#An absolute menace has appeared! ( open ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gldrushh · 2 months ago

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GUILTY AS SIN? | JK | PART 𝐈𝐈

"Jungkook remembered how to make his feet stay put and you learned that some things are worth the mess, that love sometimes comes too late, but longing never does."

→ Pairing brother in law! Jungkook x widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

→W.C 17.10k

→ Warnings oc is going through it, Jungkook is a flirty menace, ceo jk, lovesick jk, simp jk, possessive Jungkook, jealous Jungkook, rich people lunch time!!, mentions of blood and injury, mentions of drinking, yoongi makes an appearance, he has no lines, namjin, yearning?, bathroom escapdes, silly banter, sexual tension kissing, making out, explicit sexual content, fingering, an almost handjob, penetrative sex, dirty talking, soft Dom jk, praising, creampie, bathroom sex, fluff (you don't even wanna know my definition of fluff), hoseok is a victim, minho is haunting the narrative as he should, angst (sorry girls It’s my brand 😝), doomed siblings

→ Playlist dress by Taylor swift, I can't be more in love by the 1975, in the woods somewhere by hozier, I can see you by Taylor swift, last words of a shooting star by mitski

→A/N Hii! Hello!! First things first: THANK YOU. Like, thank you in all caps lock. The love you all poured into Guilty as Sin honestly made me giggle to myself more than once. Every comment, message, share, and heart, It meant the absolute world to me. You’ve made this messy little story so much more than just words. You made it matter. And it was just so disrespectful of me to keep you waiting so long for a part 2 that wasn't really in my plans but yeah. Life got a little too unbearable, the plot bunnies misbehaved (you know how they are). But I really hope it’s worth the wait and not me just reheating my own nachos 😅😅 This is also most probably the last thing I'm gonna write for this story, at least for a long while. Thank you for reading. Thank you for being patient and most importantly,thank you for being kind. I love you and please do let me know your thoughts. Message me. Tell your plants. I'm all ears.

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

Mellow is the companion of church. Some would conclude that the church is composed for the quiet even.

They'd argue that it's different from sitting in the silence.

Silence is one thing and quiet is another. silence is an absence, they'd say. Quiet is presence, they'd add. Here more precisely, it's heavy and arcadian and holy.

There was something about the air inside here. Perhaps the solemn, how it was colossal, drenched in allegiance that made the world outside feel far-flung. It could be the height of the towering arches, the glow of candlelight flickering against stained glass, the low murmur of prayers threading through the smother.

The light is softer here too, filtered through the glass. Deadwood of crimson and gold painting benches and pressed shoulders. Candle flames sway slightly, flickering like they know secrets. Maybe they remember everyone who ever sat here in search of something they couldn't name.

You tell yourself this stillness is what you needed. That this space; sacred and slow would help clear your head. But the truth is, the quiet here doesn’t comfort. It exposes. Peels you open from the inside out.

You hear too much in it. Feel too much in it.

Even on days when you could still hear easy synchronicity. Hands clasped, laughter spilling into the cool air. Especially on days like these.

Or maybe you're mixing that up with something else. Something that has been coloring your days blue for a while now.

Something that doesn't pauses for holidays, doesn't make exceptions for birthdays, doesn't even bother to step aside for just one evening and let one breathe.Does not give way to leaded glass windows or the allay of a congregation. No, it lingers, seeps into places meant for worship, curls around the edges of pews and prayers alike. Certainly doesn’t soften on afternoons like these. Even though the flowers hadn’t wilted.

You hadn’t given it much thought.

Or rather, you had avoided thinking about it altogether.

Perhaps that is why, sitting here now—hands folded neatly in your lap, shoulders drawn tight—yet you feel it, heavy as ever.

Your mother-in-law had insisted you come, refusing to leave you alone, her soft-spoken request leaving little room for refusal. Mira had chimed in too, linked her arm through yours with a smile that tried to coax you back into the land of the living, or like she was letting you in on some joke only the two of you shared.

And so, here you were.

Church had never been a place you frequented, even when Minho was alive—he hadn't been particularly devout, preferring to spend bargaining his way through the sunday market and believing in the way the sky could shift from blue to violet in the span of a single evening—though you both had come when his mother had asked you to, of course, had sat beside him in these very pews, but never like this.

Not without him whispering some irreverent joke about heaven’s waiting list, about how maybe angels got bored too.

But now, you found yourself here more often.

If only because there was no reason not to because what waited you was a quiet apartment, a neatly made bed you hardly slept in and a day untouched by plans, by purpose, by anything remotely significant.

Also because you thought he wouldn’t be here.

Your mother-in-law had told you he wouldn’t be able to make it, had mentioned something about work, something about how he's not big on religion, much like his brother and oh, how you’d clung to those words. Let them blanket your nerves in fragile relief. One more hour. One more day of—knowing you wouldn’t have to see him today, that you could go on one more moment pretending you weren't aware of the inevitable, that you weren't unraveling at the seams every time you so much as thought about him.

That, that's why you had been skirting around him.

Maybe not consciously. At least, that’s what it looked like (You knew. Deep down, you knew.) But ever since that night—God, you really don't want to think about that or him in front of.. God without feeling like you're going to burst in flames. But its not exactly easy.

Not here, where the quiet literally wangles you into the deepest darkest of your thoughts. Thoughts that you're sure would.

Because the quiet here curls around your memories like smoke, drawing them out from where you’d hidden them. It coaxes them up your throat and behind your ribs until they’re a dull, burning pressure you can’t shake off.

You shift slightly in the bench. Mira breathes beside you, soft and steady. You press your palms flat against your lap, grounding yourself.

It hardly works. Especially not when he arrives. That strange, electric knowing. Like the air knows him. The space is an old convenient accquitance and adjusts around him.

The low creak of a door, the faintest hush falling over those nearest the back.

