like a freight train.

“Oh,” you breathed, your voice dripping with amusement. “Oh. So that’s why you’re always so intent on being a pain in my ass.”

Loki’s eyes flashed with a mixture of panic and irritation as he turned to face you, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Don’t,” he warned, his lips curling into a thin, controlled line.

But you couldn’t help yourself. “You’ve got a thing for me,” you teased, your grin widening as you soaked in the rare sight of discomfort on his usually composed face. “All this time, all that effort to drive me insane... You’ve been pining.”

“Enough,” Loki snarled, but the faint flush creeping up his sharp cheekbones betrayed him, the evidence of his secret feelings undeniable.

You pulled back just enough, your heart swelling with quiet triumph as you observed Loki’s reaction. It was finally clear—those confusing, gnawing feelings you’d been battling were, in fact, reciprocated. It wasn’t your mind playing games anymore. Loki didn’t harbor any malicious intent toward you; in reality, he’d been concealing something far deeper, something that only served to heighten your sense of victory. The tension between you wasn’t just a fleeting sensation but something more tangible, and you were savoring every second of it.

With that newfound confidence, you couldn’t resist the temptation to push further, to enjoy the power you now held over him. You leaned in, your lips brushing lightly against his ear, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. “So, tell me, Loki... How does it feel to know that I’ve figured you out?”

Your smirk spread across your face as you watched his flushing slowly deepen at each passing second and crept on his neck, a reaction that only invigorated you in your ministrations. You couldn’t help yourself—your lips found that sensitive spot on his neck, pressing a soft bite to it before pulling away with a gentle tug. His sharp inhale sent a ripple of satisfaction through you, knowing you were pushing him to his limits.

The Asgardian groaned under his breath, clearly frustrated by the way you were toying with him. His hand shot out in an almost frantic motion, wrapping around your wrist in a tight grip, trying to halt your relentless teasing. But you weren’t about to give up that easily.

Just as the tension between the two of you seemed to reach its breaking point, Thor’s booming voice pierced the charged air. “Just admit it, brother,” he bellowed with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “For once, be honest with her. Or at least do something about it.”

Loki's eyes blazed with a storm of annoyance and something much deeper—something he was not ready to divulge. His glance moved briefly from you to his brother, who was waiting outside the cabin, as if looking for an escape. But before he could respond, Thor had turned on his heel and proceeded to walk away, his footsteps thudding in the distance. "By Odin’s beard," Thor said quietly, frustrated. "I should've known you'd be this stubborn."

You couldn't resist the ultimate tease. With a jostling, even predatory grin curving at the corners of your lips, you pushed in closer, your breath warm against his skin. The pause stretched between you two, charged and oppressive, with only the sound of his rapid breath breaking the quiet. It was an intimate game, and you could see he knew it. "You still don't refute it. I win, Loki," you taunted, your words flowing with pleasure. "And to seal it... how about I mark my victory?"

You drew him in, your hands resting on his shoulders as your lips touched the contour of his neck again, pressing them firmly against the warm flesh, taking a slow, purposeful suck, the sensation of his pulse beneath your lips instilling a sense of accomplishment in you. With a fleeting flash of wickedness, your fangs sank into the fragile skin, leaving a mark—a brilliant, scarlet memento of your victory. His sharp, involuntary inhalation was delicious, and the sound just heightened your ecstasy. You could feel the strength flow through you, intoxicated with satisfaction.

The instant the mark was left, you pulled away, watching with relish as Loki’s chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths. His eyes flashed with something sharp—irritation—but beneath it, there was something far deeper, more turbulent. You knew then you had crossed the line, and yet you were far from regretting it.

Before you could draw another breath, Loki's hand sped at you like a flash of lightning. His fingers pressed hard over your lips, suppressing any response before it could occur. "Silence, you nuisance," he rasped, his voice low and filled with barely restrained tension.

Your pulse increased, not from fear but from the palpable rush of adrenaline coursing through you. But before you could gather your thoughts, his other hand moved possessively beneath your thigh and hip, bringing you even closer to him. His hold was startlingly strong—firm and commanding—and his body pressed you into the corner with overpowering ferocity. The heat emanating from him was burning.

You attempted to speak, to resist, but the words died on your lips, muffled beneath his fingers as he kept you silent. His gaze latched on yours with such intensity that it made your chest tighten, the weight of his stare like a storm rising inside his eyes. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his jaw clenched, and the barely contained frustration flowing from him. "I will not tolerate being toyed with, pet." 

His words were clipped and authoritative, his voice razor-sharp, but the fire in his eyes screamed of a very different yearning. His breath came in quick spikes, and despite his pretending poise, the intensity in his stare revealed all. "You cannot tease and tempt, only to leave me wanting. Not anymore."

Cool air kissed your exposed skin and you shivered, torn between the urge to squirm away and arch into his touch. "I want you silent, obedient—just how I like it. You’ll let me have my way, won’t you?" he hushed, his lips brushing your ear. "Mh, yes, you will. I'm going to take what I want from this tight little body, fill you up, and fuck this insolent mouth shut. Perhaps you'll finally learn your place, pet."

He nipped sharply at the shell of your ear before trailing kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. His touch left a blaze of heat in its wake and your pulse thundered beneath his lips. Loki's palm cupped your breast, calloused fingers tweaking your nipple and making you effectively scream under his palm, heaving for air.

"Don’t make a sound," he commanded, pinching the sensitive bud. "Or I’ll make sure you regret it."

His hand then slid between your bodies, palming your mound in a possessive and hastened way, making you gasp against his hand. "No need for words, my sweet. I know exactly what you need. So pathetic for me, aren’t you? You love being used, you filthy thing."

He groaned at the visceral grip you exerted on him at his words, hilting himself fully in a deep thrust before slowly pulling back until just the tip remained and slamming in again, resetting into his brutal pace. His thumb hurridly nudged your bud, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves and forcing a choked sound from you. Your back bowed as another powerful moan bubbled up and got caught behind his palm, tears starting to build at the corner of your eyes from the overwhelming sensations.

"Mm, so tight and responsive," Loki purred, moving his fingers steadily. Sweat beaded on his brow from the exertion, hair wild and fanning around him. "Built for my cock and eager to be stuffed full. Gonna fuck you until you can't walk straight and ruin this needy cunt." Loki's fingers dug into your hips harshly enough to bruise as he used the grip to piston in and out of you. His pubic bone ground against your clit with every thrust, stoking the fire building in your core. 

The obscene squelch of your arousal filled the air, punctuated by your muffled cries. Loki set a punishing pace, pulling filthy sounds from your throat as his grip on your thigh tightened, blunt nails biting into your skin, before hauling you down on his length in one brutal thrust.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, rolling his hips to bury himself even deeper. "Listen to you mewl so sweetly for me. I've created such a perfect cock sleeve."

He plundered your mouth in a filthy kiss, his tongue dominating yours and swallowing your whimpers. Angling his hips, he hit that spot inside that made you see stars. Seeing you recoil so much at the intense pleasure you were experiencing, he set his pace to an even more merciless one, slamming into you with deep, pounding thrusts. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed lewdly through the space. He drove into you with single-minded focus, each stroke hitting that spot inside that rendered you utterly speechless.

"Take it," he snarled, fingers tangling in your hair to wrench your head back. "Take my cock like an obedient little toy."

His teeth sank into your pulse point, marking you and claiming you. His words, filthy and crass, pushed you higher. Loki's grip on you bordered on bruising as he used your body with single-minded focus. Sweat slicked your skin and his cock throbbed inside you, stretching you wide. The pressure built at the base of your spine, coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped.

You came in a squirt and with a broken shout, vision whitening out at the edges as he fucked you through it. Your clenching walls dragged Loki with you, his cock twitching and spilling deep. His rhythm faltered, signaling his impending release. With a throaty moan of your garbled name, he buried himself to the root and painted your insides with thick ropes of seed.

Loki's eyes fluttered shut in bliss but his fingers kept up their sweet torture, wringing out your peak. You clenched around him, whining breathlessly into his palm as ecstasy crashed over the both of you again and again in waves. He collapsed against you, pinning you to the wall with his weight, chest heaving. 

Loki gentled his grip to smooth caresses, soothing the welts on your back and thigh. "There you go," he murmured, nuzzling your throat and planting a flurry of small kisses there. "My good girl. You did so well."

⠀

⠀

The room enveloped you in a cloud of warmth as you gradually regained consciousness, your body heavy and relaxed, draped in the pleasant haze of post-pleasure languor. A gentle weight rested on your chest, the traces of delightful exhaustion hugging you like an embrace. For a long, indulgent moment, everything felt impossibly soft, the lines of reality blurred, and the only thing keeping you in the present was the constant thrum of your pulse, which grounded you in this calm cocoon.

You blinked several times, attempting to dispel the fog that had obscured your vision, but all you saw was a twisted blend of images, like if you had awoken from an enticing dream. The sheets beneath you were pleasantly warm, their comforting heaviness coiled around your limbs, and the familiar aroma of wood, leather, and a distinct, seductive hint of him permeated the air, grounding you in the present.

As your senses gradually sharpened, you felt a gentle caress across your back—his fingers drifting lazily up and down, the motion slow and deliberate. Each stroke of his touch was like a salve, lulling you into deeper relaxation and smoothing away whatever tension had clung to you. It was a calming presence, a reminder of his closeness and concern, an unexpected tenderness that contrasted dramatically with the intensity of what had just occurred between you.

"You're awake," The god's voice shattered the silence, as rich and sweet as it always was, but with an obvious softness. It wasn't his usual mocking tone. His remarks had an almost protective ring to them, and his voice was vulnerable, revealing a part of himself that was rarely seen. "How are you feeling?"

You swallowed, trying to clear your head from the residue of the overwhelming sensations. "A bit... disoriented," you mumbled, your voice scratchy from more than just sleep. You cleared your throat, hoping to dispel the remaining fog in your thoughts. "And fuzzy. But, um, good." Despite the haze on your mind, you managed a little, happy smile, savoring the lingering warmth and contentment that remained in your chest after the tremendous experience.

Loki's low chuckle sent shivers down your spine, a sound that was both soothing and thrilling. "Good girl," he muttered, his voice full of satisfaction and something more. His fingers, warm and steady, moved slowly and soothingly across your skin, sending waves of heat wherever they touched. The way he treated you was almost reverent, in stark contrast to the ferocious, desperate energy that had driven the previous moments. It was as if he was giving you time to recover, giving you a moment of quiet after everything had happened.

You shifted slightly, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze, still awash in the softness of the moment. "What about the gym?" you asked, your voice still drowsy from the effects. Your mind was still trying to catch up with the events that had unfolded, unsure of what had happened afterward. Loki’s eyes, though, glimmered with that familiar mischief, but there was no trace of the usual arrogance or playful smugness in his expression. He seemed... softer, less guarded.

"Ah, yes." Loki’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his gaze briefly flicking to the side in that way he had when he was about to reveal something more. "I took care of it. Told the others you weren’t feeling well from the lack of sleep and all that hard work." His fingers slid up your spine with a deliberate slowness, sending a ripple of warmth through your body. "You’re skipping the session for today, love."

The new nickname caught you off guard, warmth flooding your cheeks as a faint blush spread across your face. You let out a faint huff, still enjoying the comfy haze he had left you in. "You really have a way with the others." The remarks were smooth, almost dreamy, as you stared up at him, taken aback by how easily he had maneuvered the situation.

Loki's eyes softened for a minute, and you caught a glimpse of sincerity in his expression—something you rarely saw from him. "What can I say? I'm quite persuasive when I need to be." His voice was light, yet it had an edge to it, a taunting tone that hinted at the mischief he still harbored inside. But behind that, you sensed something more—a gentle compassion that had gradually developed between you two.

You couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected depth of the moment. It was clear now—beneath the arrogance, the teasing, and the endless games, Loki had always been more than the persona he projected. He was letting you see him in a way few others ever did. And for the first time, it felt like you were witnessing a version of Loki that wasn’t built on defense or pride, but one that was simply... normal, almost human if you dared to say.

For what seemed like an eternity, the two of you stood in the gentle calm of the room, the weight of your talk settling like a silent storm in the air between you. Your body was utterly at rest, every muscle relaxed and delightfully satisfied, but your mind was starting to catch up with the whirlwind of events. The tension, yearning, pull, and push all returned, along with a gnawing sense that refused to go away. Something deeper, unresolved, began to claw at your thoughts, compelling you to speak.

You broke the silence with a tentative yet forceful tone. "Loki," you started, the words feeling heavier than you expected. "Why did all of this happen? The competition, the mocking, the... push and pull. Why struggle for unwanted attention when you could have just remained normal? Confess like a regular person and save us both the hassle?"

Loki's lips quirked into a half-hearted smirk, yet there was something about it that indicated the inquiry had struck a chord. He leaned back, his stance comfortable yet guarded, his arms crossed in a defensive gesture as he looked at you. His eyes were piercing, but there was a hint of something else behind them. "Ah, the eternal question," he groaned dramatically, his sarcastic tone concealing a hint of discomfort. "Why indeed? At first, I thought you were really irritating. Dreadfully so. I thought—" He paused, letting out an exaggerated sigh and adopting a mockingly dramatic tone. "I figured taking you down a peg or two would be an excellent way to pass the time. You were just too confident for my liking."

Your brow raised, and a smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, but your gaze was somehow amused and curious. "So, you just wanted to ruin my self-esteem?" You taunted, but a part of you was beginning to sense something deeper underlying his remarks.

Loki grinned grimly, shaking his head, as if dismissing a stupid idea. "It wasn't about damaging it, more like taming it." His gaze shifted to you with a fascinating sparkle. "Or at least, that's what I told myself at the time." His voice softened, the sarcasm still but now infused with vulnerability, an unexpected honesty that cut through his bravado.

"But then, something changed." He paused, his gaze intensifying as he appeared to ruminate on the change that had occurred. "I started to notice things about you. Small things." His statements were calm and thoughtful. "I got more attentive. And, as you heard, it wasn't long until I fell for you. Despite my better judgment."

You stayed silent for a time, allowing the weight of his confession to settle in. The taunting and antagonizing had not been intended to break you down. It was his method of protecting himself, pushing you away to avoid confronting thoughts he didn't know how to address. Finally, your voice became softer and quieter as the realization settled in like a gentle tide. "So, all of it... was just your way of dealing with feelings you didn't want to admit to?"

Loki's eyes shone with a mix of laughter and something far more sincere than you were used to seeing from him. "I suppose I've never been one to handle my emotions well," he replied, his sarcasm still present but tempered with a reluctant honesty that caught you off guard. "It's so much easier to build a game out of it, right? Poking, probing, and playing with rivalries."

You leaned back against the bed, fingers running a gentle path across his chest, a grin curving on your lips as you took in his words. "I think we've both been playing games, Loki," you quietly said, the truth sinking in in an oddly comforting way. "But maybe... just maybe, we've both gotten a little too good at it."

Loki's hand reached up, stroking a stray strand of hair away from your face, his fingertips soft on your skin. He met your stare with an intensity you weren't used to, and for the first time, his comments were free of ridicule and teasing. Simply unvarnished honesty. "Perhaps," he said, his voice faint but steady. "Perhaps, darling, we both need to stop pretending."

As the lingering warmth of the moment enveloped you, your mind began to put things together. You gradually became aware of features that had previously gone unnoticed—the soft sheets underneath you, the familiar aroma of Loki's chamber, the fact that you were no longer in the same spot. Something was wrong, but in the cloud of your bliss, you couldn't pinpoint it until now.

You blinked, furrowing your brow as the truth of your circumstances gradually dawned on you. "Wait a second. Where are we?" you questioned just to get a confirmation, seeming perplexed. It was as if a fog had lifted from your thoughts, and everything seemed a little more... lucid.

Loki's lips twisted into a half-smile, his eyes gleaming with his signature mischief. "We're in my room, darling," he replied nonchalantly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "Isn't it comfortable?"

You looked about, your gaze drawn to the familiar walls, the luxurious bed, and the exquisite details. Then you gazed down at yourself and Loki, both in little more than the aftermath of your desire. Your heart skipped a beat, and you couldn't help but exclaim, still in shock, "Our clothes... How did we get here?"

Loki's smile developed into a knowing smirk. "I teleported us, of course," he said with pride in his voice. "I stored our clothes in my dimension pocket to avoid any awkward situations."

The knowledge hit you like a flash of lightning, and before you could stop yourself, you softly slapped his chest, your eyes widening in surprise and delight. "You could've done that from the start?" You lifted an eyebrow, annoyance tinged with laughter. "Instead of risking being caught by the others? Oh my God, you really enjoy the drama, do you?"

Loki's eyes flashed with a familiar playful glimmer as he seized your hand in midair, his grip gentle yet solid. "Now, don't call me in vain. And where's the fun in doing so?" He teased, his voice full of amusement. "I could not resist you, dearest. Watching you squirm and get caught up in our little tryst was far more entertaining."

You removed your hand from his grip, preparing to deliver him another fun slap across the chest. But he was decidedly faster than you expected. He was on top of you in an instant, softly pinning you to the bed. The weight of his body was warm and reassuring, but there was a palpable energy in the air between you. 

Loki's grin faded somewhat, his lips curling up into his distinctive half smile, but his eyes became more intense. He drew in closer, his breath murmuring across your neck, sending thrills down your spine. "You know," he mumbled, his voice falling an octave, tinged with laughter and something deeper. "I do love how you keep me on my toes." He paused, his eyes probing yours with such intensity that the air between you felt thicker and more intimate. For a heartbeat, his expression became serious, as if a ray of weakness burst through the walls he'd carefully placed around himself. "And, as much as I tease..." His lips hovered near your ear, just touching it as he said. "I would not change a single bit of it."

The weight of his words fell on you like a warm blanket, stirring something deep inside. Your chest clenched slightly, not because of discomfort but because you realized this was more than just fun banter. His earnestness hit you harder than you expected, and you struggled to match the vulnerability in his stare. You inhaled deeply and felt your pulse beat steadily under his, your chest rising and falling in time. 

In that short second, the tension between you two shifted, as if all the walls you'd been meticulously erecting came tumbling down in an unsaid acknowledgement. Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a slow, deliberate kiss that was soft and tender—there was no haste, no urgency, only a delicate desire to close the gap between you. Your lips molded against his with unexpected tenderness, and the kiss was languid, as if savoring every fleeting second.

You wrapped your arms around Loki slowly, almost intuitively, dragging him closer until there was no more space between your bodies. The sensation of his chest on yours, combined with the rhythm of your hearts beating together, intensified the moment. Your cheeks heated, and warmth crept throughout your body as the fuzzy, heady sensation of intimacy rushed over you. Every breath you took appeared to match his, slow and steady, as if time itself had slowed only to allow you to enjoy this connection.

His hands glided down your body with careful slowness, caressing your sides before settling on your exposed waist. The touch sent a bolt of heat through you, and you could feel your muscles relax under his palms. The way he touched you was almost reverent, as if he was remembering the feel of your skin and the warmth of your body on his own. His hands, large and solid, held your waist just enough to draw you closer, a quiet encouragement to press further into him.

The kisses that followed were gentle and languid, exchanged with a calm passion. They weren't hasty or desperate; rather, they were an unspoken discussion, a gentle admission of all you hadn't said. Every brush of his lips on yours felt like a promise, each kiss deeper than the last, as if you were both pouring your entire being, every emotion, into that simple, leisurely exchange.

You could feel everything—his warmth, his kindness, the way he held you so tightly, as if he was terrified you might slip away. And as you kissed him, your emotions spilled out without words. Each kiss, each sweet touch, represented a confession, a surrender to what had always existed between you. The world outside appeared to blur and vanish, leaving only the sound of your breathing, the beat of your hearts, and the soft touch of your lips against each other.

It was the kind of kiss that could convey so much without saying anything. Each slow, deliberate movement of your lips conveyed a secret promise, an unspoken statement of everything you had shared and what was to come. The kiss lingered for so long that it seemed like time had stretched and warped around the two of you.

When you eventually pushed away, the space between you seemed impossibly little. Your foreheads rested together, breath mingling, eyes closed as you both cherished the closeness—the quiet realization that you no longer required words to express the feelings that had developed between you. It was a rare moment of calm in the midst of the insanity that had led you here. In that small, personal place, you both simply basked in the silence, far away from the complete chaos of outside. The loud clang of weights, the grunts and shouts echoing from the gym, the gossip and chatter, and the sterile buzz of the fluorescent lights all felt like they now belonged to a different world—a world far removed from the intimate bubble you had found in each other’s presence.

Loki's voice cut through the peaceful silence that had surrounded the two of you, its lighthearted tone still tinged with that mischievous sparkle. "I recall," he began, the words flowing effortlessly as a mischievous smile flickered across his lips, "that I did mention earlier that I was interested in trying creatine, just like you were."