Late, quiet, slipping into the back like a ghost who had learned how to walk among the living, embodying every bit of the word 'handsome' in the most tailored of ways. Hair laid out in perfect symmetry. A ironed, muted blue suit hugging every bit of his perfect posture. Eyes so probing, so demanding of attention that you wonder why you ever got confused when everyday a new number of girls would approach you at school, especially at university for his number.

Then he had just been your doe eyed friend who you wanted to spare from heartbreaks. Not aware of the term-"heartbreaker" that had been given to him. Ironic, really.

Now you feel like you understand. You feel like you sense him before you see him. Sense every bit of his presence that you maybe had overlooked before. A shift in the air, the faintest murmur of acknowledgment rippling through the congregation.

Both Mrs Jeon and Mira are turned towards the figure, thier expression brightening in recognition, waving small hands at the figure that is approaching your way, pulse quickening with the footsteps.

No.

He said he doesn't do church.

He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t sit—

The soft creak of the seat behind you made your breath hitch.

The older woman only smiled, a pleasant suprise. For her, atleast. "Jungkook-ah! You came! Oh, how lovely!"

She's sure the reason is that he is finally letting divinity in, you're sure you're losing yours.

You don’t turn but Mira does as she shifts beside you, knees bumping against yours to smile in greeting. Saying something about how her husband should learn a thing or two from him and give this a try, accompany her once in a while. A deep, warm chuckle in reply hits you square in the back of your head and your shoulders tense.

Low, rich, like warm amber poured over ice.

It lands like a bruise.

Pulses through, that gives away just how real and impossible and close it is.

You swallow hard, keeping your eyes downcast, determined not to react any more. You fix your gaze on the marble altar, on the golden flicker of votive candles.He’s behind you. Of course he is.

Because where else would he be, if not the one place you prayed he wouldn't?

Even as the sermon continued, voices rising in unison for prayer, you could barely hear them, could barely not feel your dirtiest secret behind you, close enough that if you leaned back even slightly, you might brush against him.

The service moves forward, and you try to focus. You try to listen. Tried to will your ears to listen, to stay anchored in psalms and promises and the choir’s distant swell. Just get through this.It couldn’t possibly be so difficult. No one knows. No one suspects a thing. The polished congregation kneels and stands with pedriocity and faith, unaware that your spine was stiff with a secret, that your breath refused to calm. Only you knew. Only he does. And that truth grips your tounge so hard there’s no way it’s ever slipping past your mouth.

But then a touch happens. As if maneuvering. A whisper of movement behind you, so faint it could just be the atoms you are made of shifting, a trick of your mind.

Light. Fleeting. Not direct. Not quite.

Just the faintest brush of fingertips against the ends of your hair that spilled over your shoulders, the softest, most cursory pull. Just a teasing pass, like he’s testing the silk of it between thumb and forefinger. There’s a pause, then the strand is gently looped once, slow and idle, as though he’s turning it over in thought.

Then released.

You freeze because what even is happening?

The answer to that is that it happens again. A lazy twirl of a strand, a slow release of the said strand.

Not enough for anyone to notice. Not enough to draw attention. But enough for you to feel it. Enough to make your skin prickle, your heartbeat stutter. He's been doing a lot of that recently.

You shift in your seat, pressing your hands tighter into your lap, back rod-straight, lungs stuck in a breath that wouldn’t come. The sensation was too distinct now, too exact to mistake.

It doesn’t stop. Another strand. A drag of fingertips. A near-caress.

What the fuck is he doing?

You don’t turn. You don’t react when you should have thrown him a warning glance—but that would mean acknowledging him. That would mean facing him.

And you didn’t know how to look him in the eye and not think about it.

His mouth. His devouring, worshipping mouth. The dammable sound of your name said like orison and profanity.

Didn’t know how to hear his voice and not remember the way how his lips shaped against your skin. Venal. Hungry.

Didn't know how not to follow the tattoos that ran through his sleeve and pretend that you haven't took your time exploring them. Aversly. Teasingly.

Didn’t know how to feel the weight of everything you weren’t supposed to want pressing down on you like a second heartbeat.

The way he had tugged your shirt up with reverence and bitten down like he wanted to leave a mark not even salvation could scrub away.

Do not react.

Do not move.

But he kept going. And the sermon blurred.

Gods, you were going to burn. You were going to hell. And he'd be there already, waiting with his hands in your hair.

When the sermon concludes, you stand too quickly, push your hair forward and Mira shoots you a look, her fingers grazing your wrist in question. You shake your head, offering her a quick, brittle smile before stepping toward the exit. You walked. Out of the stall. Out of the building. Out of your goddamn mind.

To your relief—you were still a perfectly coordinated bundle of cells when you were out. The sun hit you outside, sharp and sudden, dragging long shadows over the stone steps. You sucked in fresh air like someone who had been underwater too long.

The relief lasted long enough until Jungkook spoke under the sun casting long shadows against the stone steps. “I’ll drive.” Voice cutting through the polite chatter.

“Oh, that would be great, dear. Y/N, Mira, come on.” Your mother-in-law, oblivious, beamed, completely unaware that you had just spent forty-five minutes debating if setting yourself on fire in the house of God would be less painful than what had just happened.

The car ride should be easy.

It should be nothing. A short drive. A forgettable stretch of road between church and the Jeon family estate.

Should be.

But as you are pressed against the window, your coat bunched beneath you like a failed barrier, you want to either open the window for air or bolt from the moving car, with every inch of your skin crawling with awareness, tight and buzzing and flushed in ways that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The cabin is too quiet. Too warm. The low hum of the engine does nothing to drown out the sound of your heart, which feels like it’s beating directly into your throat.

And then there’s that scent again.

The scent of leather and something distinctly Jungkook curling in the closed space. A mix of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—and the faintest trace of laundry detergent, clinging to his shirt like it had no intention of leaving. It shouldn’t be so familiar, but it is. And that’s the problem.

“That sermon was lovely, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Jeon’s voice is light, warm, like freshly baked bread. The kind of voice that belongs in a home, not a car filled with tension so thick it could choke you.