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of humor and caution in your eyes. "Oh? And how are you going to test it?” Your comments were laced with playful sarcasm, and your head tilted as you observed him.

Loki's eyes darkened briefly with a hint of something deeper before he leaned in just enough to close the gap between you, his voice lowering into a near whisper, laced with an unmistakable teasing. "Well, my love," he purred, his grin expanding into something both menacing and knowing. "I was considering experiencing it, but in a manner more... tailored to my preferences." His eyes gleamed with wicked pleasure, the sensuous undertone of his voice quickening your pulse, the warmth of his words raising a heat to your cheeks.

You couldn't help but laugh, your body quaking slightly at the sound. "You're insatiable," you remarked, rolling your eyes in mock irritation. "At least give me the time to recover. You fucked me to the point of unconsciousness, for God’s sake."

"And for my sake, I need to have you on my tongue and figure out what's so appealing about the substance," he answered snarkily, his voice heavy with intent, low and tempting. "And you, my darling, are the most appealing thing I have ever tasted." His eyes moved over you, maintaining a feverish intensity as he continued. "Believe me when I say that I'm far from the type to turn away from something that keeps pulling me back."

The words wrapped around you like silk, sending shivers through your body and causing your heart to flutter unexpectedly. Without a beat, Loki's grin broadened into something devilishly attractive, and he vanished beneath the blankets. With a dramatic sigh, you fell back into the bed, allowing your head to smash with the pillow as you attempted to conceal the fluttering in your chest. A deep sigh escaped your lips, muffled by the softness of the pillow. "You're ridiculous," you whispered, eyes pressed shut as you tried to cool the heat on your face.

Loki's laughter echoed from beneath the covers, simultaneously reassuring and infuriating, a duality that only he could create. For a minute, you lay motionless, the cadence of his laughter filling the gap between you and the warmth of his voice resting in your consciousness. Despite your displeasure, a sweet, amused smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you basked in the attention as a whimper escaped you.

⠀

⠀

BONUS:

The following Friday, the Avengers had gathered around the shake counter, the lively hum of chatter filling the air as they nibbled on snacks and leisurely sipped their drinks. It had been a while since they’d all been in one place, and the usual easy camaraderie was in full swing—banter, sarcastic quips, and the occasional jabs exchanged between friends. The familiar energy buzzed around them like static, grounding them in a rare moment of calm amidst the chaos of their lives.

Clint leaned back against the counter, throwing a pretzel stick into his mouth with the kind of casual grace only he could pull off. “Has anyone heard from our favorite power couple lately?” he asked, glancing at Tony with an eyebrow raised. “I mean, seriously, they’ve been off the radar. It’s like they’ve vanished into thin air. Did they go on some kind of 'relationship retreat’ or something? Maybe they’re on a spa vacation, enjoying massages and arguing over who gets the last cucumber slice for their eyes.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smirk as she turned toward Steve. “Wait, hold up,” she said, her tone dripping with mock incredulity. “You’re telling me Loki and [Y/N] have gone full stealth mode? What’s the matter? Did they finally have a 'moment’ and decide to go off the grid?”

Bruce, grumbling into his cup, seemed less amused. “I haven’t heard a peep from either of them. Last time they spoke to me, it was one of those ‘personal apologies’ for... well, everything,” he said with a grimace, clearly uncomfortable recalling the exchange. “If they’ve decided to disappear, I can’t say I blame them. That whole thing was... intense.”

Thor, his enthusiasm for shakes unrestrained, paused mid-sip at the mention of Loki. “Ah, well, I did see my brother not too long ago,” he said, his voice rising with the energy of someone sharing a truly remarkable tale. “It was on the day of their punishment. He was showering in the locker room, talking to me, and he mentioned something curious. Something about how Lady [Y/N] couldn’t ‘handle him’ and had ‘fled the scene.’” He paused for dramatic effect. “It was a bit strange, really. He said it with such intensity, like he had just fought a battle... and lost.”

The group fell into a brief silence, all eyes on Thor. “Wait, what?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. “Loki... said what now?”

Thor, scratching his chin as though trying to decode the bizarre conversation, recalled, “Well, he said something about her not being able to ‘keep up’ with him and that she had ‘run away’ after a particularly... frustrating session. Something about how she ‘gave up,’ as if... as if she couldn't handle the storm that is Loki.” Thor frowned, clearly baffled. “He seemed... upset. And, well, I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t frustration, but maybe... regret?”

Tony, ever the expert in reading between the lines, exchanged a look with Sam. “Oh, this is rich,” Tony said, his tone laced with an all-knowing grin. “Sounds to me like we’re talking about a little friendly bet that went way past ‘friendly.’ Reindeer Game’s ego must’ve gotten bruised, and now he’s having a ‘moment.’” He leaned in, glancing at the others with mischief gleaming in his eyes. “I’ll let you all figure out the details, but I have no doubt that this is some kind of... interesting conclusion to a very personal wager.”

Sam’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with the anticipation of what was to come. “Yeah, their little disappearing act? Safe to say, something went down. I’m guessing it got a little more... hands-on than either of them intended.”

Clint raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Wait, wait. We’re seriously going to start speculating about their love life right now? Have you all lost your minds?”

Wanda, who had been silently watching, suddenly leaned in with a devilish grin. “Oh, it’s way too easy not to,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Come on, guys, who do you think won the bet? Who do you think really gave in first?” She glanced between Natasha, Bucky, and Thor, her smile widening. “I’m putting my money on Team [Y/N]. Loki couldn’t handle the heat, and I’m betting he cracked first.”

Bucky shrugged nonchalantly, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Team [Y/N], no question. Loki’s pride is a glass house—it didn’t stand a chance. He probably broke first. I mean, come on. He’s Loki.”

Steve shook his head with a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not so sure. I think he’s got more... staying power than we give him credit for. I wouldn’t be surprised if she just snapped under the pressure.” He paused for effect, his grin widening. “Loki’s a lot of things, but he’s not easily outdone.”

Clint smirked. “So we’re all just gonna ignore the fact that this was, what, a long time coming? I mean, did anyone not see this coming?”

Tony leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded the group with a knowing look. “I’m thinking if things went down the way I suspect, the real question is: who’s gonna be the first to fess up and admit they lost?” He raised an eyebrow. “And by the way, if it did go down the way we’re all thinking, I don’t think this was just a one-time thing. You don’t come back for seconds after a loss like that unless something really went down.”

Sam’s eyes gleamed with barely contained amusement. “Yeah, because honestly, if it was just a one-off, they wouldn’t be acting all... mysterious like this. There’s gotta be more to the story, right?”

Thor, ever the literal one, scratched his head, clearly puzzled by the specifics of the conversation. “I still believe my brother was... deeply disturbed by the events. He spoke as if something was very wrong. His words were... peculiar.” Thor furrowed his brow, a genuine concern crossing his face. “Perhaps I misunderstood, but he did seem upset, almost as though he regretted something.”

Bucky chuckled, clearly relishing the chaos around him. “We’ll see, big guy. You might be surprised. Things might not have gone the way you think.”

The gym was a whirlwind of activity, the sound of clanking weights and the occasional grunt reverberating off the walls, creating an atmosphere of focused chaos. In the midst of all this, the group was embroiled in their usual banter about the infamous bet. A debate was unfolding at lightning speed, the team divided and passionate, but then, like a couple of silent, mischievous storms, you and Loki casually entered the fray—synchronized, nonchalant, as though nothing of consequence had occurred moments before.

You and Loki walked into the room in matching gym gear—of course you did. A polished ensemble of sleek black and dark green athletic wear that clung to both of your figures with uncanny precision. His dark cloak, while still evident in the folds of his attire, seemed to blend effortlessly with the modern, athletic aesthetic of your matching outfits. It was almost as if you two had coordinated—though honestly, it felt more like a quiet extension of a bond that had formed through other means, and had yet to be fully explored.

Loki, as effortlessly charming as ever, strolled up to the team with a playful, easy grin plastered on his face. His steps were purposeful, but his confidence was what caught the eye—his hair swept back with practiced grace. He brushed an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder, a picture of casual elegance. “Ah, my favorite, unwanted little band of misfits, all gathered in one place,” he said, his voice oozing with faux warmth and grace.

His eyes flickered toward you, and his smile turned into something more teasing, more dangerous. He stepped closer to your side, never missing a beat. “Forgive me, darling,” he said, reaching out with exaggerated gentleness to kiss your hand. “It’s truly a pleasure to be in such fine company.”

You didn’t flinch as his lips brushed your hand. Instead, you gave him a knowing look, the corners of your lips curling upward as you allowed the kiss. You even gave his fingers a playful squeeze before responding smoothly. “Always a pleasure, my prince,” you said with a tone that was just as cordial, just as cool as his—if not slightly more mischievous.

The team stared at you both, clearly shocked by the fluid, casual nature of it all. Their curiosity was practically radiating, and it didn’t take long for the inevitable question to emerge.

Sam, never one to let something this good slide, leaned forward, his eyebrow raised in that signature way. “Alright, we’ve gotta know—who gave in first?” His voice was laced with amusement, and the grin on his face only deepened as he watched the dynamic between the two of you.

Loki, always one for theatrics, raised an eyebrow as he glanced at you, clearly enjoying this. “Ah, you’re eager to know, aren’t you? Well, darling, please, do tell—who was the first to give in?” His voice was light, playful, and oh-so-seductive, but there was something affectionate behind it.

You didn’t hesitate, a teasing smile tugging at your lips as you shot him a look. “I mean,” you began, your voice cool but dripping with mischief, “he did kiss me first.”

Loki’s eyes widened, his face twisting in mock horror. He sputtered, looking flustered for a split second. “W-What? You—” He shook his head, clearly not prepared for that revelation. “I was merely being—polite,” he stammered, trying to regain control of the situation, though his voice faltered slightly.

The Avengers burst into laughter, clearly enjoying the unexpected twist. Tony, unable to resist, leaned in with a grin that could only be described as mischievous. “Uh-huh, polite? Sure. Polite enough to kiss her on the lips? Interesting choice, big guy.”

Loki’s expression twisted into one of exaggerated disbelief, though he tried to hide his flustered state with a mock-serious tone. “I did not forfeit,” he retorted, arms crossing defensively. “I simply... allowed you the chance to realize you were outmatched. It was a strategic choice.”

The Avengers exchanged glances, clearly struggling to hold back their laughter. “Strategic choice, huh?” Sam snorted, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Come on, dude. Just admit it—you gave in first. Let’s put us all out of our misery.”

Bucky, who had been quietly enjoying the back-and-forth, couldn’t resist. “Team [Y/N] wins,” he said, smirking. “Loki cracked first. Didn’t stand a chance.” He winked at you, clearly proud of how the tables had turned.

Loki, however, wasn’t ready to give up so easily. “Fine,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “If we’re going to be completely honest, then yes... you could say I... yielded. In my own way.” He shot you a mischievous smirk before turning back to the group with an exaggerated bow. “But let it be known, she gave in first as well. I merely responded to her... advances.”

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly. “Oh, did I?” you teased, your voice laced with sarcasm. “I must’ve missed that part of the story, Loki.” You winked at him playfully. “But it’s true, we both gave in, and neither of us won the bet.”

The Avengers groaned in unison, clearly exasperated. “Seriously?” Natasha muttered, her voice flat. “You two can’t even make up your minds?”

Clint smirked, his eyes sparkling with humor. “Yeah, you’re both terrible at this. Either you both lost, or you both won. Pick one.”

Thor, confused by all the back-and-forth, raised a hand as if to settle the matter. “This is ridiculous. Why not settle this debate like warriors? A trial of strength or… style in your case, perhaps?” His booming voice carried an earnestness that made everyone pause—until Tony burst out laughing.

“Oh, yeah, because we all want to see them spar or whatever weird Asgardian thing you’re imagining,” Tony quipped, shaking his head. “No thanks, Point Break. Let’s keep it simple: they just need to decide. Right now. No dodging.”

Sam leaned back in his chair, smirking. “You heard the man. You’ve got ten seconds to give us a straight answer, or we’re voting on it ourselves.”

Loki’s expression darkened slightly, his sharp gaze flicking to you as though daring you to speak first. “You can’t seriously expect us to entrust the outcome of this bet to these mortals,” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “They’re biased.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a grin. “Biased against you, you mean,” you shot back, earning a round of snickers from the team.

Steve, ever the mediator, held up a hand. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s make this simple: each of you gets one last chance to argue your side. Short and sweet. Then we’re done. Deal?”

“Deal,” you said instantly, giving Loki a smug look. “Let’s hear it, Loki. Defend your honor.”

Loki straightened, smoothing down his shirt with exaggerated elegance. “Very well. If I must. It’s abundantly clear that I—magnanimous as ever—showed remarkable restraint in allowing her to pursue her affections first.” He paused dramatically, his voice smooth and dripping with mock sincerity. “Her insistence on denying this was, frankly, as adorable as it is predictable.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Oh, give me a break. If anyone was pursuing anyone, it was you. You’re the one who couldn’t stop making dramatic entrances and throwing around dirty pickup lines like confetti.”

Sam and Tony let out loud, exaggerated ohs, while Clint pretended to fan himself. “Spicy,” he muttered, grinning.

Natasha, smirking, looked between the two of you. “Alright, let’s cut to the chase. Did either of you actually win this bet, or are we stuck with a stalemate forever?”

Before you could answer, Loki leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “We both know the answer, darling,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a smirk. “But if you insist on denying it, I suppose I can share the victory. For now.”

You arched an eyebrow, your own smile forming as you replied softly, “Fine by me, as long as you don’t mind losing gracefully.”

The group groaned again as you and Loki finally turned back to them, both of you speaking at once.

“It’s a tie.”

Natasha threw up her hands, walking off with a muttered “Unbelievable.” Tony clapped his hands together. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“Not surprising, though,” Sam added, leaning back with a smirk. “I give it two weeks before one of you cracks again and we’re back to this same conversation.”

Loki’s grin was wolfish as he looked at you. “Two weeks? Oh, I give it far less time than that.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, your competitive streak sparking back to life. “Careful, Loki. That sounds like the start of another bet.”

Steve, ever the responsible leader, clapped his hands loudly, cutting through the laughter and banter. “Alright, enough messing around. Gym time. Everyone, get to training. Now.”

A collective groan echoed through the gym as the Avengers reluctantly began to disperse. Sam muttered something under his breath about slave drivers, Clint whistled as he grabbed his bow, and Wanda rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Even Thor shrugged and ambled toward the weights, clearly unbothered by the sudden order.

But you and Loki lingered near the entrance, neither of you moving to join the others. His gaze flicked toward you, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You’re positively ravishing today, darling,” he teased, his voice low and smooth. “Though I’m still waiting for you to admit defeat. Shall I give you another chance?”

You crossed your arms, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed your composure. “Not happening, Princess. I think you’ve had enough ego boosts for this month.”

Loki chuckled softly, leaning just a fraction closer, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “Oh, I disagree. Perhaps one more would suffice.” His tone was playful but rich with unspoken promise, his smirk a little too pleased with itself.

Before you could quip back, Tony, halfway across the gym, turned suddenly on his heel and pointed a finger in your direction. “Hey, speaking of the two of you...” His voice carried, immediately drawing everyone’s attention again. “One of the agents made a call the other day. Said they found some liquid on one of the benches after you two ‘fixed’ the gym. Looked like coconut water or something.”

Your face instantly went scarlet, the heat spreading from your cheeks down your neck like wildfire. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but Loki, ever composed, beat you to it. With an easy grin, he slid an arm around your waist, his presence both steady and infuriatingly smug. “Ah, yes. That would be mine,” he said smoothly, his voice effortlessly cutting through the tension.

“Simply diluted creatine in water. And the best kind.”

⠀

⠀

ending notes : I actually counted and the smut part, starting from Loki asking if [Y/N] was done with her tantrum to the end, is give or take 9850 words. LMAO

Also, the creatine part is something my ex actually told me to make advances on me. It's a real thing, look it up. :p

⠀

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @cafekitsune .

angelremnants ©️ 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

⠀

PART ONE.⠀|⠀LAST PART.

[abyssalwavezz]

zayne smut and i need it neowwwwwww do whatever you want with the plot

Impulse Control

Author's note: I know who you are anon, and this one is for you <3 that's all I've got to say LOL also if you like kpop, check out my kpop page @ta3mint bc I am trying to revive it after such a long break lol also fun fact...I think this is one of if not the longest fic I have ever written. So yeah...send in your LADS requests. It's good to be back, ya filthy animals.

Contains: Zayne x MC/YN, consent king Zayne, jealous/down bad Zayne, explicit sexual scenes with unprotected P in V (use protection irl pls), fingering (fem receiving), MC briefly on top, relatively vanilla missionary (but it’s a classic okay?) and somewhat vague hints at Zayne and MC lore if you squint

Warnings: Minors for the love of God, pls do not interact!! Sexually explicit content, adult themes, cursing, etc. and as always...no proofreading <3

Word Count: 7,872

It was no surprise that Akso Hospital was winning an award for their exemplary service to Linkon City. What was a bit of a surprise though, was Zayne taking the initiative to ask you to come to the banquet with him. He could be so hard to read sometimes, and though of course he could be thoughtful, this seemed to be a direct request, even for him.

You couldn't help but reread the texts from earlier, your heart and your mind racing in tandem.

Zayne☃️: How has your day been so far? Have you been staying hydrated? You often forget to drink enough water when you are busy.

Me: Dr. Zayne, do you text all your patients and remind them of their hydration levels?

Zayne☃️: Only the most forgetful ones.

Me: You mean there's more than one? And here I thought I was special :(

Zayne☃️: Don't fret. You are, in fact, the only patient who I perform this service for.

Me: Well in that case...I should probably go drink some water in between training sessions.

Zayne☃️: Before you go, I wanted to ask you something.

Me: Oh? I am listening (and hydrating as we speak)

Zayne☃️: The hospital is receiving a service award tonight. There will be a banquet. I was hoping you might want to come with me. After all, you have served Linkon as much as I or any of the other medical staff has. It is only fair that you are my plus one. If you want to be, of course.

Me: I would love to, Dr. Zayne. One question though...

Zayne☃️: Yes?

Me : Will there be dessert? 🧁

You had hoped the little joke about dessert would take your mind off of...everything. But it hadn't worked. You were still sitting in your desk chair, knees pulled tightly against your chest.

What did this invitation mean? Did Zayne...no. No way. There was no way he was inviting you because he saw you as something other than a friend and a patient. He said it himself, that it was only fair to invite you due to your service as a hunter.

How about you, though? What did you see Zayne as? You definitely would like to be more than friends. You couldn't help but fall for him after seeing him so often nowadays. He was everything you could have ever dreamed of in a man. But did he know about your feelings? Did he notice the amount of time you spent watching him work or study instead of focusing on your own work or training material in front of you? Did he notice you watching him even more closely during your workout sessions?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

Anyway. It was time to get ready now, and the part you dreaded most was here... Choosing what to wear.

You didn't really have many formal outfits to choose from, and you felt like the ones you did have were worn too many times. Right about now, you were wishing that Zayne had asked you earlier than the day of so you could've had more time to prepare. But honestly, would it have made a difference? Procrastinating was one of your favorite sports.

Eventually, you settled on your favorite dress.

Putting it on turned into somewhat of a chore, though. It didn't fit quite the same way as you remembered... but it had been a while since you last wore it.

Thankfully, it went on without any damage to the dress, but you couldn't help but pull at the fabric at the bottom of the dress. It was also a bit shorter than you remembered, it seemed.

And was this slit in the side always there?

Never mind that, it would have to do. There was no more time, and you still had to do your hair and makeup, as well as put on accessories to go with the dress. To be honest, you were a bit out of your comfort zone at the moment.

"Tonight better go well," you muttered to yourself.

~

The sudden noise from your phone caused you to stop what you were doing with your hair.

Grabbing it with a gloved hand, you immediately saw the text from Zayne letting you know he was waiting outside to pick you up.

You placed the last bobby pin in your hair and gently pushed your earrings in, then grabbed your phone and clutch before heading out the door.

As you passed by the mirror on your wall, you checked your makeup one last time, too.

Was it too much? It was a formal event, so you assumed you were to look the part. Ultimately you decided you looked fine, and part of you wished that Zayne would like it, too.

Oh, who were you kidding. You really hoped that Zayne would like it.

The sounds of your heels meeting the hard floor echoed throughout your apartment building until you got into the elevator. Once you were inside, you sent Zayne a quick text letting him know you were on the way.

Ding!