Mira hums in agreement beside you. “It was.”

You blink, only now realizing how little of the service you actually absorbed.

“Of course,” Mrs Jeon continues, turning slightly in her seat, eyes alight with something rebuke, “not everyone was paying attention.”

You tense, breath catching, even when the accusation isn’t aimed at you. You feel it anyway.

“What?” He finally speaks, voice even. A little hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. Like his vocal cords were dry from silence and prohibition.

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know, Jungkook-ah." his mother huffs, shaking her head. “You join for the first time ever in a while, sit in the back, and then spend half the time looking like you didn’t even knew where you were." she finishes with a scolding tone.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, hand tightening against the steering wheel. He doesn't argue.

Because It did seem so.

Mira, ever the enabler, bites her lip to stifle a laugh, glancing at you with barely concealed amusement.

You do not look at Jungkook.

You absolutely do not.

Mrs. Jeon, unbothered by the quiet tension thickening in the car, continues, “You know who else was praying a little too hard?”

Silence. No one answers with whatever self preservation they have.

Not because they don’t want to. But because they know better.

Because when Mrs. Jeon starts on church gossip, there’s no stopping her because apparently it's what it's best for.

She leans in, lowering her voice like she’s about to reveal something sacred. “Mrs. Kang.”

Mira gasps dramatically. “No.”

“Oh, yes.” A firm nod. “She was crying, dear. Again. Right in the middle of the third hymn.”

You blink. “Why?”

The older woman tsks, as if the answer should be obvious. “That husband of hers. You know how he is.”

You makes a thoughtful noise, tilting your head. “Didn’t he… move to Seoul?”

“Yes, but does distance stop a man from causing stress? I don’t think so.” You didn't think so too.

Jungkook exhales, long-suffering. “Why do you know all of this, eomma?”

His mother waves a hand dismissively. “Please, son. I hear things.”

Mira leans in. “Did she cry last week too?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Jeon replies. “But last week was because he didn’t call her for three days. This week, I believe he’s dating someone half his age.”

Mira sighs. “Men.”

You let out an involuntary snicker before you can help it. You don’t even know if it’s a real sound or something your soul exhaled out of disbelief.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing toward the front.

Because Jungkook’s eyes are on you.

Not on the road.

Not on his mother, who is still detailing the tragic love life of a woman you barely know.Not at the red light blinking in the distance.

His eyes are dark and unreadable, barely hooded, like he’s watching you and also thinking about the last time you were under him, gasping. Like maybe he’s remembering the way your nails looked against his neck. Or the way you said his name like a prayer, far more pledged than anything the pastor could conjure.

And every so often, you caught him.

The first time, you looked away immediately. The second time, you stared out the window so hard you gave yourself a headache. The third time, you stared back, even as something molten and dangerous simmers in the quiet between you.

His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary before shifting back to the road.

Every part of you was aware of him.

Of the way he adjusted his grip on the wheel. Of the way the veins along his forearm flexed when he turned. Of the way he never looked away fast enough.

Mira nudged you gently. “You okay?”

You nodded through the lie. "Fine."

Your mother-in-law again turned in her seat, smiling warmly. “I hope you’ll stay for lunch, Mira. We have invited the kims too. It’s been long overdue." The word ‘lunch’ doesn’t quite capture what’s waiting at the Jeon house.

Because it isn’t just lunch.

It’s crystal glassware, centerpieces too elaborate for a midday meal, and courses that require cutlery you don’t know how to use properly. It's a show that barely masks the subtle flex in it. A performance even, if you will, wrapped in linen napkins and wine pairings. And if you had to guess, this lunch isn’t just a friendly catch-up.

It’s Mrs. Jeon doing what she does best—playing politics with a smile. Maybe it’s her way of returning the favor after that party the Kims threw. Maybe she’s angling for something else entirely. But it’s definitely not casual.

She then adds as an afterthought. “We thought it would be nice to host something a little more intimate after such a wonderful service.”

“Oh, I’d love to.” Mira grins, relaxing against the seat. “Y/N, you up for it?”

You forced a small smile. “Uh-yeah. Yeah, of course!”

It’s automatic. Reflexive.

Because you can't say what you really want.

Which is to get out of the car.

To breathe. To clear the fog from your chest that smells like leather, and cologne, and fire.

From then, from the backseat, you had counted the moments until you could step into open air again and feel the crisp edge of early spring, the scent of freshly turned earth and blooming jasmine lacing through the quiet garden. The table was set beneath the sprawling branches of the old oak, where dappled sunlight filtered through on the delicate porcelain plates, silverware so polished it reflected the light, dishes, conversations lively and layered with subtext in the way rich families knew how to be.

You, too used to know the dance.

Used to let the brezzy hum of conversation wrap around you, used to nod along at the right moments, used to catch the way Minho would kick Jungkook under the table just to make him crack a smile.You remembered that.

Now, Mira sat beside you, her elbow jolting against yours as she reached for a serving spoon, her plate already filled to the edges.“Try this one,” she whispered, already loading her plate still like she hadn’t eaten in days. And then there was Yoongi—her husband—sitting with a plate he barely touched, scrolling through something on his phone until Mira shot him a look. He cleared his throat and slid it away.

Across from you, your mother-in-law delicately dabbed her lips with a napkin before resuming conversation about Mrs kang with a woman- namjoon's mother- who had grayer streaks in her hair that only painted the greater picture of elegance, her voice carrying that effortless ease of someone used to commanding a room. Someone who had enough money to command at all

Then there's Jungkook who sits two chair away from you, separated by separated only by a stretch of linen and eating irons. Jungkook who could barely catch up to Namjoon's enthusiasm about his dad dying, something about the shifting board members, something that should require Jungkook’s full attention."And now that my father’s out, the balance is shifting," Namjoon said. “We’ve got a chance to pull things clean, finally. The new proposal’s solid.”

Especially when his father speaks. "You’ve seen the numbers, Jungkook," His deep voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. “The deal’s been in discussion for months now. The board expects your response by next week.”

“I’ll look it over.” He acknowledged it with a slow nod.

"Not look over, son." His father’s tone was measured, but firm—the kind of voice that had always left little room for negotiation. "Confirm."

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, setting his wine down. "I won’t confirm anything without making sure it’s solid first."

He pauses. A glance. His father’s sharp gaze flickered over him, assessing. Not questioning—no, never questioning. Because Jungkook had earned his place, had spent years proving himself, had molded himself into the kind of son his father could rely on, because Minho never did.

Not that Minho ever needed to. Not that he ever wanted to.

Jungkook had understood that early on. That Minho had been different. That Minho’s place had always been elsewhere—with paint on his fingers and art in his head, with you curled into his side, laughing in a language he had willed himself to forget. And so it had fallen to him.

And Jungkook—Jungkook hadn’t minded. Not really.

Not when he could see the relief in Minho’s eyes every time their father skipped over him in business conversations, every time he looked at him liked he had birthed a catastrophe. Ambition morphed into inheritance and starry eyes jaundiced. Jungkook realized that this was what he was born for. That his older brother was a fool for denying everything that had been laid on a silver platter for him.

And because it had been easier than actually admitting that maybe he wasn't a fool at all. That maybe it wasn't the legacy he was born for.

Because every waking moment he finds himself tangled in the thoughts about what was right in front of him.

It had been days, yet it remained, stitched into him like something permanent—like the ink on his skin, like the weight of his own name.

It wasn’t just the memory of it. Not just the way you had felt beneath him, the way his name had left your lips in shuddering breaths. It was everything else—the before, the after. The way you had looked at him, wide-eyed and hesitant in the dim light of that unfamiliar room, as if realizing for the first time that he was capable of something like this. That he had spent years knowing, wanting.

Jungkook, who had spent years perfecting restraint, found himself breaking under the weight of it at only the sight of you that brought the memory of the night where he pretended you were his, like fever rushing through.

Because you would not look at him.

Because your eyes had skimmed past him all afternoon, slipping over him like he was nothing, like he hadn’t once been pressed against you, groaning into your skin.

And fuck if it didn’t drive him insane.

His fingers curled around the stem of his glass, his knuckles white as he brought the wine to his lips, stealing glances of you reaching for a pitcher of water at the same time as Mira, your fingers brushing, the smallest of startled laughs escaping you.

Soft. Effortless. Rivaling the intoxicity of the drink in his hand. He couldn't remember when it was the last time he heard it, only the withdrawals that came with it.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, setting down his glass before he did something reckless—before he let himself stare too long, let his thoughts slip into something visible, something impossible to ignore.

And then, as if the universe were intent on pushing him closer to the edge—you left, something he used to be best at.

You pushed back your chair, the scrape of wood against stone barely registering above the conversation which started with Mrs Kim going- “I should probably head home soon,” she said. "Joon's father probably running the househelp ragged by now.”

Namjoon huffed a laugh beside Jungkook, reaching for the hand resting on his thigh. “Let him. Maybe they’ll finally get him to stop redecorating the library every three months.”

Seokjin, seated beside him, shrugged. “Or maybe he’ll burn the place down and finally have an excuse to build that ‘modern masterpiece’ he’s been threatening to commission.”

Mrs. Kim sighed, exasperated but fond. “I wouldn't put it past him. He’s been threatening that ‘modern masterpiece’ since 2003.”

Mrs. Jeon clapped her hands together. “Oh, nonsense. Stay for tea at least. Mr Kim will be fine. Yoongi, you’ll take another pour, won’t you? Y/N, dear, why don’t you grab the set from the kitchen?”

"Of course. I'll be right back." you murmured, barely loud enough for anyone to catch, save for the ones listening too closely. Save for him.

Jungkook watched as you stepped away, disappearing through the doors of the house, something tightening in his chest.

The moment his hand closed around the stem of his glass again, Jungkook knew what he was about to do.

Would it be too obvious? Too stupid?

He doubted it.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was childish. But as his grip tightened and the glass stem cracked beneath his palm, sending shards of glass and a sharp jolt of pain through his hand, he felt something darkly satisfying settle in his chest.

The table fell silent.

And all eyes fell on him. "I-I'm sorry. I didn’t realize." He cleared his throat and started to rise up from his seat.

Namjoon, the closest to him, attempted to reach for his hand and he instantly flinched. Just because the wound was intentional, didn’t mean it didn't hurt.

"What the hell, Kook? Are you okay?"

“Its nothing,” he muttered, jaw clenched as he pressed his uninjured hand to his palm, watching the thin trickle of crimson bead against his skin.

“Jungkook?” His mother’s voice came next to break through the quiet, sharp and immediate, her chair scraping against the stone as she pushed back. “Oh my god—what were you thinking? Do you need me to—”

“No,” he cut in, firm but even, already standing. “I’ve got it.”

Seokjin, looked up from beside his boyfriend, a just as suprised and bewildered expression taking over his face. The same one that mimicked every other person's that sat around the table, with Mira looking like she was going to choke on her food as she met his eyes before her husband smoothed a hand down her back.

"Are you sure? You don’t need any hel—"

"I'm okay, hyung. I said I got it." He said it with perhaps too much irration shimmering beneath his words and the table fell silent again.

Jungkook ignored them all.

He was already moving.

Already following.

Through the hallway, past familiar frames on the wall.

He finds himself checking his reflection in one, taking note of his hair that seem tousled and runs a smooth hand over them.

He finds you in the kitchen.

The afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting golden lines across the marble counters, across the soft fabric of your dress. You stood with your back to him, your hands grasping something—kettle, tray? Don't know.

You just know that you feel him before you hear him like you always do, the weight of his presence shifting the air, settling around you like something impending. You pretend you don’t notice. Pretend you’re too preoccupied with the cups in your hands, as if arranging over the same sets of cups for the fourth time will make it any more legible. It’s pointless, really—You had always known Jungkook, even in silence.