The elevator alerted you to let you know that it had arrived on the first floor. Quickly, you stepped out and into the parking lot, not wanting to be the cause of potentially being late.

After a quick scan of the nearby parking spaces, you saw his car a short distance away. You made your way over, cursing yourself for choosing these particular heels that were already causing foot pain.

As he saw you approach, he stepped out of his car and walked around to the passenger side, placing his hand on the door handle. He was wearing a traditional suit, accompanied by his glasses that he seemed to save for special occasions or work.

"Wowww, Dr. Zayne. No lab coat today? And doesn't your car have a button to open the doors, even when you're inside?"

"Would it still count as chivalry if I were to only press a button?"

He gave a small smile and pulled the door handle, stepping aside to let you in the car.

You smiled back, gently sitting down so as not to disturb your hair and dress.

As you moved past him, Zayne took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes briefly before forcing them back open.

"You okay, Zayne? Am I wearing too much perfume? Or even worse...do I stink?"

Zayne shook his head and smiled once more.

"No and no, of course not. I like what you are wearing."

You nodded, satisfied with his prompt answer which caused your cheeks to burn.

Zayne closed your door and walked back around to his. He sat down and buckled himself in, motioning for you to do the same.

"The banquet is in an event hall not far from here. There will be some speeches that may bore you, by the way. This is your last chance to back out."

It was your turn to shake your head.

"Not a chance. It took me so long to get ready, I have to see this through. Besides, I was glad you thought to invite me."

Zayne turned the steering wheel to back out of his parking space, carefully eyeing his backup camera.

"Well, I am glad you accepted my invitation."

~

Zayne was telling the truth about it not being far. You made it there in only a few minutes. Frustratingly though, it had started to drizzle.

"Aw man, my hair and makeup will be ruined. Then everyone will think you brought a drowned rat as your plus one."

Zayne chuckled, pressing the button to turn his car off.

"Nonsense. Chivalry is still alive and well in Linkon."

Once again, he came around to the passenger side of the car rather than pressing the button to let you out. Seemingly out of nowhere, he had produced a large umbrella that was big enough to cover both of you, and especially big enough to protect your hair and makeup.

"Zayne, you are really outdoing yourself already. How could I ever repay you?"

"Don't worry, you already are."

Zayne walked slowly with you, making sure to keep the umbrella placed perfectly over your heads. Thanks to him, you both made it to the doorway of the event hall dry and in one piece.

There were lots of people, which was to be expected. Nevertheless, you instinctively clung to Zayne's arm, wrapping a hand around it tightly.

He was caught off guard, but only for a moment, before placing his large hand over the top of the silky fabric of your glove.

"You hunt Wanderers for a living and you're scared of a little crowd?"

You glared at him playfully, the amusement obvious in his usually soft voice.

"Hush, you meanie."

If you thought there were a lot of people in the foyer, it was nothing compared to the amount of people in the actual hall.

Numerous circular tables littered the hall as far as the eye could see. Pretty much all of the seats were already full, causing you to wonder where the two of you could possibly sit down. In the center against the back wall was the stage, presumably where the speeches Zayne mentioned were going to take place. Flower displays were plentiful, several of the biggest ones taking up the front of the stage, and the smaller ones sitting in between tables. Tiny vases with smaller versions of the displays sat on top of the tables, surrounded by expensive looking crystal dinnerware. It was definitely not something you see every day.

"Where would you like to sit?" Zayne asked.

You scanned the nearest tables, squeezing Zayne's arm when you saw an empty one.

"Let's sit there," you said quietly, pointing with your index finger so he could see what you were talking about.

Zayne nodded once he saw your choice, leading the way through the people that were still standing around.

There were five seats at the table in total, and by the time you got there, one of them was already filled by a young man that hadn't been there before. Oh well, you couldn't have expected to sit at a table with only Zayne at an event like this. But a girl could dream.

After you and Zayne sat down, the young man turned his attention to you. Nothing in particular stood out about him, and you couldn't say you recognized him from anywhere.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," he said in a voice that didn't quite match his plain-looking features.

"Hi! It's nice to meet you, too," you replied politely.

"And you as well," the man added as he looked towards Zayne.

Zayne nodded, but didn't say anything. It seemed his mind was elsewhere at the moment.

"I'm (Y/N), and this is Dr. Zayne from Akso Hospital."

The man gasped quietly and looked back over to Zayne.

"Ohhh, I've heard a lot about you. You're definitely a big part of the reason the hospital is receiving the award tonight, I'm sure!"

The man seemed genuine in his comment, as far as you could tell.

"I am only doing my job. I have no desire for awards or accolades. Besides, there are many competent doctors and nurses that work at Akso. That is the reason for our award." Zayne said harshly.

You were a bit taken aback by Zayne's choice of words, but you chalked it up to potential nerves about tonight. The man didn't seem too fazed, which relieved you.

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Richard."

You nodded and smiled at him, just before a sharp noise echoed throughout the event hall. Your eyes searched the surrounding area, and you realized the banquet must be underway. There was a very important looking man near the edge of the stage, clinking a metal spoon against his wine glass.

"As you all know, we are here tonight to recognize the achievements and outstanding service of Akso Hospital...but we are also here to eat!"

This earned a few laughs from the crowd of people, and even one from you. You couldn't deny you were starting to get pretty hungry.

You looked at Zayne and noticed that he did not laugh, nor did he even smile. Instead, he seemed to be set in stone, staring straight ahead at the man speaking by the stage. It almost seemed as if he was looking through him, like his mind was still somewhere else entirely.

"It isn't like Zayne to be nervous...but what else could it be? Does he regret bringing me here? I probably look so silly, like a little girl all dressed up for her secret crush", you thought to yourself.

Ignoring the sudden pain in your chest, you turned your focus back to the man up front.

"...once again, I thank you all for coming. But for now, let us eat and we'll get to the rest of the award ceremony later!"

The hall gradually began to get louder as people began to talk amongst themselves again. This seemed like a good opportunity to get Zayne to talk and settle the nerves that were boiling under the surface of your skin.

"Zayne, aren't you starving? We didn't eat before we came!"

"Mmm," Zayne hummed quietly in agreement.

"Oh! I didn't realize you two came together. Are you...?

Richard didn't finish his implied question and your ears began to burn instantly.

"Oh, no no! Nothing like that," you quickly replied, waving your hands back and forth in front of you.

You didn't dare glance at Zayne, so you weren't sure of his reaction to the conversation. But thankfully you didn't have to worry for long, since Richard started talking again.

"I see! Well, (Y/N), what do you do for a living?"

Grateful for the change in topic, you jumped at the chance.

"Well, I'm a Hunter!"

"She's very good at what she does. I have seen her at work. We often assist each other," Zayne said suddenly from the side.

Both you and Richard glanced at each other before looking at Zayne, who was as stoic as ever, but this time looking directly at you.

Your ears, still not recovered from a few moments ago, grew uncomfortably hot.

"I think the line for food has gotten a bit shorter," Richard pointed out. "Should we go ahead and head over?"

"Yes, I-."

Zayne cut you off, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table.

"Why don't you save us a spot, Richard? I need to ask (Y/N) something about a confidential matter at work. It cannot wait."

Richard stood, giving a small nod and a quick smile in your direction before walking towards the food serving line.

Once he was out of earshot, you hastily gathered yourself before facing Zayne.

"Is something wrong? You've been acting strangely since we sat down."

Zayne pushed up his glasses, keeping his eye on Richard's back as he stood at the end of the line on the other side of the hall.

"There is something odd about him. We should find somewhere else to sit for the night."

You scoffed, unsure of what he could be talking about.

"I'm not sure I understand, Zayne. He seems perfectly normal and nice to me."

He shook his head.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Well, of course I do, but..." you trailed off before continuing, "It just seems like something has gotten into you. Am I not allowed to make friends?"

"Of course you are. You can have as many friends as you like. Just not him. There is something wrong."

For some reason, Zayne's words frustrated you.

"I don't need permission, Zayne. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to get some food because I am starving. If you'd care to join me, I'll be over there."

Without waiting for a response, you left the table and walked with determination over to Richard, where he was still waiting in line. You truly had no idea what had gotten into your usually very kind and understanding friend, Zayne. You had never seen him act this way, so far as you could remember. Even so, as you got farther away from him, your resolve faltered. Had you been too harsh? No. Zayne was being...weird. You wanted to get to the bottom of it before the night was up.

"Hey!" Richard smiled and waved you over.

You gladly stepped beside him where he had saved you a spot.

"Thanks for holding a place for me, Richard. I'm sorry it took so long for me to get over here."

"It's no problem! I know you and Dr. Zayne must have a lot of secret work you need to do for Linkon. Speaking of, is he coming? There's more than enough room for him!"

You sighed, shaking your head.

"I'm not sure. He seems a bit...stressed at the moment. I may just bring him something to eat to help out a little bit."

Richard nodded.

"That's very kind of you. Dr. Zayne is very lucky to have a friend like you."

"Yeah," you couldn't help but sigh as the staff behind the table handed you a serving of the first dish. "A friend."

As you progressed down the line, Richard told you more about himself. You returned the favor, sparing some of the more private details of your life. But it truly was nice talking with him. He was very easy to get along with, and that further fueled your confusion towards Zayne's behavior.

After the two of you finished getting your food, you made your way back over to the table. As you got closer, you realized Zayne was no longer in his chair.

"Where did Zayne go?"

Richard looked around, nearly spinning in a circle.

"I'm not sure. He must have gotten tied up in an important conversation somewhere."

Just then you felt a buzz in your clutch, your phone alerting you to a text.

You set your plate down and reached into your clutch, grabbing your phone easily thanks to the small size of the bag.

On your phone's screen was a brief text from Zayne, asking you to meet him outside.

"Is everything okay?" Richard asked.

You snapped your attention away from your phone and smiled nervously at Richard.

"Of course! I just need to use the restroom before we start eating. Will you finish telling me your story that you mentioned in line when I get back?"

Richard nodded enthusiastically.

"I would love to!"

"Great, I'll be right back, I promise."

~

The air outside had gotten significantly cooler after the sun finished setting. Thankfully, it wasn't raining anymore. But you didn't see Zayne anywhere. He wasn't in the foyer and not immediately outside of the building. Almost in a panic, you turned around to search the entire parking lot. And that's when you caught a glimpse of a nearby streetlight reflecting off of something other than a car a few feet away.

It was Zayne's glasses, and he was leaned up against the side of his car with his arms crossed, looking off to the side.

"Zayne?"

Your voice caught his attention, and he used his weight to push himself off his car and move closer to you.

"There you are. I need you to come with me, we have to go."

As you got closer to him, you noticed he had an unfamiliar look in his eyes. It was one you had never seen in them before, and it instinctively made you nervous.

"Zayne, what's going on? You've been so weird tonight and now you're kind of scaring me."

Zayne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Forgive me, I..."

You remained silent, waiting for him to finish, the rapid beating of your heart pounding in your eardrums.

"I seem to be acting on my impulses tonight. Something I thought I had been teaching myself not to do."

His actions were still not understandable to you, and he instantly read the confusion on your face.

"It's...it's his fault," Zayne murmured. "It's this dress."

Suddenly, he bent down to your level and ran his finger up the sleek fabric of your dress resting against your thigh. It caused you to tense up and shiver, whether from his actions or the night air, you weren't quite sure.

What you were sure of though, was how badly you wanted him to touch you again.

"Forgive me," he repeated. "I can call you a taxi to take home. I shouldn't have done that."

"Zayne," you said abruptly, causing him to stop from getting his phone out.

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me," you repeated, this time a little less confident.

Zayne didn't say anything else before closing the rest of the gap between you in one step. Both of his large hands found space on each side of your face, and they rested there for a moment before he looked at you in the eyes, his own moving back and forth to discern the expression on your face.

"(Y/N)..." he began hesitantly.

"What?"

"If tonight has shown me anything, it's that I have not been controlling my impulses as well as I have previously. If I do this...I fear that I won't be able to stop myself."

You tried to take a deep breath, but it got caught in your throat.

"Do you want to kiss me, Zayne?"

"Yes," he breathed, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his frenzied eyes. "I cannot tell you what it has been like, seeing you almost every day now and falling in love with you all over, again and again. I have waited as patiently as I could have."

Shakily, you reached a hand up and loosely gripped one of Zayne's hands still on your cheek.

"Again? You've fallen in love with me before?"

Zayne hummed quietly, almost imperceptibly shaking his head against yours.

"Never mind that. Just know that I need you...I always have."

"Zayne, I..."

Something about what he was saying felt eerily familiar, and it felt like an invisible force was pulling you somehow even more closer to him in that moment.

"Please," Zayne whispered. "Tell me what you want."

"I...I want..."

Zayne rubbed his nose against yours, inching closer and closer to your parted lips. His labored breaths mixed with your shallow ones, causing the cool night air to visibly swirl around you. Your heart continued to pound, so loud and hard you were sure Zayne could hear it.

"I need to hear you say it...one more time."

Lighter than a feather, his lips brushed against yours as he spoke to you. And finally, finally, you were able to get your words out.

"I want you to kiss me...and I don't want you to stop."

Zayne tightened his grip on your face, his hands slipping slightly due to the thin layer of sweat that was between your skin and his. And then he pressed his lips firmly against yours.

You would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about what it would be like to kiss Zayne before. You had always assumed it would be magical, meaningful, and passionate.

And it turns out, you were right.

His lips tasted slightly sweet as he moved them against yours in perfect harmony. The sounds of your breathing echoed around you, muffled slightly by the sheer lack of distance between his face and yours. Your hands moved to hold onto his shoulders, and his moved from your cheeks to your waist, leaving a feeling of bitter cold behind. Somehow, in the contrasting heat of it all, he turned you around so you were now pressed between him and his car.

As soon as he did this, the kisses became more sloppy, more intense. You could feel his energy shift and it nearly caused your knees to buckle as he moaned quietly into your mouth. It occurred to you that your nails might be digging into his shoulders, but he didn't seem to notice.

Suddenly unable to breathe, you were the first to pull away. Zayne froze, looking down at you with a scared look in his eyes now.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry, I should have restrained myself properly."

"Zayne...again. Please, I only needed to catch my breath. You aren't the only one who has been waiting for this, you know."

This time, you didn't even wait for him to initiate the kiss. You moved in first, catching him slightly off guard. But he recovered quickly, matching your intensity in a flash.

The tip of his tongue brushed against your bottom lip, causing you to shiver for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. You weren't sure if he did it on purpose or if just happened, but you decided to open your lips slightly, providing an opening for him to push into deeper than before.

Zayne quickly obliged, a significant portion of his tongue meeting yours. This time it was your turn to moan, though yours was a little less controlled, and a little more loud.

He audibly groaned, the gnashing of your lips, tongue, and teeth causing a drop of saliva to run down your chin. You were pressed up against his car so tightly that it cause your shoulder blades to burn where they met the hard exterior of it. Zayne had a vice grip on your hips, and his hands were so large that you were sure it would leave marks.

The slit in your dress that you were shocked by earlier became Zayne's next target. He used one finger to trail up your thigh and hook under the edge of the slit as he kissed you, the fabric being pulled taught against your tingling skin.

Once again, you pulled away, letting your head roll back so that it rested against the top of his car. Your chest heaved, stretching the dress where it rested against your breasts with every breath in.

Zayne nestled his head into the crook of your neck, leaving small, wet kisses there. His finger that had been hooked into the slit of your dress continued its way up your body until his hand came to rest against your ribcage.

"Zayne, we should...get back before people start noticing we're gone."

"Hmm," he hummed against your collarbone.

"I mean it. What about the speeches?"

"Easy..." he murmured before placing an open-mouthed kiss, this time against your jawline. "Forget them."

"Zayne! You can't be serious."

"I assure you, I'm very serious. As serious as a heart attack."

You weakly raised your head back up to meet his gaze. There was a deep hunger in his expression, one that you could tell had not been fully satisfied.

"I did warn you," Zayne murmured before kissing you on the lips again briefly. "I have waited so long for you, it will be nearly impossible for me to let you go now that I have you."

You couldn't help but wonder what exactly he had in mind. But your thoughts and your body seemed to be communicating together, the undeniable warmth from your core spreading outwards fast. You knew you wanted to taste him again, to feel him against you again.

"Take me home, Zayne."

~

The drive back to your apartment seemed longer than it did when you left earlier. Inside Zayne's car, the air was thick with tension and desire. Neither of you spoke, too hesitant to mess anything up.

Once you were at your door, you prayed Zayne didn't see your hands shake slightly when getting your keys out to unlock it.

As you made it inside, Zayne closed the door behind the two of you and then slowly crouched down in front of you.

"Zayne, what are you..."

"Shh. Let me help you."

He motioned for you to lift one foot up, and you did so. He then undid your heel's strings and slid it off your foot carefully, before repeating the same steps on the other foot.

This time though, he placed his hand against your calf and let it trail up your bare leg until he stood up all the way. He took a deep breath as he did so, causing you to shake in anticipation.

"(Y/N). I know what I said, but if at any point anything becomes too much for you...or you simply change your mind, I want you to tell me. I will never do anything you don't want to do. Does that make sense?"

You nodded, overwhelmed with all the feelings coursing through you at the moment.

Zayne seemed satisfied, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it by the door. You couldn't help but notice how nicely his white button-up shirt sat against his toned arms.

He chuckled.

"If you don't like this," he said softly, pulling at the fabric of his sleeve, "I can remove it, too."

Involuntarily, you shuddered, realizing what he meant. But you had a better idea.

"Can I?"

Though your question was short, he understood what it meant.

Without a word, he stopped closer to you, looking down at you with a glint in his eye.

"If that's what you'd like."

You didn't mean to necessarily, but you held your breath as you let your clutch fall to the floor and instead placed your hands at his collar. As carefully as you could, you undid the first button of his shirt. Zayne watched you intently, his breathing picking up again like it had earlier in the parking lot.

One of your knuckles accidentally brushed against his collarbone while you undid another button, and it was his turn to shiver, even at such a slight touch. Honestly, it made you feel good, knowing that he must be feeling the same things you are feeling.

You continued down the shirt, each button coming undone with an almost inaudible pop sound. The farther you made it down, the more of his chest you started to see. It was unsurprisingly perfect, chiseled in all the right places, so much better than you could have ever imagined.

By the time you made it to the last button, you needed to pull the fabric out from where it was tucked into the hem of his pants. It was here that you hesitated.

"Are you alright?" Zayne asked, sensing your mind reeling. He placed a hand over top of yours where it still held onto the last button of his shirt.

"Yes, I'm alright. I just...don't want to mess anything up."

"Don't worry. You are perfect. Whatever happens will be perfect. Let me help again, okay?"

"Okay," you whispered, nearly silent.

Zayne gently removed your hand from the last button, and tugged his shirt out from his pants to remove it completely.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight before you.

Then without thinking properly, you let your hands reach out for him, flattening against his bare chest. Your fingers traced the lines carved into his skin, and you realized you really shouldn't be surprised at this since you know he works out regularly.

“Would you let me take you somewhere more comfortable?” Zayne asked, nodding his head towards your bedroom.

“That definitely isn’t a bad idea.”

Zayne chuckled at you again before grabbing one of your hands to lead you away, making sure to carefully step over your forgotten bag and his white shirt on the floor.

He sat on the edge of your bed, waiting for you to enter into the room completely.

You were still mesmerized by him, by the situation. And then you realized that you had on remarkably more clothing than him. You decided to enlist his help one more time.

You turned in a circle, so that your back was now facing him. Though you could do it yourself, you thought this would be more fun.

“Help me again, Dr. Zayne”

From behind you, you could hear him stand up and make his way over to you. You moved your hair out of the way so that the zipper on the back of your dress was now visible.

“If that is what you wish.”

Even through the material of your dress, you could feel his cold fingers against your back as they slid the zipper down to your waist.

Once he made it to your waist, you took a step forward and chanced a look over your shoulder.

Zayne stood behind you, watching you with another unknown emotion behind his darkened green eyes.

You shrugged off the top of your dress, causing it to instantly gather around your waist. Your bare back was now directly in front of Zayne, as the dress didn’t require you to wear a bra. The air in your room made you tense up.

Braving any lingering fears, you pulled the dress past your hips so that it fell to the floor, and you stepped out of it. Now you stood only in your underwear.

A few seconds passed and you could then hear Zayne take another step forward. A few seconds more, and you hissed as Zayne’s cold hands made contact with your exposed hips.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, planting a kiss against your shoulder.

You no longer felt the metal of his glasses bump into your skin, so you assumed he must’ve tossed them aside.

“Let me show you what you do to me. What seeing you with someone else does to me. How it makes me feel…”

Before you could respond, one of Zayne’s hands snaked around the front of your waist and began teasing the waistband of your underwear. You instantly knew what he was planning to do.