“Gonna keep avoiding me?"

It’s not exactly a question.

Not accusing, but certain. Because yes, you have. Not because you’re angry, not because you regret it, but because it scares you how little you do.

You swallowed. Still not looking. “I’ve been busy.”

He drawls out. “Have you?"

That makes you look up.

By this time you should have realized that it's always a mistake when you do that.

Because he’s leaning against the counter, a hand tucked casually in his pockets, sleeves still rolled up, collar slightly undone. And he’s watching you.

Not like at the table, where his expression had been smooth, unreadable or like that one time where you had been exactly where you are now and he was exactly where he was. Just then, it had been the same illegible look.

Here, in this quiet, his eyes are darker. He looks at you like he knows.

Its in the way his gaze dips, taking you in and how the amber light fluidly danced across your hair that framed your guilty face. So fucking adorable. "So busy you won't even look at me."

You hated how your breath hitched. Hated how you had no answer that didn’t sound like a lie.

You forced a slow breath and placed the napkins in the space left in the tray. "I've had a lot to do."

"No you didn't."

"I did."

"No you didn't, Y/N."

You force yourself to move, to wrap your hands around the tray, to act as if this conversation isn’t happening. “What do you want me to say?”

Instead, he pushed himself off the wall and came closer, close enough that the warmth of him touched your spine, close enought that you could see everything—the way his jaw tightens, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the way his fingers twitch at his sides and when he finally spoke, it was low, just for you.

"Tell me you don't hate me. I can't go on like that." Has no idea how he has done that for years and has no intention to relive that ever again. He's a buisness man now. Buisness men learn from their losses and never give up profit.

Heat curled in your stomach.

Minutes passed. Too many, too few.

And he waits. He’s patient like that. He always has been.

But your eyes were drawn to something else entirely.

His hand.

The sharp contrast of crimson against his skin, fresh and glistening, pooling at the edge of his palm before dripping onto the tiled floor in slow, schemed drops.

You inhaled sharply, setting the tray down with a quiet clatter, your pulse kicking up. “What the—Jungkook, what happened?”

He didn’t answer right away, didn’t even glance at the wound. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on you, dark and unreadable, watching the way you reached for his arm, fingers curling around his wrist, your touch careful and instinctive. Maybe it wasn't that bad of an idea, he thinks.

You turned his palm over, assessing the damage. A deep cut, but nothing catastrophic. "You're bleeding."

His voice was slow, aforethought. “I noticed.”

Your head snapped up, irritation flickering behind your concern. “What do you mean, you noticed? Why didn’t you say anything? You should’ve—”

Your breath catches, shifting your weight, as he steps closer, the space between you dwindling.

You try to ignore it. Try to recoil from it. Try to do anything but this. Because you recognized it now. This wasn’t about his hand.

Not really.

Not when his gaze flickered down to your lips in that moment.

Not when his fingers twitched at his side, like he was waiting.

Not when the air between you suddenly felt too thick, too warm, too charged. Too much like that one hallway.

You swallowed, cursed under your breath and forced your eyes away from his wound to take hold of the abandoned tray. You didn’t trust yourself enough with his. With him.

He seemed to revel in that fact.

His fingers brushed against your wrist in protest, dwadling, intentional. His head leaned in, lips grazing the curve of your jaw, just the lightest touch, just enough to rattle the glasses on the tray, just enough to summon a maelstrom of sensations.

Your hand flexed beneath his grip, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside of it ceased to exist.

No. No. You reminded yourself of the straight stuff.

“Jungkook, let go. Everyone's ou—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

Jungkook’s breath ghosts over your cheek, his nose brushing against yours, the scent of him—sylvan cologne, something faintly sweet—pulling you under, drowning you in it.

He turns you, presses you back against the counter. His eyes are dark, searching of the surroundings for a moment before they are back on you. Then, so is the unrelenting heat of his mouth, catching your lips with his, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world to corrade you.

His lips moved against yours, insistent, beguiling you to open up, to give him what he wanted. Because it had been days. Days since he had his first taste. Days since you have deprived him off it.

And so you did.

You gasped against his mouth, your fingers curling against the handle of trays, gripping, steadying yourself. He groaned at the way you responded, at the way you always responded, despite every calmour, despite every attempt to put distance between you.

You didn’t know who reached first, who needed more, who ached better—only that neither of you pulled away.

The kiss deepened, his uninjured hand slipping beneath the curve of your jaw, his thumb dragging against your cheek, his teeth grazing against your bottom lip. The wounded one curled around your waist. You gasped at the contact—at the warmth of his blood seeping through the fabric of your dress, staining the pale church blue with sin. You felt it against your ribs, hot and sticky. You didn’t care. You whimpered into his mouth, heat pooling low in your stomach, and that was all it took to prouduce a low, guttural noise in his chest, his fingers flexing against your waist, gripping, needing, wanting

And suddenly, the counter is the only thing keeping you upright. Your mind is spinning, lost in him, lost in this, in the fact that this is happening—

Here.

Now.

Where anyone could walk in.

“Y/N?”

Your heart stopped.

Jungkook froze.

Your mother-in-law’s voice was distant but getting closer.

Your breath hitched, panic flaring in your chest, but before you could pull away, Jungkook caught you again.

Pressed his lips to yours, stealing another kiss, this one shorter, sharper, like a punishment, like he was branding you with it as if he hadn’t already stained you with his blood, making sure you’d feel it long after he let go.

But he didn’t.

“Please” he breathed against your mouth, he kisses you deeper, hungrier. He drinks you in like he’s been starving, like he wants to ruin you.

Like he already has.

His tongue brushed against yours, hot and sure, and your stomach twisted, heat

licking at your spine. “Tell me you don't."

A voice—your mother-in-law’s, calling your name grows closer and semblance slams into you like a freight train.

Yet Jungkook stands untouched, refusing to let go, refusing to understand what's he doing, how it could end.

"Jungkook, stop—mhmm—Mom's coming!"

Your resolve is slipping.

Falling.

Gone.

And then, when you finally find your voice—

You don’t tell him to stop.

You whisper—breathless, aching, a confession and a surrender all at once.

“I don’t.”

Jungkook groans a curse and he's swift in the way he pulls away because it's only in a second away that another figure breezes into the space.

Your mother-in-law stands in the doorway, looking between you and Jungkook , her brows pinching in mild confusion.

“What was taking so long, dear?”

Jungkook is the first to move, straightening, rolling his shoulders back like nothing happened. Like his tounge wasn't down your throat.

You, though, find it hard to hide the compact it had on you. You're sure everyone in the room can hear how your heartbeats, can hear how it wants to get out of your constructing chest. Your wide blown pupils gaze roams everywhere and stops at the tray in your hands.

Yeah, right.

You start to speak. “I was just—”

But before you can finish with whatever you come up with, her eyes land on his still-bleeding hand that's making a mess on the once polished clean floors.

“Why haven’t you cleaned that up yet, Jungkook-ah?” she scolds, sighing. “You’re going to get an infection.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, and swips his tounge over his kiss bruised lips. “I was going to."

“I’ll help him, mom. Why don't you take this?” you blurt out, too quick, too loud.

Your mother-in-law’s eyes flicker to you. Something unreadable passes through them.

Then, after a long beat, she nods, smiling. “Youre a sweetheart, Y/N. I'll take this.”

She steps forward, plucks the tray from your hands, and turns toward the dining room without another word.

The moment the door clicks shut behind her, the weight of everything crashes into you.

Your pulse was still erratic, your lips tingling from his kiss, your hands shaking as you turned to him.

You whirled on Jungkook, eyes blazing at his audacity.

"What were you thinking?"

You wanted to kill him.

Your fingers curl into a fist before you can stop them, and you swat his chest, your palm colliding against solid muscle.

He catches your wrist before you can pull away.

And before you could yank off, he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Your breath stutters.

His eyes flicker down to meet yours, dark and knowing. His expression pleased. Deliciously so. Almost resembling the look that crossed over his face after he had made you come on his mouth for the second time, saying something along the lines of how he could stay buried—

Oh, shit. Uh, scratch that.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you heave out.

His lips quirk. “Likewise.”

You inhale sharply, snatching your hand from his grip, grabbing his unsullied wrist instead.

“Shut up and come here.” you mutter, tugging him toward the hall.

Jungkook lets you drag him to the bathroom, silent, unresisting. He thinks if it's you he has to follow, he will, even to the ends of the world. Wherever you want.

For now it's the bathroom that was silent, except for the soft drip of the faucet and the sound of your own heartbeat thrumming in your ears. The space was impossibly small with him in it, the air thick with something that hadn’t dissipated even after your mother-in-law had nearly caught you both in the kitchen.

And the moment the door closes behind you.

You realize two things.

One: His hand is still shaking, still bleeding, still a mess of raw skin and recklessness.

And two: You really don’t trust yourself to be alone with him.

Yet you always found yourself in closed rooms. Closed bathrooms, for this instant. Only places you can afford being this close.

You turned the tap, watching as the water rushed down, steam curling into the air. Jungkook stood behind you, leaning against the sink, his injured hand still cradled in his other. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms, tendons shifting beneath inked skin as he flexed his fingers experimentally.

The sight shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it did.

“You’re a idiot." you muttered again, reaching for the first aid kit tucked behind the mirror cabinet.

Jungkook hummed, the sound deep, amused. "So, I've been told."

You turned, finally looking at him, and immediately regretted it. Because he was watching you. Again. Not passively, not carelessly—but like he was memorizing something, like he was still thinking about the way you had whispered I don’t against his lips only minutes ago.

Your throat tightened. You gestured toward the sink. “Hand. Under the water.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, his head tilted slightly, a slow smirk ghosting at the edges of his lips. “That an order, angel?”

You exhaled sharply, grabbing his wrist before he could make another smart remark, forcing his injured hand under the warm stream. He hissed at the contact, fingers twitching, but otherwise didn’t complain. Blood swirled in the sink, a diluted pink that spiraled down the drain.

You repeated, biting the inside of your cheek. “What were you even thinking?”

Jungkook’s voice was ceaseless, unfaltering. “That I wanted you alone.”

Your hands stilled, fingertips just barely brushing against his palm. His words lingered between you, weaving into the steam, settling into your bones.

Slowly, carefully, you lifted his hand out of the water, watching as droplets slid down his fingers, over the sharp lines of his knuckles. The cuts were shallow but jagged, the skin angry and raw, small flecks of glass still embedded in his palm.

Your chest ached.

You reached for a towel and dabbed carefully around the wounds.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. But he was also In pain and a part of you has never liked him In pain. It reminded you of nights where he'd think too much about where he actually belonged. Something very candid. Something very raw. Something a child shouldn’t have to think. You had known how to bandage scraped knees and scuffed elbows. Knew nothing about those nights.

You refocused on his hand, plucking a pair of tweezers from the kit and leaning in, carefully pulling out the slivers of glass still buried in his skin. Your breath brushed against his wrist, your fingers gentle, your focus unwavering. Jungkook didn’t move, didn’t even flinch.

But he watched.

Watched the way your brows furrowed, the way your lips pressed together in quiet concentration, the way your hands trembled just slightly when his thumb twitched against your palm.

He inhaled deeply. "You're good at this. You always have been."

You ignored him, reaching for the antiseptic. “This is going to sting.”

Jungkook smirked. “You sure you don’t want it to?”

You pressed the gauze down harder than necessary.

Jungkook inhaled sharply, his good hand gripping the edge of the counter. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

“A little,” you admitted, pressing again just to make a point.

His laughter was quiet, but it was real.