“And more importantly, let me make you feel good.”

You couldn’t help but gasp sharply at how bold Zayne was being as he gently slid the tips of his fingers past the edge of your underwear. His other hand was laid flat against your stomach from behind you, and the pressure against you only intensified once his pointer finger made contact with the edge of your aching core.

Zayne placed his chin on your shoulder, looking down with an almost gleeful smirk on his lips while he watched the rest of his hand disappear past your last piece of clothing.

“Mmmm,” you hummed as the pad of his pointer finger circled around your center.

“Such a pretty sound,” Zayne stated as if it was a well known fact.

He took this time to softly dip the one finger inside of you, pumping it a few times before adding his middle finger. You could tell he was instantly covered in the wetness coming from deep within you, the slick feeling of his fingers inside already driving you wild.

A fire began burning inside your mind and body as he continued drawing his two fingers in and out of you, curving them slightly to find the spot that would inevitably cause you to unravel around him.

Your knees buckled and his grip around your waist with his other hand tightened.

“I’ve got you. I always will,” Zayne spoke against the thin skin of your neck, nuzzling deeper into the space between it and your shoulder.

The faster he went, the less you felt like you were physically there. The only feeling you had right now was the feeling of his touch, as if that feeling which wasn't even your own doing was the only thing that tied your existence to this room, to this place. You weren't even sure if you were standing properly anymore or if he was holding you up with his other arm. You didn't really care.

Never in your wildest dreams had you expected to end up in this situation. But now that you were, you couldn't imagine being anywhere else or with anyone else. You knew from this point on, he was the only one allowed to witness you like this. There was no going back from this. He had drawn you in and made you his, and this was where you belonged.

It was when you realized this that you came undone.

Somehow, you remained conscious of your neighbors and stifled the strangled whines that threatened to escape your gaping mouth. You eyes screwed shut in pure concentration, causing a single tear to escape the corner of your right eye.

"Shh," came Zayne's quiet voice from behind you.

He rubbed his nose against your cheek where the tear had fallen, ultimately wiping it away. The contrast of his cool nose against the sizzling skin of your cheek was very noticeable.

"Would you like to lay down?"

"Mhmm." This was the only sound you could get out now, but Zayne understood.

He kept a stable grip on you because he had, in fact, been holding you up for the past several minutes. You would have to thank him later.

Zayne guided you towards the bed and helped you first to sit down, and then to lay your head against the pillows. He gingerly grabbed your ankles and readjusted your legs so that they would be laying more comfortably on the end of the bed.

You couldn't help but cringe at the feeling of your now freezing, wet underwear that was sloppily pulled back into its proper position.

From the left side, you could hear Zayne lay down next to you, and his wide hand rubbed the clammy skin of your stomach.

You laid in silence for a few moments, waiting for your breathing to calm down before speaking.

"That was, ummm..."

You briefly glanced over at the man next to you and couldn't think of what to say next, your mind a tangled mess. Really, you had assumed he would say something to fill the silence where you were lacking. But when he didn't, you decided to take a better look at him.

Though his hand had come to a rest on your stomach, he was not looking at you. Instead he was looking at the ceiling, his jaw set harshly as if he was concentrating on something.

"Zayne, are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

You rolled over onto your side, wrapping an arm around him and trying to ignore the feeling of your bare nipples against his cool exterior.

"No," he said shortly, but softly. "You were perfect, just as I said you would be. I just find myself...struggling to restrain my actions further when I should already be satisfied. And I am...satisfied. However, it would seem that you allowing me this pleasure has turned me into not only an impulsive version of myself, but a greedy one as well."

"Zayne...?"

You began to sit up on your elbow to look at his face, but your other hand brushed up against a lower part of him you weren't expecting to. The sensation immediately elicited a sharp hiss from Zayne.

"Oh!" you exclaimed in surprise, "I'm sorry."

Zayne shook his head roughly.

"Don't be. And don't feel obligated. Promise me, (Y/N). We don't have to go any further."

For a minute, you thought about what you would like to happen next. You took Zayne's words to heart, and you knew he meant them.

But perhaps you had become a bit impulsive as well.

Wordlessly, you finished sitting up enough to look down at Zayne who was now making eye contact with you rather than looking at the ceiling. Your hand had come to rest on his lower stomach now, right below his belly button. If you moved down any further...

You noticed how tight the fabric of his pants was around his bulge. You swallowed thickly, the embers of the fire you felt a little while ago becoming reignited.

"(Y/N)..."

Zayne watched as you looked between him and his painfully restricted erection.

"What do you want, Zayne?"

He was visibly surprised at your sudden confidence, but remained composed.

"That is not as important as what you want. I will always place your needs and wants above my own, no matter how tempting it may be otherwise."

Zayne sounded almost hoarse from timid anticipation and it only further fueled your own desires.

"Let me show you what I want."

He didn't say anything else, he could only watch as your now steady hands touched the belt keeping his pants up.

"(Y/N)," he repeated, this time urgently.

"I want..."

You let your sentence trail off and began undoing his belt as sensually as you could manage. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Zayne's chest begin to heave as he studied you like a hawk.

"You."

The belt was now completely undone, and you pulled it from its loops to toss it carelessly aside on the floor. You then undid the zipper of his pants, the sound of it clashing with Zayne's distorted breaths. Once you had the zipper down all the way, you did the best you could to pull his pants down while he was laying down. It didn't take much before his throbbing length was now restrained by one less layer of clothing.

He shook at the air hitting him down there, and you struggled to keep your eyes from widening noticeably at how large he seemed to be. At the center of his white underwear, you could see several small dark spots from his increasing arousal.

Before he could try to talk you out of it, you lifted one of your legs to straddle him. Both of you moaned simultaneously as your tingling core came into contact with his rock-hard bulge.

Using the last bit of your newfound confidence, you bent down and captured his lips in a wet kiss.

"I have always wanted you."

Zayne watched your lips in awe as you spoke, the corner of his own lifting in a small smile.

And then he collided into you.

It was like the kisses you shared in the parking lot, only...it wasn't at the same time. This felt more primal, more passionate. As if your souls had begun threading together like they were somehow meant to.

You held onto his face tightly as he kissed you, the wet sounds of your mouths echoing in your small bedroom. His deft hands came to rest on your ass, and they dug into the softness there as he thrusted upwards against your throbbing genitals. This caused your back to arch slightly, making your lips leave his, the only thing now connecting them a string of your mixed saliva.

Zayne took this opportunity to roll you under him so that he was now hovering over your exposed body.

One hand held his own body up, and the other tenderly traced around the edge of your breasts.

"You are too good to me," Zayne sighed under his breath.

"And while I do not normally condone this..."

Zayne stood up suddenly and fully removed his pants and underwear in what seemed like one swift motion before climbing back over top of you.

"I have no control left within my body."

His hands gripped your underwear tightly, his knuckles turning white and his veins popping as he completely ripped the flimsy material off of you.

"Zayne!"

He gripped the headboard, leaning over you to whisper in your ear.

"I'll buy you more."

You shuddered at both his words and the proximity of his naked body to yours.

"Do you trust me?" he continued.

"Yes. I trust you Zayne."

"Then hold on," he growled, his hot breath fanning over your ear.

Using his other hand to grip himself, he steered his length to your entrance, teasing it slightly with the head.

"Oh, shit," you gasped loudly.

With no further hesitation, Zayne fully inserted himself inside of you, making the both of you moan noisily. He remained there for a moment, his sweaty chest rubbing against your own. The hand that was on the headboard now came down against the mattress to hold the rest of his body up. His other hand grabbed one of yours, and he weaved his fingers in-between your own.

Your clasped hands gripped each other stiffly as he started to thrust in and out of you. As he did so, your other hand clawed at his back.

Where it had been silent before, your room now seemed like a concert of lewd noises. Zayne's grunts, your mewls, the wet sound of your bodies slamming together repeatedly...it was all so disgustingly beautiful.

Though your eyes were shut, you could feel Zayne's sticky forehead against your temple. The grip he had on your hand intensified, and the rapid, hot breaths from his mouth collided with your neck. Shamefully fast, you felt the familiar feeling of your impending climax, and you couldn't help but wonder if Zayne could, too.

"You..." Zayne panted, pulling himself out of you before slamming back in, all the way up to the base of his cock. "Already?"

You scoffed, opening your eyes to look at him, chastising yourself for thinking he was anything other than observant.

"You do things...to me too, you know?"

Zayne groaned, almost animalistic in the way that it sounded.

You licked your swollen lips, the moisture temporarily aiding in the chapped sensation you had been feeling.

"I want to feel it...I want you to look at me."

Zayne withdrew his hand from yours and instead grabbed your chin roughly. He then turned it, so that you were facing him completely.

"You are doing so well..."

For some reason, you fixated on the sweat that was flowing down the side of Zayne's face, dripping from his soaking wet hair. A few drops of it landed on your cheeks, but Zayne's increasingly harsh thrusts made them run down to your neck.

He kept a grip on your chin and began sucking on the skin where his sweat had pooled against a divot in your neck. It was with such force, you knew there would be a purple bruise there the next morning. The thought of others being able to see the evidence of the filthy night you had with Zayne was enough to send you over the edge for the second time.

Zayne felt you begin to tense up, and knowing what was coming and that he would not be able to stop himself from climaxing inside of you if he remained there, he begrudgingly removed himself just in time.

His warm cum splattered harshly against your pulsing core, and he couldn't help but watch as it did. The sight of you so utterly spent and covered in his seed was enough to make him collapse next to you.

This time, the silence in the room seemed ridiculously loud. It smelled completely of sex, and you knew you would have to wash your bedding tomorrow.

But you also couldn't help but feel completely at ease. That was the closest you could have ever hoped to be to the man you loved.

Love...what a word, right?

Part of you wanted to proclaim it right then and there. Though the other part of you was content with the silence, laying next to the second half of your somewhat broken soul.

It felt complete. You felt complete. And you hoped he did too.

You'd have to thank Richard if you ever saw him again.

[nylqnder]

TRYING NOT TO, JACK HUGHES

summary: the day before quinn and emmeline's wedding, you are sent on a last-minute road trip to fix a major emergency with quinn's infuriating younger brother, jack. what starts as a tension filled drive turns into something far more complicated as old grudges, misunderstandings, and an unexpected moment forces you to confront the past. with wedding chaos unfolding around you, you are forced to figure out whether your connection is just fleeting or something worth holding onto.

warnings: enemies to lovers, jack being a bit of a dick but so is the reader? fake fiancée/wife for quinn, a couple of uses of curse words, one or two mentions of alcohol

wc: 14.4k

notes: call me patrick swayze the way i'm coming back kids! holy shit genuinely the longest thing i've ever written but i really love it. i also love the fake character i've created in emmeline. she's perfect for quinn. hope y'all enjoy love you!!

The scent of freshly cut grass hung in the warm summer air, clinging to the polished marble floors and driftwood beams of the yacht club’s grand lobby. You stood in the centre—clipboards, binders, and last-minute instructions spilling from your arms—as a flurry of staff moved around you, wrapping garlands of faux flowers around railings, and helping the last flow of guests get checked into their rooms. Outside, the water glittered under the late afternoon sun, serene and still—the exact opposite of your current mental state.

Tomorrow was the big day. Emmeline’s big day.

The thought alone made your heart clench—not in the way some girls felt about weddings, but because Emmeline was your person. Cousins by blood, but closer than sisters. You were both only children, raised more like twins than distant relatives. You knew the way she chewed her thumbnail when she was nervous, the breathy laugh she let out when she was trying not to cry, and how deeply—stubbornly—she loved Quinn Hughes, the man she was about to marry.

You were her maid of honor, and you would make this perfect. Even if it meant re-tying bows, wrangling both the flower girl and ring bearer who were both under the age of 6, and micromanaging every floral arrangement down to the angle of the damn tulips.

“These need to face outward,” you said, approaching the tall centrepiece being adjusted at the welcome table. “We want the blooms to greet people, not glare at the ceiling.”

You took over the flower-adjusting, angling the blooms towards the entryway. 

And that’s when you heard it—the low hum of a luxury engine. The kind that didn’t sputter or whine, but purred like it belonged.

You turned toward the wide front windows just in time to see a sleek black Range Rover pull up to the curved drive. Its glossy body caught the sunlight like a mirror. The back door swung open before the SUV had fully stopped, and out stepped Quinn—tall, lanky, dark; the total opposite of Emmeline, but maybe that’s what made them work so well.

You smiled instinctively. He was good for her. Kind in the quiet, steady way. The kind of man who held doors and remembered anniversaries without needing reminders. Emmeline was lucky.

But then another door opened.

And your heart dropped.

Out came Jack.

His suit bag was slung over one shoulder, dark blond curls windblown, sunglasses perched like a crown of arrogance atop his head. He looked taller than you remembered. Broader too.

The smile brought on by your cousins' fiancé quickly vanished at the sight of his brother.

Jack spotted you quickly, too, as the groomsmen climbed the marble entry steps. His eyes flicked over you with quick precision—clipboard, binder, pencil behind your ear, the purposeful way you stood like you owned the lobby. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the sight. Of course, you’d overtaken the planning. Of course, you were micromanaging every last detail. He was surprised, frankly, that you hadn’t demanded Quinn and his groomsmen be at the wedding venue at the same time as you were, instead of letting them spend the week at the family lakehouse as they had. 

You ignored the presence of the middle Hughes sibling, smiling at Quinn as he entered the lobby. “Hey groom,” you smiled, stepping forward. “Nervous yet, or just pretending not to be?”

Quinn grinned and walked in for a hug. “Only excited,” he said, pulling you in. “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

When you pulled back, Jack was there too, lingering just behind him, sunglasses now hanging from the collar of his t-shirt. His eyes locked with yours. A smirk that nearly curled into a sneer tugged on his lips.

“Ma’am,” he said, mock saluting you.

You blinked. “Seriously?”

Quinn gave his brother a warning glance, but Jack simply let out a breathy laugh through his nose as he stepped past you. Jack’s shoulder just barely grazed yours, but it was enough to make your spine stiffen. He knew exactly what he was doing—calculated, casual, just irritating enough to make it seem accidental. You turned slightly, watching him saunter toward the welcome table and delicately graze one of the tulips you’d just adjusted, tipping the bloom back towards the ceiling. 

“Please,” you said coolly, “try not to mess anything up in the five minutes you’re here.”

Jack glanced over his shoulder with a crooked smile. “Jesus Christ, y/n, it’s the bride that’s supposed to be controlling, not the maid of honor.” 

You felt your teeth grind against one another, a slurry of evil words bubbling to the surface, before Quinn spoke up. “Guys, please,” he started, shifting uncomfortably beside you. “Can you not go at it all weekend?”

“I’m not ‘going at’ anything,” you said through gritted teeth, never taking your eyes off Jack. “I’m just asking him to stay out of the way.”

“Gonna be hard for the best man to stay out of the way.” Jack snorted. “Y’know you’re kind of taking the fun out of the whole weekend for me?”

You took a step forward, pointing the clipboard at Jack. “This weekend isn’t about you having fun, Jack. It’s about your brother and Emmeline. Try and remember that.”

His smile flickered just enough for you to catch it. “Trust me,” he said, voice dropping slightly, “no one’s forgetting who’s running the show.”

Quinn cleared his throat. “Okay. Great reunion, everyone. Can we maybe not start the weekend with a fight?”

Neither of you said anything, but the look Jack gave you was enough. It was a challenge—one he’d clearly enjoy stretching out over the next forty-eight hours. You could already picture it: sly comments during the rehearsal dinner, backhanded compliments during speeches, finding little ways to push your buttons every chance he got.

“Fine,” you said, stepping back and motioning toward the grand staircase. “Groomsmen are in the west wing, second floor. Your rooms are labeled. Try not to switch them around for fun.”

Jack winked. “You wound me.”

You didn’t answer. Just turned on your heel and walked away, jaw tight, footsteps sharp against the marble floor.

The wedding hadn’t even started, and already Jack was under your skin like a splinter, exactly where he wanted to be.

If you could have it your way, you would never have to see Jack this weekend. You would never see him for as long as you lived. 

It’s hard to believe there was a time when you couldn’t wait to meet Jack. 

That summer, two years ago now, felt like a dream. Emmeline had just hit the one-year mark of living with Quinn in Vancouver, and everything was suddenly moving fast. She was blissed out and in love, and when she invited you to join her at the Hughes’ lakehouse for a week in July, you said yes before she even finished asking. A week's vacation at a nice-ass lakehouse, doing nothing but lounging on the lake in the summer sun? There was no reason to say no.

You’d only ever seen Quinn’s brothers in tagged Instagram photos or in quick NHL highlights that Emmeline made you watch when she was tipsy and bragging. But still, you were curious. And nervous. You wanted to make a good impression. These were the people Emmeline was beginning to think of as family—and by extension, people who might one day be yours too.

The first day at the lakehouse was golden hour from beginning to end—long stretches of dockside lounging, frozen margaritas, casual games of spikeball that turned surprisingly competitive. And then Jack arrived.

He walked onto the deck barefoot, wearing swim trunks and a backward cap, his tan lines sharp, his grin easy. You remember exactly how your stomach flipped, the unbidden flutter. He had that kind of charisma that wasn’t loud but insistent, magnetic even when it didn’t try to be. And the worst part? He knew it.

Still, he was polite. Friendly, even. He offered to help carry your bag upstairs after dinner and held open the screen door without a word. There was something about the way he looked at you, too—assessing, a little smug, but interested. You caught him watching you during breakfast the next morning, the way his head tilted slightly when you laughed too hard at something Emmeline said. You thought, maybe. Maybe there was something there.

But then that afternoon, something changed.

You had just finished changing into the bikini you’d splurged on just for this trip, heading down to the dock to hopefully add to the nice tan you’d begun to develop. You froze at the door to the screened porch when you heard Quinn ask his brothers what they thought about Emmeline. They had glowing reviews. Of course they did, who wouldn’t absolutely love her? Then you heard Jack’s voice come through.

“Yeah, no, Emmeline’s great,” he said. “She’s chill. Fun. And she doesn’t make you feel like you’re five minutes late to a meeting she scheduled in her head.”

A pause. Someone snorted—probably Luke.

“I mean, her cousin’s cool too,” Jack added, like it was an afterthought. “Just... very on top of things. Like, I blink wrong and I feel like I’m getting silently judged for not folding my towel right.”

Another laugh. Jack spoke again.

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s pretty. Smart, too. But I don’t know, man—she’s just trying too hard or something; trying too hard to prove herself. It’s a lake week, not a job interview.”

Quinn had muttered something you couldn’t hear—hopefully a weak defense—but Jack kept going.

“I mean, it’s not a shock she’s single. I couldn’t imagine dating something like that and lasting more than a week.”

Your stomach twisted before the words even finished leaving Jack’s mouth.

You stood frozen on the threshold of the porch, the screen door creaking slightly under your grip, but none of them noticed. They couldn’t see you—thank god. You weren’t sure what your face looked like in that moment, but it definitely wasn’t something you wanted them to witness.

The heat you’d been chasing for your tan rushed to your cheeks instead, a flush of embarrassment so sharp it made your skin prickle. Trying too hard? Your chest tightened like someone had cinched a belt around it, breath caught somewhere halfway between a gasp and a scoff. You’d spent the whole morning organizing breakfast cleanup because no one else seemed inclined to lift a finger. You’d brought extra sunscreen, made a shared playlist, and reminded Luke twice about reapplying after he had started turning a light shade of pink yesterday. You weren’t trying to prove yourself, at least, not consciously. You were just being helpful. Friendly. Yourself. But to Jack, it all came off as performative. Forced.

It stung. God, it burned. Not because it was the worst thing someone could say, but because it came from him—the one who’d made you laugh by the fire last night, who’d teased you about your marshmallow-toasting technique, who you’d maybe, maybe been starting to like. Just a little.

Now all you could feel was the sting of humiliation—and a rising, quiet fury behind it. You stepped back from the porch, as silently as you’d come. Let them sit there and laugh. Let Jack think whatever he wanted.

You didn’t confront him. You didn’t cry. You just stopped trying.

The rest of the week, you kept your distance. Jack seemed to notice the change, but if he cared, he didn’t say anything. The few times you did interact, it was cold. Cordial on the surface but laced with sarcasm. He’d ask if you were “running the guest itinerary” or if he needed to check in for breakfast. You’d fire back with biting commentary about him showing up late to dinners and vanishing before clean-up.

By the end of the trip, the two of you were locked in a kind of mutual disdain that no one else quite understood. Emmeline didn’t push it—she figured you’d both just gotten off on the wrong foot. Quinn mostly tried to pretend it didn’t exist.