You forced yourself to focus, wrapping a clean bandage over his palm, fingers tracing lightly over his knuckles as you secured it in place. His skin was warm beneath yours, solid, alive. You wondered if he could feel the way your pulse was hammering.

You sucked in a breath, finally, finally releasing him, stepping back like distance could fix what had already unraveled.

"This is reckless." You spoke, not knowing yourself if you meant his hand or him following you to the kitchen. "We need to stop doing this." You finished and looked up to gauge his reaction to your words, only to find that he was already staring.

Too close. Too secure. Too much.

You weren’t sure what you were excepting. Hurt? Regret? Guilt?

Definitely not the recap of what happened in the kitchen. Definitely not his good hand lifting. Again.

It’s imperceptibly, resolute. His fingertips brush your hip first, featherlight, a touch so barely-there that you almost convince yourself you imagined it.

Almost.

Until he grips.

Until he tugs.

And suddenly, you're slamming right against his unmalleable frame,

Your eyes fly up, locking onto his.

Jungkook’s gaze is unreadable, filled with something that makes your stomach clench. His hands plant themselves firmly on either side of you, caging you in.

“You tell me to stop,” he said quietly, “and I will.”

Your fingers tighten around his forearm.

You should.

But you don’t.

Because he shifted, tilting his head slightly, the smallest movement—one that said he’d do it again.

Kiss you.

Undo you.

His gaze flickers down, lingering on your parted lips. "Yet all you do is look at me like you want me to fuck you on this damn counter. And Jesus, angel, if it doesn't make me rock hard."

The crude words leave him like there’s no consequence to him. To you they rise goosebumps all over your body. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that it's a warning sitting heavy on your skin.

It shimmers through your mind, something about distance, about lines, about how you’ve already crossed too many. You could still say it.

You could still put an end to this before it tattered beyond repair.

But then Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightened, and suddenly, the ground wasn’t beneath you anymore.

Your breath caught as he lifted you. Effortlessly, hands firm, unwavering. The air shifted around you, heat rolling off him in waves, and before you could catch your breath, the cool press of marble kissed the backs of your thighs.

You swallowed hard, fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt. He settled between your parted legs, the warmth of his body bleeding into yours.

Your pulse thrummed, a frantic, uneven rhythm against your ribs.

"That," you breathed, trying to sound firm, trying to anchor yourself in reason, "sounds like a bad idea."

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. "It does."

And then he kissed you again.

It wasn’t fair, the way he kissed.

Like he knew exactly how to disentangle you.

Like he knew that every time his mouth met yours, resistance becomes a footnote.

His tounge moved with yours, fingers traced the edge of your knee, palms gliding up the sensitive skin of your thigh before finding its mark at your hip with a confidence that says its his anyways. A soft ache that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. He doesn’t move closer. He doesn’t have to.

The space between you is already non existence.

But his hands need to be closer. Preferably, inside so one of his hands slides higher, disappearing beneath the hem of your dress. Unhurried, exploring, teasing.

Your thighs tensed against his hips, heat coiling in your stomach, something familiar and overwhelming pressing at the edges of your ribs. His bandaged hand then found the small of your back, fingers splaying against your spine as if mapping you, tugging you still until you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours and the outline of his bulge against your thigh.

Your fingers curled into his shoulders, anchoring yourself, gripping onto something solid as his touch grew more confident, more certain when he found the wet spot forming on the lacy white material—so thin, so damn easy to tear—and something primal glinted in his gaze.

His lips dragged along the planes of your chin, the corner of your mouth, before he exhaled against your skin, voice hushed, but steady. "Still want me to stop?"

His answer was you pressing into his hands instead of pulling away, your breath catching when his fingers brushed higher, thumb pressed bolder and stroking slow patterns against your clothed fold, dragging his knuckles along the delicate fabric.

Your head tilted back slightly, your breath uneven, and Jungkook watched you—watched the way your lashes fluttered, the way your fingers dug into his biceps, the way your body responded to him, even without words.

He knew.

And he liked it.

His lips found your throat, his voice low, rough. "You should." A kiss, slow and deep. "You really should." Another, this one firmer, teeth grazing over your pulse.

A shiver rolled down your spine and desperation rolled on.

"Don't stop. Want your fingers." His cock twitched in his pants and he bit harder onto your neck. He thinks he's again gonna make a wreckage in his pants at the realization of you trembling for him.

"Good girl, angel. Already so wet for me." he breathed, and eased down your soaked panties from your thighs. His eyes glinting again when the thin white late is revealed to him. And god, when it slipped down, revealing glistening skin beneath, he exhaled something broken. "Fuck—have you been waiting for this? Is that what it is?" He wantons and bunches the fabric in his hand to tuck it in his pocket. You flush at the implications, at what he just did, at what he might do.

"Have you?" You dodge the question and he grunts, parting your folds with his thumb and forefinger.

"You have no fucking idea." His forehead pressed to yours, jaw clenched. "The idea of having you like this again consumed me. You consume me."

A soft whimper slipped from your throat, and he grunted again at the sound, his fingers pressing more firmly now, tracing, exploring, teasing you apart. "Did that charming mouth used to get you a lot of girls out there?" The question sounds like a taunt but tastes like lemon on your tounge. You don’t know why you ask it—why you let the thought slip past your lips when you could have buried it like all the others. Maybe now, with his hands on you, with the past and present colliding so violently in the space between breaths, the thought worms its way in.

If he had kissed someone the way he kissed you. If his hands had crammed the shape of someone else’s body. If, somewhere across an ocean, he had found something that didn’t taste like longing.

His fingers stilled. A sharp breath. A pause thick enough to drown in.

Then—he laughed. A low, disbelieving sound that sent a shiver curling up your spine. Not amused. Not really. More incredulous than anything, roughened at the edges with something else.

His bandaged hand tightened around your thigh, dragging you closer. "You think I’ve wasted this mouth on anyone else?"

His voice was low, velvet-soft but weighted, pressing into your skin like the heat of an open flame. Your stomach clenched.