But it never really went away. And now, two years later, you were standing in the middle of a wedding you were trying to keep perfect, while Jack Hughes was doing his best to derail your sanity one smug smirk at a time.

It would have been easier if he were just an asshole. But Jack wasn’t heartless—he was good with his brothers, made Emmeline laugh, and was now helping your aunt, Emmeline’s mom, carry her suitcase up the stairs to her room. 

That’s what made it worse.

Because somewhere beneath the friction and insults and eye rolls was the memory of a boy you almost liked.

And the gut-deep irritation of knowing he could have liked you too.

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

Emmy

FIZZBOMB!!!!!!

When the text appeared on your phone screen, you raced out of the reception hall and towards the bridal suite. Fizzbomb was the code word invented by you and Emmeline when you were 10 and 11. It was meant to signify that one of you needed help; when you were 16 and at your first party, you texted fizzbomb to Emmeline because you had gotten too drunk to have one of your parents pick you up, so she came to get you. When Quinn was taking Emmeline out for an evening, and she was convinced that he was proposing, she texted you fizzbomb to help her get ready so she looked perfect in the proposal photos. 

You gave the door to the bridal suite a short knock, but realized that to be futile, considering the noise you could hear coming from within. When you walked into the suite, your jaw practically dropped. 

The room looked like a tornado had touched down somewhere between the vanity and the velvet chaise lounge. Dresses hung crooked on hangers. Makeup brushes littered the counter like fallen soldiers. And in the center of it all stood Emmeline—usually the picture of poise and Pinterest-worthy perfection—frantically digging through one of her matching polka dot suitcases.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, yanking out a matching lace lingerie set that was no doubt meant for the wedding night. The rollers in her hair had begun to come loose, her blonde hair just barely holding them in place. “No, no, no, no—this can’t be happening.”

You stood frozen in the doorway for a second too long before stepping into the chaos. “Hey… what’s going on?”

Emmeline’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, her eyes wide with panic.

“The rings!” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t find the rings!”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait—what?”

“The wedding bands,” she clarified, as if you’d somehow misunderstood. She stumbled to her feet, stepping in front of you and placing her hands on your shoulders. “They’re not in the box. They’re not with the jewelry. I checked my bag, the dress bag, the bathroom—they’re not here.”

You blinked at her. “Okay. Okay, let’s just slow down for a second.” But she was already pacing, muttering under her breath, and clutching her wedding notebook that had every checklist, every to-do list, everything about the wedding handwritten in Emmeline’s perfect, loopy handwriting. “Where were they last? Where do you remember them being?”

“They were in the velvet box—Quinn’s grandma’s box—the one I put in the top drawer of my nightstand at the lake house so I wouldn’t forget them,” she said in a rush. “But then I packed everything, and I thought I brought them, but they’re not in my jewelry bag, they’re not in my makeup case, and I just tore apart my suitcases, but—” she flung out her arms helplessly “—they’re not here.”

You tried to stay calm for both of you. “Okay. Okay. So… maybe Quinn has them?”

Emmeline’s eyes lit up for a second. “Maybe! Maybe I gave them to him and just forgot, or—or he grabbed them before he left!”

Emmeline practically sprinted out of the room, with you hot on her heels. You dodged a floral arrangement, startling Quinn’s teammate and his girlfriend as you raced down the corridor to the grooms’ suite. Emmeline didn’t even knock—she burst through the door, breathless and wearing a worried look.

Quinn sat at the table, poker chips and cards scattered in front of him, surrounded by the rest of his groomsmen. His wide grin vanished when he spotted his fiancée in the doorway, crazy-haired and red-faced. 

Quinn dropped his hand of cards, standing and stepping over to Emmeline. “Emmy? Are you—”

“Do you have the rings?” she asked, voice tight with panic.

Quinn blinked. “Do I have the— No, I don’t have the rings, I thought you had them.”

Emmeline let out a strangled sound. “No, I thought I had them, but they’re not in any of my bags, and they’re not in my purse, and now I’m thinking… Quinn, I think I left them at the lake house.”

A few members of the bridal party—you not included as you genuinely felt like you couldn’t spend a week in the same house as Jack without murdering him—spent the week leading up to the wedding weekend at the Hughes family lake house for some R&R. Emmeline left a couple days early so she could get settled before the wedding and give her body time to relax.

He frowned. “You left a few days before me. I thought you grabbed them then?”

“I thought you grabbed them after me!”

“No, babe, you told me you were bringing them because you didn’t trust me not to lose them.”

You and Quinn locked eyes for a beat. He looked pale.

“They’re still at the lake house then,” he said flatly. “Three hours away.”

A thick silence settled over the room as the full weight of the situation landed on everyone. Then Emmeline let out a squeak of horror and dropped into the nearest armchair like a marionette who’d had her strings cut. Her wide green eyes began to well with tears. Quinn was at her side in seconds, taking her into her arms and offering her words of comfort. 

You looked between them—Emmeline curled into Quinn’s chest, trembling and teary-eyed, and Quinn rubbing her back with one hand while gripping his phone in the other.

Emmeline had planned this wedding down to a T, making sure every detail was perfect and in her control. She’d been dreaming of this day since she was a little girl. You’d seen the Pinterest board she made when she was sixteen—an elaborate collection of lace gowns, waterfront venues, color palettes in butter yellow and ivory, long banquet tables beneath canopies of string lights. Back then, it had seemed like a fantasy—a collage of someday. And now, somehow, it had all come to life. Every last inch of it.

This was her dream unfolding in real time. You weren’t about to let something like this ruin it.

“How far is the lake house from here?” you asked.

Quinn glanced up at you. “Three hours or so?” 

“Two hours and fifty-one minutes… with no traffic.” Jack supplied.

You turned and shot him a glare you hoped conveyed the exact amount of annoyance you felt. “Thank you, Google Maps.”

He just shrugged.

You turned back to Quinn and Emmeline. You thought for a second, then nodded. “I’ll go. I’ll drive to the lakehouse and get the rings.”

Emmeline jerked her head up, mascara already smudging under her eyes. “What?” she asked, sniffling. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine. It’s just a few hours. I know what the box looks like, you know you trust only me to go get them… And if I leave now, I’ll be back before the rehearsal dinner even starts,” you said it as calmly and confidently as you could, already pulling your phone from your pocket to check traffic.

Emmeline stood up from the chair and stepped in front of you, her laminated brows creasing together. “You are not driving six hours round-trip by yourself. That’s insane.”

“Emmy, I just flew to Detroit on my own three days ago,” you argued. “This is literally nothing compared to that. You don’t need to worry.”

“Honey, she’ll be fine,” Quinn interjected.

Emmeline shook her head, hands still fluttering like she couldn’t decide what to do with them. “That’s different. That was planned. This is—this is a panic trip,” she argued, sitting forward now. “You’ve barely slept, and I don’t want you white-knuckling it on some back road while I’m here trying not to throw up.”

You softened a little at her distress. “I’ll be fine. I’ll stop for coffee, I’ll blast your stupid pilates playlist that pumps you up, I’ll—”

“Take Jack,” she interrupted, as if it were obvious.

Your body went stiff. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not?” she asked, blinking at your sudden tone.

“Because—” you struggled, flailing for a reason that didn’t sound as childish as it felt. “Because I can just go! I don’t need a babysitter.”

She narrowed her eyes, all bridezilla panic momentarily replaced by sisterly suspicion. “He’s the one who drove everyone down. He has the car. You don’t.”

That brought you up short. Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Still. There’s gotta be—”

“She’s right,” Quinn said reluctantly from Emmeline’s side, stroking her shoulder. “Jack’s the only one with a car that’s not rented or part of the shuttle fleet.”

“You’re all forgetting I can Uber to the lake house if I have to,” you said weakly.

Emmeline crossed her arms. “And you’re forgetting that I know you. You’ll pretend you’re fine but spend the entire time trying not to cry because you hate being alone in confined spaces with people you don’t know.”

You wanted to protest, but she was right. Of course, she was right. She was the one person who knew you inside out, back to front. Emmeline sat up straighter as you hesitated, a plan now forming in her head. “He’ll drive. You’ll ride. You can even nap if you want. I don’t care how it happens, I just care that someone brings the rings back before I walk down that aisle without them.”

Both you and Jack spoke at the same time:

“I’m not going with him.”

“I don’t wanna go with her.”

You blinked at each other. Jack looked like he wanted to vanish. You were pretty sure you wanted to as well.

Your eyes snapped towards Emmeline. Because, for the first time during her perfectly planned and executed wedding week, she yelled.

 “Oh, for the love of God! Can the two of you give up this stupid hatred you have for one another for one fucking second and do this for me!”

The room fell into a stunned silence. You stared at Emmeline, momentarily stunned into silence. She never yelled. Not like that. Not when her boss took credit for the proposal she’d spent three months perfecting. Not when she moved in with Quinn and they dropped her grandmother's piano down five steps. Not even when their neighbor's dog ran through their screen door for the fourth time and broke a vase that was a family heirloom. 

Jack shifted uncomfortably beside you, clearly just as rattled. His mouth opened like he was going to argue back, but then he caught the look on Emmeline’s face—pleading, furious, and one exhale away from breaking completely.

You took a breath and looked at her, really looked at her. Her shoulders were tense, her lower lip trembling, and her hands were clenched tight around the arms of the chair like it was the only thing anchoring her to the floor. This wedding wasn’t just a party. It was the culmination of months of planning, color-coded spreadsheets, sleepless nights, and calls to vendors that always seemed to go to voicemail. It was her dream, carefully and lovingly constructed—her one shot at a perfect memory—and it was slipping.

And the rings? They weren’t just any rings. They were symbols. A legacy from Quinn’s grandmother. Heirlooms that had been handled with care and reverence. Leaving them behind had to feel like a betrayal of everything she’d worked for.

You exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping in surrender. “Fine,” you said. “I’ll go with Jack.”

Jack held up his hands. “I still haven’t agreed to this.”

You looked pointedly at him. “We’re going.”

Jack muttered something under his breath, but when you went to retort, you caught him watching Emmeline too, jaw tight, expression unreadable.

“Come on,” you said, brushing past him.

But before you made it two steps, Emmeline was on you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulders, burying her face in your neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice raw. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

You hugged her back, tighter than you intended. “It’s okay. You only yelled a little.”

“She definitely yelled a lot,” Jack said unhelpfully from the side.

You pulled away from Emmeline to glare at him. He held up his hands in surrender, but there was a flicker of a smirk at the corners of his mouth that made your stomach turn in the way it always did when he smiled.

Emmeline pulled you back to her. Her eyes were lined with tears, but looked slightly steadier than they had moments ago. You gently brushed away the tears that slipped down her cheek with your fingers. “We’ll be back. With the rings. I promise.”

She nodded, eyes still glinting with tears, but steadier now. “Drive safe. Don’t kill each other. And… thank you. Again.”

You nodded and turned to leave, Jack following a few steps behind.

As you walked down the hallway toward the exit, your steps echoing against the walls, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, taut and tense. Outside, the sun beat down on the parking lot like it had no idea the world was falling apart. Jack hit the unlock button, both of you moving toward the car in sync, climbing in with synchronized sighs.

The doors shut with a loud, heavy thud.

Jack started the engine and pulled out of the lot. “So…” he said, glancing sideways at you. “This is gonna be a blast.”

You slumped in your seat, arms crossed. “Just drive.”

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

And drive Jack did—at mach fucking ten. “Jesus Christ, Jack, slow down!” you snapped, gripping the door handle like it might detach and fly off.

“I’m not even going ten over,” he said without looking at you, his knuckles white on the wheel.

“You took that last curve like we were in a Fast and Furious reboot.”

“We’re on a schedule,” Jack said pointedly. “In case you forgot, someone left the goddamn wedding rings three hours away.”

“That someone is about to be your sister-in-law,” you reminded him, shooting him a look. “And she’s also practically my sister, so you can shut the hell up about it.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Not blaming her. I’m just saying if we want to make it back before the rehearsal, maybe don’t bark at me every time I tap the gas.”

You muttered something under your breath that definitely wasn’t polite.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you lied.

A tense silence settled in the car again. The highway stretched in front of you like a never-ending punishment. The new Laney Wilson song came to an end on the radio, seamlessly transitioning into “Last Night” by Morgan Wallen. You groaned, reaching over to the touchscreen on the dashboard and switching the channel. 

“Woah, go back, I like that song,” Jack said, switching the channel back. 

“God, of course you do. That song literally makes my ears bleed,” you complained, switching the channel back again.

“It’s catchy,” Jack said, flicking it back on again.

“Jack, I swear to God—”

He raised his voice to drown you out. “I know that last night, we let the liquor talk—”

“Oh my God, you sound like a drunk raccoon,” you said, smacking the power button so hard the whole console beeped in protest. Silence filled the car again, save for your aggravated breathing.

Jack’s jaw ticked. “You always do this.”

“Do what? Have taste?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “No—this thing where everything I like suddenly sucks.”

“You like Last Night by Morgan Wallen. That’s not a personality trait, Jack.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry we can’t all be elevated enough to only listen to indie folk sung by sad men with acoustic guitars.”

“At least they write lyrics that aren’t pulled from a rhyming dictionary and a six-pack of Busch Light.”

Jack gripped the wheel tightly. “You know what? Fine. Let’s just sit here in silence, like two fuckin’ zombies, because that’s so much more fun.”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, turning to stare out the window.

A beat passed. Then another.

Jack reached for the console again.

You didn’t even look. “Don’t.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were. I can feel it.”

Jack let out a slow, theatrical sigh. “You are the most stubborn human being I’ve ever met.”

“Better than being tone-deaf with garbage taste.”

“Oh my God,” he muttered. “I hope they put your name on the wedding program next to ‘Honorary Music Snob’ so everyone’s prepared for the shit music the DJ’s gonna be forced to play.”

“I hope you trip walking down the aisle.”

“Well,” Jack said with a sharp smile, “you’ll be walking with me, so when I fall, I’m dragging you down with me.”

Thick silence fills the car, only broken by the surrounding sounds of traffic and rubber tires crunching on the asphalt. Jack didn’t dare touch the screen again out of fear of hearing your nagging voice jumping on his back about his music taste. Despite your mutual disdain for silence, you didn’t want to back down from the stance you’d taken, so you let the radio stay muted.

As if summoned by the bitter tension in the car, the GPS chirped with a sudden change in tone—a cheery, far-too-optimistic “Rerouting to avoid delay. Estimated arrival time: 2:37 PM.”

You frowned and leaned forward. “What now?”

Jack glanced at the screen and groaned. “There’s a wreck up ahead. Looks like it’s taking us off the main highway.”

You sighed, adjusting your seatbelt. “Great.”

“Relax, Debbie Downer, it’s only adding like, ten minutes to our time,” Jack said, motioning to the dash. “We’ll be back with time to spare.”

The new route snaked through what could only be described as the forgotten veins of America: cracked blacktop roads, lined with skeletal trees and rusted-out mailboxes. The scenery turned more rural by the second, old barns sagging in open fields, tractors parked like relics in yards, and roadside signs that hadn’t been updated since the Bush administration.

“Jesus, are we being lured to a second location?” you muttered.

Jack scoffed. “Calm down. GPS knows what it’s doing.”

You eyed the pothole he narrowly missed. “Does it? Because this looks like a place where horror movies start.”

He didn’t respond—probably because the next bump hit hard enough to rattle your teeth. You gripped the armrest, casting a sidelong glance at him.

“Maybe slow down, Lewis Hamilton. This car is not built for off-roading.”

“I’m going thirty,” he snapped, but eased off the gas anyway. A silence stretched between you again, frayed and worn thin.

Then came the sound you never want to hear on a deserted back road: a loud popping noise, followed by rattling and the sound of rubber dragging across the pavement.

Jack cursed under his breath, pulling over to the gravel shoulder in front of the only landmark for miles—a faded, crooked sign that read “Ace’s Diner” in chipping red paint. 

Jack killed the engine and stepped out with a grunt. You followed, shielding your eyes from the late-afternoon sun. Sure enough, the front left tire was completely absolved from air.

“God fucking dammit.” Jack cursed, tugging a hand through his dark blond curls.

“Please tell me you know how to change a tire?” you said hopefully.

“Oh, I can change a tire,” Jack said. Your brows raised in hope, posture straightening as you realized you might not be screwed. “But I don’t have a spare.”

Your hopes immediately deflated, a deep groan escaping your lips as you looked up at the blue Michigan sky. 

“I’ll call Triple-A.” Jack sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket and strolling down the shoulder.

You reached into the rolled-down window, grabbing your sunglasses from the cupholder. The mid-July sun beat down on your exposed shoulders, sweat immediately beginning to seep out of your skin. 

Jack came back a few minutes later, shoving his phone into his shorts pocket, the set of his jaw doing all the talking.

“They said it’ll be at least an hour,” he said grimly. “Maybe longer if the guy has to come from the next town over.”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “An hour? In this heat?”

Jack shrugged, wiping the back of his wrist against his damp brow. You shifted your weight onto one hip, arms crossed. “I can’t stand in the sun for an hour, Jack. I’ll melt.”

Jack snorted, one eyebrow climbing. “Oh, come on. You can’t stand in the sun for an hour? You? The same girl who laid out on the dock at the lakehouse for eight hours straight with Emmy, looking like you were auditioning to be a rotisserie chicken?”

“That was different,” you said defensively. “That was controlled sun. Lakehouse sun. With SPF and an umbrella and a Yeti cup full of ice water.”

“This is sun,” Jack said, arms spread toward the wide, blinding expanse of sky. “It’s literally the same sun.”

“No. This is hellfire, death-ray sun,” you argued, pointing to the shimmering heat rising off the road like something out of a cartoon. “And we’re in the middle of nowhere without an ounce of breeze, a speck of shade, or even a goddamn iced coffee to our names.”

You spun on your heel, fanning yourself with your hands. The rundown diner came into your eyeline. The place looked like it hadn’t seen a health inspection since the early ’90s, but it was standing—and hopefully air-conditioned.

You turned back to Jack. “Let’s go in.”

Jack made a face like you’d suggested swimming in a septic tank. “What? No. That place looks like it serves food that’ll give us tetanus.”

“Then don’t eat,” you said, already walking backwards toward the door. “You can roast out here with your flat tire and heat stroke while I sit in air-conditioning and order greasy diner food. Your call.”

Jack looked from the car to you, eyes narrowing like he was weighing whether stubbornness was worth dehydration. You could practically hear the gears grinding.

You pulled the sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, looking at him over the top. “Coming?”

With a long-suffering sigh and a muttered curse, Jack slammed the car door shut and trudged toward you.

A little brass bell jingled as you stepped inside, immediately hit with the blessed wave of cold air. You nearly moaned.

“Thank God,” you whispered, pausing under the vent like a plant soaking up rain.

Jack stood beside you, arms crossed, squinting around at the outdated booths and laminated menus resting on sticky tables. “You realize this place is 100% haunted,” he muttered.

You ignored him, heading toward the bar top and perching on one of the cracked vinyl stools. The seat let out a dramatic creak under your weight. Jack reluctantly took the one next to you, eyeing it like it might collapse.

“If a ghost wants to serve me fries and a Diet Coke, I say let him,” you said, grabbing a menu that was wedged between two ketchup bottles.

A woman in her forties shoved through the swinging kitchen doors wearing a waitress uniform that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 50s, her nametag reading Tanya. She looked you both up and down like you were intruders in her soap opera rerun.

“Is that your fancy black car out there with the flat?” she asked.

Jack nodded.

“Well, you’ve probably got an hour or two before AAA gets out here if you called ‘em,” Tanya said knowingly. “Y’all ordering or is it just ice water and complaints?”

You grinned. “No, we’ll order, just give us a sec.”

Tanya shuffled off, back into the kitchen. “If I die from eating a burger in this place, I’m haunting you,” Jack said as soon as she was out of earshot.

You nudged his shin with your sandal under the counter. “Perfect. Then I can blame the ghost every time someone plays Morgan Wallen.”

Jack groaned, resting his elbows on the countertop and bowing his head in his hands. “You’re insufferable.”

You smirked. “And yet, you followed me inside.”

He tilted his head towards you. “Only because you’re slightly less unbearable than a heatstroke.”

“Aw,” you said, fluttering your lashes. “You always know how to make a girl feel special.”

Jack just shook his head, but there was the faintest curve of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Jack was quiet for a minute, pretending to read the laminated menu like it held the secrets of the universe. You let the silence linger, amused by the fact that it was the first time in hours it didn’t feel tense—just tired, maybe. A little heat stroked. But not tense.

“So,” he said, voice casual in a way that meant it wasn’t casual at all, “no date to the wedding?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“The wedding,” he repeated, like you were slow. “Emmy and Q’s. You flying solo, or did you finally cave and bring someone to shut your mom up?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back. “Why do you care?”

Jack shrugged, mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. “Morbid curiosity.”

“No date,” you said after a pause, fiddling with the edge of your straw wrapper. “I was seeing this guy, but turns out he was cheating on me with one of his coworkers.”

Jack winced. “That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah…” you sighed. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he said, eyes still glued to the menu.

“You here alone? Or is there a secret girlfriend stashed away somewhere?”

Jack gave a low chuckle, finally looking towards you. “No secret girlfriend.”

You tilted your head. “Really? Mr. Big Shot Hockey Prodigy can’t find a date for a wedding?”

Jack shrugged again, and this time, it wasn’t deflection—it was something closer to resignation. “Hockey’s kind of… all-consuming. There’s always something. Practice, travel, games, off-season training. Even when I’m not on the ice, I’m thinking about being back on it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So you’re saying hockey’s the reason you’re single.”

He looked at you evenly. “It’s the truth.”

You hummed. “I don’t know. That feels like a cop-out. Like yeah, you’re busy, but you could make it work if you actually wanted to.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you said. “There are surgeons with soulmates. Firefighters with families. Astronauts who FaceTime their wives from space. You can’t tell me a guy with a bus schedule and meal prep can’t send a text back or plan a date.”

He looked at you for a long moment, the weight of the conversation hanging somewhere between sarcastic banter and something heavier, unspoken.

“That’s fair,” he said eventually, his voice quieter.

You blinked. “Wait—did Jack Hughes just admit I was right about something?”

“I said it was fair,” he clarified, lips twitching. “Let’s not get carried away.”

Tanya returned with two glasses of water and a pen tucked behind her ear. “Y’all ready?”

You both glanced at each other. Jack gestured for you to go first, and you ordered your burger and fries. He ordered the same, begrudgingly.

Tanya shuffled off again, disappearing behind the swinging kitchen doors with a tired sigh. In the meantime, you and Jack filled the silence with light conversation—mostly about how the Yankees' season was going, the weird decor of the diner, and the fact that the ketchup in front of the two of you was nearly empty. It wasn’t anything deep, but it passed the time. A couple of minutes later, Tanya reappeared, balancing two steaming plates on her arms and wearing a faint smile as she slid your burgers in front of you with a practiced motion, plates clinking softly against the bar.

You barely waited for Tanya to step away before picking up your burger, the smell alone making your stomach twist in anticipation. The first bite was everything—greasy, savory, perfectly charred—and you practically melted into the booth as you chewed. A soft, involuntary sound escaped your throat, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, hand already reaching for another bite. “I haven’t eaten since like… eight this morning. This is the best decision I’ve made all week.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, taking a bite of his own. For a second, he looked like he was ready to make a joke, but then his expression shifted. He chewed slowly, then nodded, a little surprised. “Okay… okay, I judged too fast. This is actually a really good burger.”

You gave him a smug look, mouth still full. “Told you.”

You both fell into a quiet rhythm again, focused on your food. The diner buzzed faintly around you—Tanya clattering dishes behind the counter, a weathered radio playing old country tunes, the hum of a fan in the corner barely cutting the heat.

Jack made quick work of his burger, leaving behind nothing but a smear of ketchup and a few lonely pickles. He picked at his fries next, choosing only the crispest ones to eat with a level of scrutiny that bordered on obsessive.

You were halfway through your own plate when he finally spoke again, dragging the words out like he was picking them carefully.

“So,” he said slowly, “how’s maid of honour world domination going?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave an exaggerated shrug, but you could see the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth again. “Just saying… Emmy’s color-coded itinerary didn’t exactly scream laid-back vibes. I figured it had your fingerprints all over it. Or your iron grip.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were grinning. “Okay, first of all, that itinerary was a joint effort. And second, yes—I am organized. It’s called being helpful.”

“Sure,” Jack said, drawing out the word like he was humoring you. “Helpful. Some might say a little type A. Maybe even… controlling?”

“Alright, I am type A. I like schedules. I make lists. I have opinions about font hierarchy. But at least I’m not emotionally stunted and allergic to the words ‘let’s communicate.’”

Jack blinked, caught between a snort and a look of offense. “Ouch.”

But you weren’t laughing now. Because the word—controlling—had hit something, knocked a memory loose. And suddenly you were back at the lakehouse, standing just out of sight in the hallway. 

Now, you shifted on your stool and stared at the condensation sliding down your own water glass. “You know,” you said quietly, “you’ve actually called me that before.”

Jack tilted his head, eyebrows pinching slightly. “What?”

“Controlling. Intense.” You met his eyes. “That’s what you said the first time we met—at the lake house. The second morning, you were on the porch with Luke and Quinn. You made jokes about me being controlling. Then you said you thought I was trying too hard, and it was no wonder I was single—because you couldn’t imagine being with something like me for more than a week.”

He was quiet for a beat. The lightness from earlier seemed to vanish from his face like someone had flicked off a switch as the memory of his words flooded back into his head. “Wait—what? I—hold on.” He set his glass down a little too hard. “You heard that?”

You nodded, keeping your expression steady even though your chest felt like it was slowly folding in on itself.

Jack ran a hand through his hair and sat back. “Shit. I didn’t… I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I swear.”

“But you said it.”

“I—yeah. I did. And I was being an asshole.” He paused. “Honestly, I don’t even remember the context. But I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I was probably just—” He exhaled. “Trying to seem clever. Or funny. Or… I don’t know. Cool, maybe?”

You arched a brow. “By casually trashing me?”

He winced. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.” He looked at you again, earnest now, no trace of the smirking, water-sipping version of him from five minutes ago. “You being the way you are? That’s not a flaw. That itinerary? It was kind of genius, if I’m being honest. Emmy would’ve had a panic attack without it.”

You stared at him for a second, unsure of what to say. The memory of that night had haunted you more than you’d let on. You weren’t even sure why it had mattered so much. But now that it was out, it felt… strange. Lighter, maybe.

“You really don’t remember saying it?” you asked, voice softer this time.

“I remember being a coward about things,” Jack said. “And saying dumb stuff because I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that you—” He stopped himself. His jaw flexed, like he was debating how much to give away. “You threw me off,” he finished, quieter.

Your heart did that annoying fluttery thing you’ve been trying to ignore since you’d met the green-eyed boy in front of you.

You looked at him for a long moment, the edges of your hurt softening into something quieter, more complicated. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t meeting your eyes now, or how his voice had lost all that practiced charm. Or maybe it was just the fact that he’d actually said sorry, which you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him before.

Still, you swallowed, the next words catching in your throat before you forced them out.

“I guess I should apologize, too.”

Jack blinked. “For what?”

“For the way I acted. After I heard what you said. I could’ve talked to you. I could’ve… I don’t know, given you a chance to explain. But instead, I went full scorched-earth. Cold shoulder. Eye-rolls. Passive aggression.” You gave a weak, self-deprecating smile. “I took the hostile route because it felt easier than admitting I was hurt.”

His expression shifted—some mix of understanding and regret. “You had every right to be hurt.”

“Maybe. But I didn’t exactly take the high road either.”

A quiet beat passed between you, thick with the strange, tentative weight of two people trying to untangle a knot that had been there too long.

Jack shifted on his stool, his knee brushing yours briefly as he leaned a little closer. When he spoke again, his voice had gone softer. “For what it’s worth… I’m glad we’re not just pretending we don’t know each other anymore.”

You gave a tiny nod, then dropped your gaze to your glass. The condensation had pooled into a perfect ring on the bar top beneath it. Your hand, still resting near the glass, felt strangely aware of the few inches that now separated it from his.

“Me too,” you said.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The noise from the kitchen filtered in—clattering pans, muffled laughter—but it all felt far away. You looked over at him again and found him already watching you. There was nothing smug in it. Just quiet, steady warmth.

“You still think I’m trying too hard?” you asked, voice light but curious.

Jack’s mouth tilted into a lopsided smile. “No,” he said. “I think you care. About things. About people. And sometimes that looks like trying hard. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing anymore.”

Your chest tightened at that, in the good way. The scary way. You hadn’t even realized you’d leaned in slightly, drawn by the low, honest rhythm of his voice. Neither of you pulled back.

A long pause, and then:

“You still think I’m emotionally stunted?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You gave him a look. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

A beat of laughter lingers between you, softer this time—real. The kind that crinkles the corners of your eyes and tugs something loose in your chest. You're both still leaning in slightly, like neither of you noticed how close you've gotten until now. His knee brushes yours again, deliberately this time, and your breath catches—not because of the touch itself, but because he doesn’t pull away.

You look at him. Really look. His green eyes, usually so guarded or teasing, are uncharacteristically open, searching yours with something uncertain but sincere. There's no smirk. No deflection. Just Jack, raw in a way you’re not used to seeing him.

And then, without thinking, or maybe because you've both been thinking about it for far too long, you kiss him. Or Jack kissed you. Either way, your lips met halfway, soft and hesitant.

It’s tentative at first, like both of you are breaking a rule and you’re scared you’re about to be caught. But he answers with the way his hand lightly brushes your cheek, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. The kiss deepens for just a breath, soft, sweet, startling in its gentleness.

When you pull back, your heart is doing that fluttery, annoying thing again, wild against your ribs like it’s trying to make sure you can’t ignore it this time. For a beat, you both just stared at each other, wide-eyed and wordless.

Your mind scrambled to process the moment—what had just happened, what it meant. Your mouth opened, then closed again. Jack blinked, color rising fast into his cheeks as he suddenly stood, too fast, knocking his stool back a few inches.

“I’m, uh—I’m gonna check on AAA. See how far they are,” he says quickly, already halfway toward the door like physical distance might buffer the emotional whiplash.

Before you could respond, he was out the door, the bell overhead jangling in his wake.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

You sat there, staring at the door for a long moment. Your fingers brushed your lips, still warm. What the hell just happened?

You leaned forward, elbows planting on the countertop, as if your middle fingers massaging your temples were going to help you organize your thoughts. You weren’t supposed to feel this way. You’d spent years hating Jack, despising him. But now…

Your heart fluttered in your chest.

You glanced out the window. Jack was standing a few feet from the car, pacing in small circles, phone to his ear. Even from here, you could see how flustered he was. His free hand kept running through his hair, and he looked like he was thinking too hard.

You didn’t speak when he came back inside, and he didn’t either. The air was tight, stretched thin with everything unsaid. But your eyes met for a second—just one—and it was enough to make your stomach flip. You didn’t speak when Tanya left the bill in front of you, or when Jack wordlessly gave her his card and covered both your meals. 

The AAA guy arrived less than ten minutes later, equipped with a spare tire. Jack stood silently beside the car, hands shoved in his pockets, posture tight with something he didn’t want to name. You hung back near the diner door, arms crossed, fingers grazing your lips now and then as if trying to erase—or remember—the feel of his mouth on yours.

Neither of you said anything as the tire was changed. The mechanic made a few comments about the summer heat bearing down on the day. The air smelled faintly of rubber and asphalt as the AAA guy gave a final tug on the new tire. Jack nodded, muttered a thank you, and barely waited for the man to pack up before sliding into the driver's seat again. You followed without a word, tugging your seatbelt across your chest with fingers that still felt a little too aware, a little too shaky.

He started the car. The engine roared softly to life. Neither of you said anything.

Outside, the sky was dipped in late afternoon gold, the edges of the clouds glowing orange where the sun caught them. Jack kept his eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel, but you noticed the tension in his jaw. The way his thumb tapped an erratic beat against the steering wheel. The way he blinked just a little too long at stop signs. Like he was stuck in his own head.

You weren’t doing much better. You watched the trees blur past your window and tried to breathe normally, tried to ignore the phantom sensation of his lips on yours.

You didn’t know what the kiss meant. You didn’t know what he thought it meant. Maybe it had been a moment—a blip. A mistake. Or maybe…

The lakehouse came into view faster than you expected. Familiar and quiet, nestled between tall trees and wrapped in a fading light that made the windows glow. Jack pulled into the driveway and put the car in park. Your seatbelt was already coming off before the doors were unlocked.

“I’ll grab the rings. I won’t be long.”

Jack nodded once, still not looking at you. You opened the door and stepped out, sandals crunching on gravel, the door thudding closed behind you.

As soon as you were gone, Jack let out a slow breath, dropping his head back against the headrest. The sound echoed faintly in the quiet of the car, the only accompaniment the ticking of the engine cooling down and the occasional rustle of wind through pine.

He closed his eyes.

“What the hell did I just do…” he muttered aloud, voice barely above a whisper.

His fingers scrubbed over his face. The kiss hadn’t been planned—it had just… happened. Or maybe it hadn’t just happened. Maybe it had been building for a long time, and neither of you had wanted to admit it.

He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Smooth move, asshole.”

Because now he didn’t know what was worse: the kiss itself or the uncertainty in your eyes afterward. He’d thought you kissed him back. Thought. But what if he misread it? What if it had been hesitation, not reciprocation? What if the heat in your eyes hadn’t been longing, but confusion?

Or worse—pity.

He cursed under his breath, palms flattening against the steering wheel like he could squeeze the truth out of it. “God, did I screw this up already? We were just starting to not hate each other.”

He could still feel it, though—your lips soft against his, your breath catching just a little. That startled sound you made, not pulling away. Your fingers twitching, like maybe you’d wanted to touch him and didn’t.

He sat there, trapped in that overthinking spiral, the memory of the kiss looping in his brain like a song stuck on repeat. He could still taste the moment, the gentleness of it. The way his heart had slammed against his ribs like he was back on the ice for his first game.

And now, everything felt unsteady. Not just between you, but inside him. Because this wasn’t some casual crush. It hadn’t felt light or meaningless. It had felt real. And that terrified him more than he wanted to admit.

Jack’s spiral of thoughts was snapped when the car door swung open, and you hopped in. He spotted the small white bag containing the ring boxes in your hand. Jack sat up straighter automatically, trying to school his expression into something neutral.

He failed.

You didn’t say anything right away, just slipped back into the seat beside him and clipped your seatbelt. But your gaze drifted to him, lingering on his profile.

Jack caught it, eyes flicking over. For a second, it felt like you might say something. Ask. Acknowledge. Clarify.

But you didn’t.

And neither did he.

Instead, he started the engine again. The soft purr filled the space between you, and the silence settled in once more.

The drive back to the wedding venue was quieter than any you’d shared before—and that was saying something, considering how often you two fell into mutual, petty silence after an argument. But this wasn’t angry silence. It was… something else. Heavy and tense, full of sharp edges and delicate threads, you were both too afraid to touch.

The radio played on, and when another Morgan Wallen song came on, you didn’t even reach to change it. Jack didn’t tease you for your exaggerated sigh the way he normally would. He didn’t even glance your way. He just stared straight ahead, one hand gripping the wheel, the other limp in his lap, fingers twitching now and then like he was thinking of saying something and couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

You stared out the window, watching as the trees blurred into a green smear. Your hands were folded in your lap, nails digging into your own skin. You hated silence like this—not angry, not cold, just... uncertain.

You could still feel the kiss. Not just the press of lips, but the weight of it. The intent. The way Jack’s thumb had grazed the edge of your jaw, featherlight, reverent.

Your heart did that annoying flutter again just thinking about it. You clenched your jaw, forced yourself to exhale slowly through your nose. You’d spent years hating Jack. And now this?

By the time you pulled into the venue’s gravel lot, the sun had sunk low enough to cast long shadows across the property. The rehearsal dinner had already begun; you could hear music and laughter drifting through the open doors. String lights glowed like fireflies overhead, and the scent of roasted vegetables and grilled steak lingered faintly on the warm air.

Jack cut the engine, but neither of you moved right away. The silence remained, thick and taut, stretching like a rubber band on the verge of snapping.

You opened the door first. The sound startled both of you slightly—proof of how deep in your own heads you’d been. Jack followed suit, and you stepped out together, though the space between you felt far wider than the physical few feet.

Emmeline and Quinn were already standing near the back doors of the venue, Emmeline shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, Quinn lifting a hand in a half-wave. Relief crossed Emmeline’s face when she spotted you both.

“There you are!” she called out, walking toward you. “God, Q and I were so worried.”

“We had a flat,” you offered, holding up the small white bag with the ring boxes tucked safely inside. “All good now.”

Quinn nodded, walking up behind Emmeline. “Damn. You guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack said, voice low and even. He didn't meet their eyes.

You passed the bag to Emmeline, whose smile faltered just slightly as her eyes darted between the two of you. Her brow knitted ever so subtly. You could see the question forming behind her eyes—What happened?

But she didn’t ask. Maybe she could tell it wasn’t something either of you was ready to say aloud.

Instead, she simply said, “Glad you made it,” and squeezed your hand once before stepping back.

Quinn clapped Jack on the back. “Dinner’s basically done, but the bar’s still open. Both of you look like you could use a drink.”

You nodded numbly and followed them up the steps into the venue, Jack a pace behind. You and Jack split off the moment you walked in. Not obviously, but instinctively—like two magnets flipped the wrong way. You busied yourself with the wedding coordinator, nodding along as she listed off timing and music cues. Jack drifted to the groomsmen, feigning engagement in some joke Josh was telling.

Once or twice, your eyes met across the space. You spotted him across the room, talking to your parents, likely meeting them for the first time, when his gaze flicked to you. In a heartbeat, everything that had happened in the diner came rushing back like a flash flood.

You looked away first.

You finally got hold of Emmeline, stealing a quiet moment together while the chaos of the wedding loomed just beyond. You sat at an empty table, sipping a gin & tonic, listening to her fuss over the final seating chart.

“I swear, if Aunt Delia asks to be moved one more time, I’m putting her at the kids’ table.”

You laughed softly, but your eyes drifted again to Jack, who was leaning against one of the deck railings, talking with Quinn. He laughed at something Quinn said, the curve of his smile familiar and so Jack it hurt.

But it was different now. You felt different now. The kiss had carved something open between you, and now every glance, every breath felt like a balancing act on a wire you didn’t remember agreeing to walk.

Emmeline’s gaze followed yours and, again, you saw that flicker of understanding in her eyes. But she didn’t press. Instead, she leaned closer and murmured, “What the hell happened between you and Jack?”

You blinked, then nodded too quickly. “Nothing, nothing. Just a long day.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, looping her arm through yours. “Come with me. We’re doing a shot for the bride.”

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

The bright early morning sun seeped through the sheer curtains, casting a peaceful glow on the hotel room. You groaned as you sat upright, stretching out the soreness that settled deep in your bones.

You hadn't slept much. Maybe a couple of hours, tops. And not for lack of trying. You tried to listen to music and white noise. But the moment your head would get quiet, he would come back. Jack. The kiss.

It played on loop in your mind—soft lighting, heart beating loud in your chest, his hand on your cheek, the surprised look in his eyes when it was over. Then that awful silence in the car. The Morgan Wallen song. The one you hate. And how you didn’t even complain.

But this morning? This morning is… beautiful. Unfairly so. The kind of morning that feels like it’s been curated just for a wedding: sun filtering through gauzy curtains, birds chirping obnoxiously in the trees outside your window, the breeze lifting your hair when you crack the glass open. It smells like lilacs and cut grass.

You glance at your phone. 7:13 a.m. You’re needed in the lobby by eight to help with last-minute decorations, and Emmeline has already texted twice with a bubbly sort of nervousness that makes you smile despite yourself.

The moment your feet hit the floor, though, something settles inside you—a steadiness. This isn’t your wedding. It’s Emmeline’s. She deserves your best today. Whatever happened between you and Jack last night…it can wait. You can compartmentalize. You’re excellent at compartmentalizing.

You don’t even bother to change out of the satin pyjama set that Emmeline had bought for all the bridesmaids, heading down to the lobby, where a quiet hum of activity already buzzes. String lights are being tested, chairs straightened, and a staff member consults a clipboard like it’s the Bible.

The scent hits you first—sweet, heady, unmistakable. Roses, eucalyptus, and something else more potent, weaving through the air.

You turn just as the florist breezes through the lobby doors, arms full of bouquets wrapped in tissue and satin ribbon. She’s balancing a second tray on her hip, trying not to jostle the carefully arranged blooms.

“Hi!” she calls with a polite smile, breathless but bright-eyed. “Delivery for Emmeline Scott—bride and bridesmaids' bouquets?”

“That’s me—well, not the bride, obviously.” You offer a sheepish smile as you step forward to help, brushing your hair behind one ear. “I can take some of those.”

The florist starts to hand off the top bouquet when—

“Wait! Don’t touch those!”

You freeze, arm midair.

The shout echoes too loudly across the pristine lobby, startling both you and the florist. Heads turn. Your heart stutters as you spin toward the sound of it.

Jack is coming down the staircase two steps at a time, hair still wet from a shower, shirt rumpled like he threw it on without looking. There’s a small, frantic crease between his brows, and he’s got that look—somewhere between alarmed and furious.

You blink, momentarily stunned by his urgency—and, okay, the fact that he looks like a walking disaster in the most distracting way.

“You can’t touch those,” he says again, voice lower now as he reaches you, a little out of breath. “They’ve got lilies in them.”

You frown, confused. “What—?”

He gestures to the bouquet still hovering in the florist’s arms. “Right there—see?” He doesn’t wait for a reply, just steps forward and lightly turns the arrangement so the offending flowers are front and center. “You’re allergic. Seriously allergic.”

It takes a beat for that to register, because you are. It’s a mild reaction for most, but for you, even the scent can trigger a chain reaction that could land you in the hospital. Your throat tightens at the realization, not from the allergy, but from the thought: he remembered.

You’re about to say something when Jack rounds on the delivery driver with an edge to his voice. “You were told no lilies. Someone could’ve died.”

The poor driver stammers, clearly taken aback. “I—I just picked up the order—”

“It’s not your fault,” you cut in quickly, reaching for Jack’s arm. “Hey. Seriously. It’s okay. I didn’t touch them.”

But Jack doesn’t look at you right away. His jaw’s tight, the muscle there ticking. “You could’ve, though.”

You gently tug his arm, grounding him. “I didn’t.”

That does it. He exhales, finally turning to look at you. There’s something intense in his expression, something you don’t know what to do with—like he’s still coming down from the idea of you in an ambulance instead of here, in pyjamas and bare feet, in the middle of a sunlit lobby.

He rubs a hand over his face. “I’ll get it sorted. Give me five minutes.”

Before you can argue, he’s already pulling out his phone and walking away, dialing as he goes.

You try not to stare at him. It’s hard not to. You’re still trying to get used to this version of Jack. The one who kissed you. The one who looks at you a second too long. The one who, apparently, now knows the ingredients in a bouquet well enough to spot allergens from across a lobby. You didn’t even know he knew about your allergy.

You glance back at the florist, who mouths a silent sorry, and you wave it off with a grateful half-smile. “Don’t worry. Crisis averted.”

A few minutes later, Jack reappears, phone still in hand, hair wind-tousled from stepping out into the breeze.

“They’re sending replacements,” he says, a little gruff. “No lilies. They’ll be here in forty-five minutes.”

You blink. “You convinced them to redo everything?”

“Yeah,” he huffed, barely looking at you. “I mean, we wouldn’t want you to go into anaphylactic shock mid-aisle.”

Then, without giving you a second to respond, he turns on his heel and walks off.

You stare after him, heart annoyingly out of rhythm again.

Not because of the lilies.

But because he remembered.

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

The air in the bridal suite was filled with Emmeline’s favourite songs and hairspray, the chatter between bridesmaids and stylists filling the space. The floor was a flurry of fabric and half-sipped mimosas, with Emmeline perched in an armchair, wrapped in a white robe embroidered with bride in cursive across the back. Her smile was tight with nerves, hands clasped in her lap as one of the makeup artists prepped her skin.

You were seated nearby, sipping orange juice through a glass straw, your robe slightly slipping off one shoulder. A gentle buzz of anticipation vibrated in your bones—wedding mornings had a strange kind of magic, and this one, Emmeline’s, felt especially charmed.

Then came the knock. A quiet, polite tap against the wooden door, followed by the sound of it creaking open.

Jack’s head appeared in the gap, tousled hair and a sheepish grin giving him away immediately. Your pulse spiked at the sight of him—part nerves, part something else that you hadn’t quite named yet. His eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on you and your hair wrapped up in large rollers. 

“Hey,” he said, voice low so as not to disrupt the calm. “Can I borrow you for a second?”

You stood instinctively, brows pulling together. “Is everything okay?”

Emmeline’s eyes widened in the mirror. “Wait—why? Is something wrong?”

Jack stepped fully into the room, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “No, no. Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak anyone out.” He looked at Emmeline. “I just need her help with the flower girl real quick. Nerves or shoes or… something.”

Emmeline blinked at Jack through the reflection. “Okay, just uh—you’re supposed to be next to get your makeup done,” she said to you.

You turned to Emmeline, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Your mom can start getting her makeup done now—I'll be back before it’s your turn.”

Emmeline blinked. “Okay. But if anything is wrong—”

“It’s not,” Jack promised, already backing into the hallway. “Scout’s honor.”

You slipped out with him, tugging the sash of your robe tighter as the door closed behind you. The corridor was quieter than you expected, the kind of hush reserved for churches and very big moments. You glanced at Jack. His pace quickened.

“She’s not having a meltdown over flower petals, is she?”

He blew out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s no flower girl issue. That was a lie.”

You stopped. “Jack.”

“I panicked,” he muttered. “It was the first thing that came to mind. But it’s Quinn. He’s freaking out. Like… real bad.”

“Why?”

Jack looked over, his brows drawing together. “He lost his vows.”

You stared at him. “His vows?”

“The handwritten ones. Only copy. He wrote them in a little notebook because he said typing felt ‘insincere,’ and now he can’t find them.”

“Oh my god.”

“Exactly.”

You both picked up your pace.

By the time you reached the groomsmen’s suite, the energy was starkly different from the bridal calm—music was off, ties were untied, and Quinn was pacing like he was trying to wear a hole through the floor. His hair wasn’t done, and he was muttering to himself, half-dressed in a white button-down and socks.

“Hey,” Jack said gently. “I brought reinforcements.”

Quinn turned, eyes wide. “I checked everywhere. I had them last night. I remember practicing. I had this whole thing about the lake—about how we met—and now I can’t even remember what I wrote. I feel sick.”

You crossed to him, putting a hand on his arm. “We’ll find them. Okay? Let’s retrace your steps. Where were you when you last saw them?”

He swallowed. “I was in Jack’s room… then he went to bed, so I left. Then I think I took them to the kitchen at some point, cause I was starving and the chefs said they had leftovers from dinner. Then I went to Luke’s, but he said I was muttering too much and made me leave—”

“Luke’s room,” you and Jack said in unison.

Without another word, the three of you moved down the hall. Luke’s door was ajar—of course it was—and the faint smell of cologne hit you the moment you stepped in.

Jack headed to the desk while you beelined for the armchair, where a dress shirt was hanging half-on, half-off. Quinn hovered in the doorway, silent and nervous.

You dropped to your knees, checking beneath the bed and side tables. Nothing.

Then Jack made a sound—a triumphant half-laugh, half-gasp.

He held up a small, black faux-leather notebook. “Found them.”

Quinn exhaled like someone had just lifted a mountain off his chest. He moved forward quickly, grabbing them from Jack’s hand, eyes skimming the pages like he couldn’t believe they were real.

“I owe you both so much.”

“You owe me a drink,” Jack said. “And a thank-you in your vows.”

Quinn turned to you. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You gave him a soft smile. “You’re going to marry the love of your life in less than two hours. You’ve got this.”

Jack nudged you gently. “Come on. Let’s get you back before Emmeline thinks I kidnapped you.”

You followed him into the hallway again, pulse finally starting to level. But as Jack glanced sideways at you, his voice low, something else fluttered in your chest.

“You’re good in a crisis,” he said.

You looked up at him. “I work well under pressure.”

He smirked. “Noted.”

And though the crisis was over, the buzz in your chest didn’t fade.

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

The ceremony unfolds like something from a dream—light streaming through stained glass, the delicate rustle of fabric, and the steady hum of love filling every pew. You’re barely holding it together as the vows are exchanged. Words so personal and full of promise that your heart aches a little, as though some small part of you longs to be seen like that, held like that, chosen like that.

You cry—not dramatically, but quietly, the kind of tears that gather slowly and fall before you can even think to wipe them away.

When they kiss—sealed now in every legal, emotional, and spiritual way—the room erupts in cheers. You’re clapping and cheering like everyone else, watching through damp lashes as the couple walks back down the aisle, glowing, triumphant, wildly in love.

The recessional begins, and Jack offers his arm, as planned. You hesitate only a second before slipping your hand through, and together you walk down the aisle. The room blurs a little with the soft focus of flowers and applause and music, and yet Jack beside you is the one thing that feels sharply, unmistakably real.

When you reach the grand, vaulted lobby with its marble floors and floral arrangements taller than you, he turns to you. There’s a small smile on his face, something gentler than you’ve seen in hours. Maybe days.

Jack had rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head since the early morning. And yet, now that he was standing in front of you, flushed and radiant in the soft post-ceremony glow, hand still tucked in the crook of his arm, he felt completely unprepared.

God, you were beautiful.

It had hit him like a sucker punch when he first saw you this morning in the lobby, barefoot and bleary-eyed in those satin pyjamas, hair wild and cheeks flushed from sleep. You were half-asleep and entirely unaware of how close you’d come to disaster with the lilies, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to wrap his arms around you. Not just to keep you safe, but because it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Then in the bridal suite, with your hair up in massive rollers and your robe slipping off one shoulder, laughing softly. Then your steady presence as you attempted to calm Quinn, as if it were the easiest thing. He’d felt something settle heavy in his chest. You were chaos and calm all at once. A contradiction he couldn’t stop watching.

But now?

Now he could barely breathe.

There was something about this version of you that wrecked him—composed, poised, glowing in the aftermath of vows and violins and a room full of love. Your dress shimmered under the chandelier light, catching reflections of the roses behind you. Your eyes were still damp from tears, lashes clumped just slightly, and you were chewing the inside of your cheek in that way you did when you were trying not to feel too much.

And all Jack could think was Wow.

He remembered the exact second he’d seen you walk into the church, bouquet clutched tight and face tilted upward like you were catching light with your skin. His breath had caught somewhere in his throat, and he’d had to look away, not because he wanted to, but because the look on your face had felt too intimate to witness.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even know where the line was anymore.

Not after last night. Not after the kiss. Not after the way you’d touched his arm in the lobby like it meant something. Not after the way you had looked at him just now, cheeks warm from crying, smile slipping onto your face.

He wants to tell you. God, he wants to tell you.

You look stunning. That you’ve been knocking the wind out of him since seven this morning. That he keeps replaying the kiss in the car like it’s his personal version of slow torture. That you’re the only thing he’s seen clearly all day, despite the chaos and ceremony and flowers and vows.

But just as he opens his mouth, just as the words begin to gather in his throat—

“There you two are!”

A burst of voices and movement breaks the moment like a stone through glass. The bridal party floods the lobby behind you, laughter and congratulations spilling into the space like champagne overflowing a glass.

Someone claps Jack on the shoulder. A photographer pulls you to the side for a photo of the bridesmaids.

And just like that, the moment vanishes.

˚₊۶ৎ˙⋆

After the photos, you all make your way into the reception hall.

It’s breathtaking. Truly. The kind of beauty that makes you pause in the doorway.

Golden light spills from chandeliers strung with crystals, mingling with the glow of hundreds of delicate string lights wound through the rafters like fallen stars. The tables gleam with polished glassware and candlelight, and soft jazz plays in the background, blending with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and footsteps on polished floors.

Everything is perfect.

You try—really, truly try—to focus on Emmeline and Quinn. On their joy, on the way Quinn can’t stop stealing glances at his wife like he still can’t believe it’s real. On Emmeline’s bright smile as she and Quinn spin and twirl to “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You”.

But it’s hard. Because no matter how hard you try, your gaze constantly drifts to Jack. You try not to watch him, but you do. Of course you do. How could you not? He looks good. Sharp suit, tie hanging loose around his neck, his hair now curling a little at the ends from the humidity. 

And every time your eyes are pulled to Jack, you find his green ones already on you. 

Not just glancing. Not just noticing. Watching.

It makes your stomach do this slow, nauseating flip. Not unpleasant, just… overwhelming. 

You busy yourself with anything—laughing too hard at Emmeline’s father’s toast, fussing with your napkin, trying not to spill champagne when someone proposes yet another toast—but Jack is there. Always just at the edge of your vision. Sometimes talking to Quinn or one of the groomsmen, sometimes nodding along to someone else’s story, but his attention always strays.

You’re standing near the edge of the dance floor when you finally crack.

The laughter and clinking glasses, the swirling dresses and shimmering lights—it all starts to feel a little too loud, too much. You step away quietly, unnoticed. It’s not dramatic. You just… need a breath.

The venue opens onto a terrace that overlooks the lake. Beyond it, the water stretches out dark and glassy, the sky above littered with stars. 

The air is cooler than you expect, the kind of gentle, refreshing chill that only comes after a day of heat. You wrap your arms around yourself out of habit rather than cold, your heels clicking softly against the stone path as you make your way toward the water. The canopy of string lights above glows like fireflies frozen mid-flight, casting your shadow in a hundred directions.

The noise from the reception drifts in on the breeze—bass from the speakers, laughter echoing across the lawn, the occasional clink of glass. But out here, it feels quieter. Calmer. Like the entire world has decided to hold its breath.

You settle near the railing, arms resting on the cool metal, looking out at the water as it glitters faintly under moonlight. The silence is almost enough.

Then, you hear the footsteps, the clacking of dress shoes against pavement. You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

His presence announces itself before he says a word. That quiet, deliberate energy of his. A stillness wrapped in intensity. You hear him pause a few feet behind you. A beat. Two.

“Running away?” he asks quietly.

You glance over your shoulder. He’s standing a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, hair a little messier now, curls looser around his forehead. The tie is completely gone. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar.

“Just needed air,” you reply, your voice low. “Too many people. Too many feelings.”

He steps closer, his shoes crunching faintly on the gravel. “Yeah. It’s a lot.”

You turn to face him more fully now, leaning one hip against the railing. “I thought maybe if I slipped out, I’d get a minute to think.”

Jack’s eyes search yours, serious now. The teasing is gone.

“Did it help?” he asks.

You swallow. “No.”

A beat. Just long enough for the breeze to rise and fall again.

Jack shifts, jaw working like he’s trying to find the right words. Then he breathes out and just says it:

“About the kiss.”

You feel it instantly—that jolt in your chest, like someone pulling a thread too tight. You glance down at your hands, fingers curling around the metal railing. “I figured we’d pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Is that what you want?”

You don’t answer immediately. The silence between you stretches.

Then, softly: “I don’t know what I want.”

Jack exhales a quiet laugh—one that’s more self-conscious than amused. He closes the space between you until you’re nearly shoulder to shoulder, his voice quieter now.

“I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. The kiss. The car. You.”

He pauses. “And I know it was messy. I know we were yelling, and we hated each other…literally yesterday, and the whole thing feels like some kind of fever dream…”

You glance at him.

“…but I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he admits, his voice raw around the edges now. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

Your breath catches. “Jack…”

“I know we weren’t supposed to like each other. That was kind of the deal, right? Keep it civil for our Quinn and Emmy’s sake, tolerate each other long enough to make it through this wedding weekend without bloodshed.”

You laugh softly, the sound almost startled.

He goes on, eyes flicking to your face. “But then you started showing up in all the spaces in my head where you weren’t supposed to be. Laughing in the bridal suite. Crying during the ceremony. Standing barefoot in that fucking hotel lobby in satin pajamas.”

You look down, a smile tugging at your mouth despite yourself.

“And I know it’s fast,” he says. “I know we’ve gone from sworn enemies to whatever this is in the span of just barely twenty-four hours. But if you feel even a fraction of what I feel…”

Your heart is pounding.

“…then maybe we should stop pretending this isn’t happening.”

Your throat is tight. “It is confusing,” you whisper. “We were supposed to hate each other.”

“I still think you’re insufferable,” Jack says, grinning now, but his eyes are too soft for it to land like a joke. “But God help me, I don’t think I can go back to not caring about you.”

You inhale slowly. The words settle in your chest like something sacred.

Then you say, quietly, “I haven’t stopped thinking about it either. The kiss. You. All of it.”

Jack’s expression shifts—relief, warmth, maybe even a little fear. “So… what do we do?”

You glance up at the string lights above you. The world feels smaller here, wrapped in twinkle and quiet.

“I think we should stop pretending,” you say.

And that’s all it takes.

He steps in closer, one hand coming up to rest against your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek. You lean into the touch without thinking, your own hands finding his chest, the fabric of his dress-shirt soft beneath your fingertips.

There’s a heartbeat between you—a pause, one last breath before everything changes.

Then he kisses you.

And this time, it’s not rushed or stolen or unsure. It’s deliberate. Full. The kind of kiss that unfurls heat low in your stomach and steals the ground from under your feet. His other hand finds your waist, fingers splaying against the yellow satin fabric as he draws you in, close enough to steal your breath all over again. Your hands slide up, threading into the back of his hair.

You kiss him like you’ve been waiting all night. Like maybe you’ve been waiting longer.

When you finally part, your lips still tingling, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath shallow. The kiss lingers between you, slow and certain this time—not impulsive, not confused. Just real. 

Jack exhales, leaning back slightly to look into your eyes. “So…what now?”

You smile, small and tentative. “I guess we go back in before someone sends a search party.”

He chuckles. “Right. But…after that? What about after the wedding?”

You hesitate, because it’s a good question. After the wedding, everything scatters. Guests go home. Real life starts back up. The weekend magic evaporates.

But then you look at him—this boy you thought you couldn’t stand, who ended up holding lily bouquets away from you like he was shielding you from poison, who kept glancing your way during the entire reception like you were the only one in the room.

You reach for his hand. “After the wedding… we figure it out.”

He squeezes your hand. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You walk back together, not talking much, but your fingers stay laced. And this time, when you re-enter the reception, people notice. Emmeline catches your eye from across the dance floor, her gaze examining the sight before her before widening. You watch as her manicured hands grip her new husband's arm tightly and she urgently whispers something to him. Quinn’s eyes flick towards you, a matching shocked look coming across his face.

Later, when the party is dying down and the stars are starting to peek through the canopy of lights, Jack asks you to dance. There’s no more tension, no more rivalry—just a slow song, a full heart, and a whole new beginning unfolding between you.

[rehmes]

Nothing Solitary about Us : ⋆༘ Wriothesley / reader | headcannons . oneshot

‗ content / trigger warning: bigger story / reader background not fully mentioned, reader is a refugee, Wriothesley swooning (in his own way), thoughts of self doubt, fluff/angst?? Like a weird mixture of the two, not beta read, we die like Wriothesley's adoptive parents. ‗word count: 4k ‗ author's note: If you saw when I accidentally posted this the first time . . . no you didn't! Apologies if it's ooc, a little long, or has errors in spelling. English isn't my first language and this is the first time I've written for Wriothesley! Any suggestions to improve will be much appreciated! :D

Wriothesley could still remember the day he saw you, the day that you had come into the Fortress after, purposefully, committing a crime to gain some sort of refugee status; Why you thought to come to a prison, of all places, to receive such a thing baffled him the most. And it had baffled him for the longest time until you had told him why:

You and The Duke first met when The Duke wasn’t even The Duke; Meeting as cellmates in the Fortress, having been put in the same age group for practically everything that the Fortress had to offer at that time. Which wasn't a lot, and with Wrothesley’s lack of enthusiasm to even look in your direction, it made everything a lot more insufferable. But, Wriothesley didn’t know that; He was just intent on staying out of your way and not causing any more trouble for himself. Likewise, the thought of making friends with you did creep into his mind but so did the doubts that you might hate him after you figured out why he was sentenced here. So, it took a lot for Wriothesley and you to actually begin talking, despite being paired for a lot of the backbreaking activities. And, Wriothesley does still remember that day, too: It was after a tiring shift, where you were both thoroughly whipped out and about to crash at the dinner tables. You both had used coupons to buy food, and didn’t even have the energy to sit at different tables, muchless to open the containers containing your dinner. It felt as though every muscle in your bodies had been torn, limb from limb, muscle from tissue and bone, it was excruciating… and you were about sure you could appeal to the Iudex about this being considered some sort of child labor. Maybe even murder if they kept pushing you both like this. Luckily, you guessed, Wriothesley looked a little better in shape than you did, but he was not far lagging behind. With shaking hands he reached out to open his dinner for the night, to only pause and stare down in horror at what was on his tray. It made you nervous to even peek into yours, seeing the way Wriothesley’s face contorted; A corner of his left eye tightening, his eyebrows furrowing down to create visible creases along his forehead, and a scowl you’ve only ever seen when someone bothered him. A look of pure disgust.

Yet, you still checked yours away. You didn’t know that Wriothesley had glanced up to see if you had gotten the same horror as he did, and by some god awful prank (or pure disluck) you also had the conglomeration on your plate. Some weird, mysterious meat that sat on the plate, sometimes twitching like it was still mooing, sometimes resting as meat should rest. Equally unappetizing and making your hunger even more apparent, as you were tempted to taste the horrific creation that came out of that unsanitized kitchen. “You know,” Your voice caught Wriothesley's attention, as his had drifted down to the plate of food in front of him. His eyes shot up and barely met yours, “it could be worse?” You shrugged your shoulders in a joking way, giving Wriothesley an awkward look paired with an even awkwarder smile. He was a bit baffled at your conclusion, “It could be worse?” He questioned, calm and steady, confused and a bit curious on where you were going to go with such a statement.

In his fatigue, he had broken the one rule he had set for himself in this place; Don’t talk to anyone, don’t make yourself known, don’t make any friends. In his fatigue he didn’t believe answering you would be so wrong nor did he believe that you two would ever speak again after his point, so why not entertain you… and himself.

“At least they didn’t puke on our plate?” The joke fell from your lips with the weakest chuckle you could muster. Your eyes drooped and the pain was evident in the way your eyes shined ever so less than normal. Wriothesley was about to respond, yet you managed to get at it before him; “You know, where I came from, if you didn’t have a fire you had to eat your fish cold! Like, ice cold. And there was nothing you could do about it… other descale the thing and pray you didn’t just eat your last meal.” “Is that right?” Wriothesley cocked an eyebrow up, unsure where you had come from yet didn’t enjoy the images that came into his head. Well, one was particularly funny and it was the thought of you trying to bite into a frozen fish and hurting your teeth. Not like he wanted that to happen, maybe. “Well, don’t give the kitchen staff any ideas or maybe they’ll just import that from your weird homeland.” It had been a while since Wriothesley had laughed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly alongside you. The conversation was a ridiculous one, especially when first conversations usually went along the lines of introducing yourselves to each other. Yet, oddly to Wriothesley, it felt about right. And from that day, Wriothesley was sure he didn’t know of a day where he didn’t talk to you. Even if it started with a small greeting in the hallway or pointers on how to do a job more efficiently, small conversation gradually turned into the two of you chatting for hours eating lunch or dinner and even trying to talk after lights out. It finally felt like you had escaped your past and had a friend in a place you named your refuge, and Wriothesley finally felt like he had met someone (though this feeling was slow and gradually coming) that would accept him, despite his past doings.

Wriothesley interlocked his fingers, resting his elbows on the table, and nestled his chin on the finger net he had made. His eyes were softer than usual, yet that piercing blue. Back then, when you two had simply been inmates trying to work out your frustration and struggles with the world; Now, you laid on the couch in Wriothesley’s office in the fortress, with his coat draped over you like a blanket, napping. From outside eyes, you both would look like the perfect couple, yet he hadn’t even managed to ask you the question yet; But, he had an inkling you understood, just as he did, how he felt about you. Otherwise, Wriothesley couldn’t fathom why you decide to spend your nights in his office, keeping him company, when you could be in the nurse wing with Sigewinne or doing “orderly duties” for the fortress above on the surface. It made a small smile twitch onto his lips seeing you, you always managed to do that; But, it also bubbled the age old question in his mind . . . is this life good enough for you? Wriothesley is usually a calm man, a collected one, who didn’t often question why people came to the Fortress and simply gave them a second chance at peace – well, more frankly, at life. He understood how such a thing could quell the anger that simmered in convicts and made it his life work to make sure everyone was treated as fairly as they worked for. Yet, you? You were a different question. He still wasn’t sure why you had come to the Fortress in the first place, yet had deduced from several conversations you came from the Snezhnaya. Sure, he could go into the room lined with file drawers with the reasons why convicts had been placed into captivity, but that room was one, far too crowded for his taste, and two, he didn’t wish on peaking into your personal life. At least, without your permission. 

Yet, still, the thought always crossed him on why you were here – by choice! Not that you walked in and checked yourself in, yet you committed many crimes to be noticed in Fontaine, trailed in court, then admitted to your crimes to be placed into the Fortress. The thought of doing such a thing made him cross his arms and lean back in the chair, his eyes more settled on your sleeping form and the way his jacket hugged the curves of your body. You always looked so happy on the surface, to see the sky and breathe the fresh air. Wriothesley wouldn’t want to keep you trapped in the Fortress. “I’ve never seen you so pensive before, Duke!” A voice suddenly appeared besides Wriothesley, causing him to jerk out of his train of thought. He sat up straight, a little suddenly, as he quickly turned to notice the all too familiar nurse of the Fortress: Sigewinne. The Duke played off his thoughts with a chuckle, “Ah, yes, well, I was thinking about something, Sigewinne.” He would half-heartedly joke, as the nurse gave him an all too unamused look. ‘No shit’, was what he was sure she was telling him in her head, but he only responded with a cool snicker. “Well, the tea you ordered from Liyue arrived at the Fortress and I came wondering if you wanted some,” The offer hung in the air, and Wriothesley knew the nurse would tag on a remark. “But it seems like you may need to talk out some problems.” She wasn’t an expert on human emotions, but she was better than spilling his mind to an inmate, Wriothesley guessed… or maybe even you. A pensive hum left the Duke’s lips as Sigewinne walked over, a hop away from skipping, and settled her tray with tea onto his desk. Promptly, she would nestle herself properly into a chair on the other side of Wriothesley’s desk, hands resting over her stomach and a pleased smile on her face.

“Go on, Wriothesley! I’m open ears.” Chimed the Nurse. Though only playful sarcasm came from the Duke as he poured himself a cup of tea, “Hmm, talking about my emotions? That seems like such a fun topic.” He knew it was needed, if not wanted. Even more so when Sigewinne didn’t seem too pleased with his half-hearted answer; As she pouted her lips and let out an extensive huff; “As the nurse, I care for everyone in the Fortress and that includes you too, Duke! Please, don’t make my job any harder than it needs to be.” There was an earnest tone in her voice, and Wriothesley knew she was getting better in her studies.

Even more so when she shook her head after his moments of silence, “Your eyebrows are frowned and your eyes rest everywhere but me or,” Wriothesley’s eyes drifted to you when Sigewinne pointed you out. You had shifted in your sleep, now laying on your back. You were peaceful; It made his eyes soften. He remembered when you used to have trouble sleeping by yourself, never feeling safe enough… Now you were sleeping like nothing in the world could ever hurt you. Like those fears of the past were nothing but fears. And they were; Wriothesley will make sure of it.

Sigewinne’s eyes had drifted off to you too. She was silent as she surveyed the way you slept and then the way Wriothesley lingered his attention on you. “You’re still debating whether or not to tell her, huh?” “And where did you hear that?” There’s the cheeky Sigewinne that Wriothesley knew. Of course, he knew her more caring side as the Nurse but he had a hunch that she also knew about why he had been so “thoughtful” – to put it colorfully. Though Sigewinne would shake her head and smile, “You’re very obvious sometimes! I think even Miss Clorinde knows!” That wouldn’t be good. Not at all. “Does she now?” But Wriothesley had to remain cool, collected. Now, it wasn’t that Wriothesley was embarrassed for others to know of his crush on you – well, by this point, it’s lasted so long he was sure he could dub it love, but better safe than sorry if you didn’t return his feelings – but he was simply cautious about other inmates knowing. After all, you were still technically one of them, an inmate. Your sentencing had been for about three years, maybe four, but you never left. You had chosen to stay since the first day you came, technically giving you a life sentence on your own will. So, if the other inmates know about the two of you – or well Writoehsley’s feelings – it could put your life in danger. There was a tick of silence again, something Wriothesley was rather fond of sometimes… like in this case. Yet, his eyes did not miss Sigewinne standing up from her chair and striding over to where you rested on the couch. There was a careful, cautious, way she held her hand out as she checked you.

“She’s still asleep,” Sigewinne noted.

And Wriothesley hummed in response, “I couldn’t tell.” Where was Sigewinne going with this, Wriothesley’s eyes narrowed slightly, though they were not harsh.

“Maybe she’s dreaming about you, Duke!”

Wriothesley is a hard man to crack. He was the Duke of the Fortress, a peacekeeper among the convicted, and yet sometimes when he was with you he couldn’t help but be that ever so lenient. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to confess to you after Sigewinne had come skipping into his office late one day while you were in her Medical Bay. It wasn’t uncommon, of course, being in the Fortress there were few people to speak to you with the kindness Sigewinne does; And you two often had conversations, even nights where you would have quote-on-quote sleepovers. Yet, today you went due to a headache. And, no less than an hour later, Sigewinne came skipping into his office like she had won the lottery – and Wriothesley half-entertained such a ridiculous thought. “What’s the good news, Nurse Sigewinne?” Wriothesley played along with her bubbly demeanor; Enjoying the change of pace from his slow, meticulous work which dragged on for hours on end. He swore to himself when he was half way done, he would go check on you, yet he was only a ¼. Luckily, seemingly, the news had been brought to him. “Well, they’re doing a lot better! It only appeared to be a headache due to not drinking enough water, but that tends to be normal.” Sigewinne reported as she came to a halt beside Wriothesley’s desk. “But, she also spoke rather colorfully about you!"

“Oh?” Wriothesley’s curiosity peaked, though a voice also nagged him about respecting your privacy. “Is that a good thing, or perhaps a bad thing, Nurse Sigewinne?” He knew she wouldn’t be able to tell him much, as there still was patient confidentiality, even in the Fortress. But, by the way Sigewinne’s face beamed and the way her hands animatedly rested upon her hip, he was sure she was about to tell him to shoot his shot… once again. He thought it was enough she had gotten the others to bug him about it, while also still placing stickers upon his back, but he couldn’t stay angered, or even annoyed, at them for long. Or at all. “I can’t say much, but I say you have a very good chance of landing her, Mr. Wriothesley!” Sigewinne beamed, and Wriothesley swore her smile went ear to ear.

Wriothesley was a private man, as private as one can get for being the Duke of a prison, yet you can always tell how he felt about a person from his actions. He was, and is, a man of few words … he always had been since you two were teenagers. And you never failed to take notice of it. Especially when he first began to give you some favor. 

Of course, it was nothing too big, nor grand, when you were teenagers going onto young adults. It was small gestures that would brighten up your day ever so slightly more, like holding open the door for you or walking closer when a nasty group of inmates sent creepy looks your way. He had even gotten into a fight with one of them after they approached you. Wriothesley had walked away for a second, going to get you both your lunch, when he turned around to see the guy grabbing your arm. Seeing you wriggle and writhe under the man’s disgusting touch was more than enough for Wriothesley to send a nasty blow to the side of the guy’s head, which caused him to crack his head open on the floor below.  It had been one of the few complications he had gotten into while at the Fortress, and he never regretted it. At least, that’s what he constantly told you and you had to believe his word. But, that event had been the first time that you felt some sort of pang in your heart regarding the, now, Duke; And it surely wasn’t the last. Especially after you were sure that Wriothesley was sending signals your way constantly by his small actions that always made you feel safer, closer, to him.

Yet, you had always had your own reservations on confessing to the Duke; Mostly having to do with where you came from, why you had left, and who was currently looking for you. You didn’t want Wriothesley, no matter how many times he defended you and said he would punch someone’s lights out if they messed with you, to get hurt because of the people you used to know. So you always waited for him to confess… and then tell him the dangers. But, day by day you compiled more and more reasons as to why Wriothesley might love you, and many more reasons why you loved him back. For one, he was a complete gentleman; To that, while he tended to be a little short and cold, he very much made it apparent that you could tell him anything, or even just lean on him if you needed. When you two walked, sometimes his hand would rest on the small of your back rather than your waist, and he would open the doors for you when you entered a building. Then there was the glares to the inmates who tried to mess with you, which was a little less fun to deal with, but a comfort nonetheless, and the visits to the Medical Bay he’d personally take to check up on your well being. There was, of course, a lot more that Wriothesley did that always made you feel special, more than you could ever count in a lifetime. And you were sure if things were different in your life you would have confessed to him long ago about the feelings that continuously welled in your chest, like a rapid river bashing against a dam begging to be freed yet never feeling such freedom. Man, wasn’t that poetic? 

“Hey, we need to talk.” Wriothesley’s voice was like a net, catching your attention and bringing it to shore – bringing you back to the present moment and back to Wriothesley. You had been at lunch, having brought up your meal you bought with coupons up to Wriothesley’s office and was currently toying with it on his floor. You would usually be sitting on the couch, waiting for the Duke to spare some attention to you which he tended to grace you with more than others. (Seriously! You had watched Neuvillette have to sit and wait for about an hour or more to speak with the Duke as he finished up some paperwork. It was slightly painful). But, you decided to not test your luck that day and possibly stain Wriothesley’s couch with… whatever you were eating. Honestly, you were so lost in thought you had forgotten what they had served, and now looking at it, it was too much of a mess for your brain to piece together. “A talk? That’s never good,” The sly comment shortly dropped from your lips, a snicker across your face as you glanced up at the Duke. His arms were crossed in a somehow pensive and relaxed (you weren’t sure how that's feasible, but he made it work) fashion as he leaned back against his chair, having taken his eyes off of his work for the first time in a few hours. Unknown to you, he hadn’t been able to complete some of the papers that flooded his desk because his mind kept drifting back to you. You. God, you were so perfect in his eyes. Even if he logically knew that no one could be quote-on-quote perfect, he sometimes chose to ignore that fact for you. Only you, really. 

“Nah, I think you’ll like this one,” Wriothesley continued, a chuckle present upon his lips that gave his stubble some light. When was the last time he shaved? The thought crossed your mind. You didn’t mind it, of course, you always enjoyed his stubble, it made him look more handsome in your eyes. But, even so, his looks weren’t enough to evade your skeptical side glance and the cock of your eyebrow. Even if Wriothesley snickered, knowing you had been checking him out a little; After all, he sometimes purposely lets his stubble grow out for you. Wriothesley was a man of few words, and even sometimes his words tended to fail him. So, there was a brief moment that his eyes lingered onto yours, and yours lingered right back to his. A beat, maybe even longer, before he stood from his desk and strided over to where you sat on the floor, kneeling down to your height. And, being so close, you could almost see all the words that were swirling in his head in his eyes; The regrets yet also momentums that wanted to pour out, yet he kept locked inside, as he reached a hand out and wiped a smug of food from your cheek. To others, his face might have seemed cold or indifferent, but you could tell there was some sort of attentiveness in his eyes that gave him away. It always had. And, just like Wriothesley, your own eyes and body always tended to give you away to him. The way your eyes crinkled ever so more when you laughed at one of his poorly delivered jokes. The way you always entertained the joke of Sigewinne being your shared child, much to her dismay, and the way you always naturally floated to his presence when he was in a room.

“You’re a horrible liar, you know that, right?” Wriothesley would tease, as a crinkle appeared in the corner of his eye. You knew what he was talking about and it made your heart flip. Both in a good way and a bad way. You would feel guilty putting Wriothesley into the fire that you had forged, which burnt down everything you had ever known beforehand. And yet, you were unaware that Wriothesley was equally as revered as confessing to you due to the likeness that the Fortress might become your shared home. He didn’t want that life for you as much as you didn’t want your life for him. And yet, despite that, Wriothesley was shooting his shot, as despite all the uncertainties that clouded both of your minds, there will still always be a shared affection for one another that wouldn’t fade easily, if ever. So, you snorted and confessed, “You’re not much better yourself, Duke.” Despite your mind screaming at you differently.

And, it was strangely peaceful to get that heavy weight off your chest, even if it felt like your heart was being crushed all the same. Though, if you were able to weather your own struggles with anyone, you know it would be with Wriothesley – in turn, Wriothesley knew that if push came to shove, you’ll be there to lend him the extra strength to deal twice the blow. And so it always felt right, in your hearts, for you two to be together. Yet, why did that new found heavyweight only grow heavier?

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[plussizefantasia]

More Body, More Money

Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader

Word Count: 1.1k

warnings: Allusion to smut towards the end, references to a female body and that body being bigger

an: holy shit sorry for disappearing for so long. I make no promises as to when I'll come back as I seem to have a habit of breaking those. I've been in a Bridgerton mood recently though and typed this on my phone in like an hour so no promises that it's all that good. I will say though that I've been working on a request recently and it's currently at 4k and counting which is by far the longest fic I've ever written and I'm not even to the good part yet. I've also finished outlining the rest of the parts for my Kili x reader fic. I think that's it though, thanks for reading this far if you did and for putting up with my bs.

“Darling, could you come here a moment?” Your husband called from his desk. Recently you had taken to reading while lounging on the couch in his study. It was a great way to spend time with your busy husband while also letting him get his work done. 

You didn’t exactly know what he was working on at the moment but apparently, your presence was needed to solve whatever issue he had stumbled upon. It wasn’t until you got closer to his desk that you noticed the receipts and ledgers sprawled across his desk. He was updating the families' books and tracking the spending that you and the rest of his family had done that month. 

“Yes, my love?” You moved to rest your hand on his back and traced it across his shoulders and on his neck. It was as if you two were magnets, unable to keep apart for very long. If you were close enough then you would feel your hands gravitating towards him. And if the way his arm moved to rest on your back as well, he had the same urges when in proximity to you. 

“I’ve noticed something odd in the charges from the modiste.” Anthony handed you the papers. Both you and Eloise had gone to the modiste at the beginning of the month to be fitted for some new gowns to prepare for her second season in the marriage mart and your first season as the Viscountess. 

“I’ll admit to not being the most knowledgeable about gowns and other frivolities my love, but is it normal for the cost difference to be this large? I mean when Ben and I get new suits the price is almost always similar.” He pointed to the two prices listed on the bill from Madame Delacroix. 

You didn’t know how to respond to this, you knew the reason behind the price difference between yours and Elioises dresses, of course, it was something that you had thought of already. After all, it was the same reason that your younger sister always got more gowns than you every season that the two of you attended growing up. You were larger, and as the modiste you had gone to grow up with had said “More body means more fabric means more money.” more money that your father had deemed unnecessary so you had only ever gotten one or two new dresses while your sister would be fitted for five or six of the newest and most flattering styles.

But how could you explain this to Anthony? That your dresses cost more than his sisters because you were bigger, and that meant more money.

You knew Anthony loved your body, he worshiped it often in fact but there was a difference between getting lost in the softness of your embrace and seeing the real-life sometimes the financial consequences of living in a bigger body.

“Oh, Anthony, it is uh- just a matter of resources I suppose.” 

He raised a brow at you. “I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean by resources?”

“Well dear husband, you and your brother are very similar in height and build which means the two of you have very similar resource usage, whereas myself and your sister are quite different in the… resource usage department.”

“My love, I need you to speak to me as if I am an idiot.” 

You deeply sighed and prepared yourself to have the conversation that you had been trying and failing to get out of. “Eloise is small, therefore it does not take as much fabric to make her dresses, whereas I am quite well endowed and my dresses require more material. More body means more fabric means more money it is as simple as that.” 

“That is preposterous, are you both not getting dresses?” His tone was getting more defensive, and it warmed your heart to know that he was willing to get upset at the simple fact that Madame Delacroix had charged you more because your dress was bigger. You had expected him to be embarrassed, and deep down somewhat afraid that he would realize that he had signed himself up for these extra expenses for the rest of his life by marrying you. 

“Well darling, think about it, would you expect to pay the same amount for a child as you would for yourself? Do you not pay more for your suits than you do Greg’s?”

“No, I see your point darling.”

“That is all this is my love, different sizes of clothing cost different amounts. If it is a problem I can just see about getting some of my old gowns altered to make them somewhat nicer for the new season, that way you would not have to spend as much.”

“What? No. Darling, this is not about the money, I was merely worried that that woman had tried to take advantage of you, charging you far more than Eloise for the same thing. I couldn’t care less about the money. In fact, I think you should get ten more gowns made, show everyone in the Ton that I am married to the most voluptuous, sensual, and desirable woman in the world.” He pulled you closer to him so that you were standing in between his spread knees, you still standing over him as he leaned back in his chair.

Anthony began training kisses up and down the arm that he had grasped within his hand. Turning your wrist over so that he could place one at the center of your palm. 

“I do not need ten new gowns, Anthony, that is far too much.” You giggled and protested, feeling more enamored with the man you married with every word out of his mouth.

“Perhaps I shall buy you ten diamond necklaces then so that I can have an excuse to stare at your chest as often as I’d like.” You snorted and gently smacked the back of his head. “Anthony Bridgerton, that is scandalous talk and you know it.”

“Nothing is scandalous between husband and wife, especially when the two are alone.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and lifted the corners of his lips into a sultry grin, one that had your knees feeling weaker by the second. 

“All I really need, dear husband, is you.”

A smile that you could only consider adoring spread across your husband's face.

“And I you, my love.”

“No Anthony, I need you.”

His grin turned to a full-blown smirk spreading across his face, “Well, what the Viscountess needs she gets…” 

;)