"I don’t know." You swallowed, pulse fluttering against your throat. "I never heard anything, but—"

"But what?" His thumb dragged along your folds. “You think I’d let someone else have what’s yours? Thought I’d put my hands on someone else and think of anything but you?" The pads dig into your skin, his grip an demand for honesty because this is all he plans to give you now. The honesty that every time he tried to want something else, it was your voice in his head. Your name on his tongue.

Your lashes fluttered, the words sinks into your bones, pools at the base of your core. It terrifies you how much you like the way it sounds coming from his mouth—low aching, like it had been a curse, like you had ruined him without ever meaning to— how much you like the way him stressing every word with press of his fingers.

“I want things with you,” he said, the words dragging out of him like they’d been kept in a vault. “Not just this. Not just your body—though fuck, I’ll worship it until I’m in the ground.”

His hand stilled again, the stillness worse than movement, because now he was looking at you. Really looking. Voice softer now. Like he was afraid to let it live in the air.

"I want it all." He whispered. "I want every morning with your hair on my pillow. Every night with your hands on me." Your mouth parted, but no sound came out—just breath, shallow and stunned.

His fingers moved again, slow and reverent, his touch suddenly less about taking and more about giving. "Your clothes in my closest." Showing.

Promising.

Your head fell back against the mirror, your breath coming in sharp, uneven pants, every flick of his wrist sending another spark of pleasure shooting through your limbs.

"Jungkook," you gasped, barely able to form his name.

"Your name on every piece of paper that has mine." he kept going, his voice low, yet the way two of his digits slipped inside, slow, stretching, filling, setting a rhythm that had your thighs trembling wasn't exactly something you could keep quiet for. "Your moans in my ear that I'm gonna keep just for myself."

Your cunt clenched around him and head dropped to his shoulder in an attempt to muffle the sound. "Mhm. Fuck." Your body arched into him, chasing the fire that threatened to consume you whole. His pace quickened, his touch growing rougher, more desperate, as if he needed this just as badly as you did, as if he needed to become a devotee of the way you fell apart in his hands.

"Say it." He curled them just right, making a consistent squelching sound that bounced off the walls. "Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me." His mouth was scornful when it spoke but affectionate when it peppered kisses on the crown of your head.

"You know I do." Your voice was wrecked, barely more than a whisper against his skin, hips stuttering beneath his touch.

"Not enough." He growled, voice thinned by impediment, fingers curling again, slow and deep and your grip on him was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

"I—Jungkook—I" You broke off, a cry catching in your throat as he pressed and flicked. A merciless rhythm of knowing.

"Come on. Be my good fucking angel." He murmured against your hair, fingers pushing in and out of your slick hole with practiced ease, working you open, watching every shift of your body, every tiny gasp and shudder.

"I feel it," you breathed. "God, I feel it—I want you."

He too could feel how you seized against his fingers, how your breath started to come in short pants. "More." He husked. "I want you to lose it for me," his voice took a pleading note, his head dunking down, lips finding the curve of your jaw, his teeth scraping lightly before soothing the bite with his tongue. "Fall apart. Come on my fingers knowing what I want with you. Knowing you're it. Let go, baby."

And then he found that spot—the one that drove knuckles deep into your quivering cunt, curling and flicking, shattering you, the one that had your eyes rolling back, your breath catching in a sharp, broken cry as teeth dug unconsciously into his shoulders, hips shifting, chasing his touch, needing more and he felt the urgent need to bury his cock into you the next second.

“Right there, fuck—Jungkook,” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, lashes damp.

“Don’t stop. I’m—god, I’m gonna cum. So close. So fucking close.” Eyes stayed fixed on your face like it was a masterpiece made for him alone. The heat of your slick coated his fingers, the way your body clenched down around him driving a ragged curse from his throat.

Your orgasm hit with brutal force, crashing into you like a wave breaking at high tide, leaving you boneless, trembling, and Jungkook caught you, his arm wrapping securely around your waist, his lips pressing into the side of your neck, as if searing the moment into your skin.

As if he had no intention of letting you go. As if he never had.

"Beautiful girl." He mummered. "So fucking perfect when you come for me." He praised and pulled his two digits drenched with your essence out of your pulsating pussy to slide them into his mouth. Eyes closing when the taste of you settled on his tounge, reacquainting himself what has been taken hold of every inch of his mind. The appreciative hum that starts to leave his mouth gets lodged in somewhere in the middle when he feels your thighs wrapping around him, your front pressing against his cock that throbbed with the need to be lamented inside your salivating warmth.

He cursed under his breath, his control fraying at the edges. "Needy little thing." he growled, half in awe, half in torment. "Still aching for me?"

You blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocence, but your hips shifted again, grinding up into him in a way that had his jaw clenching, his breath turning ragged.

“I can feel how hard you are,” you whispered, voice barely there. “What if I want more?”

"Fuck," he gritted out, "I need to be inside you." He needs and his hands gripped your thighs, clutching you closer with the intention to rub against your bare, soused pussy. You felt the heat of him, the weight of the orgasm he had wrung from you with nothing but his fingers, the sheer presence of him pressing against you, and your pulse fluttered, a mix of nerves and overwhelming want.

His hand that you mended, hooks up your chin. You barely registered his words at first, too dazed, too lost in the lingering ache of pleasure still pulsing deep within you. But then—his voice, low and thick with something rekt, something wanting.

"Think we've got enough time?" He asks, shrugging a glance at his rolex. His hands traced over your thighs, palms spreading against flushed skin to bunch up the silk material of your blood stained church dress, the delectable longness of his erection pressing against you. And though it was phrased like a question, it sounded rather possessive and certain, as if the answer had already been decided.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, torn between reason and the undeniable heat pooling low in your stomach. "We'll have to find out." You whispered, teeth biting onto your lip as you grinded in response, letting you feel him—hard and urgent, straining against the fabric that abstracted you—until it didn’t.

Your fingers moved without permission, trailing down his stomach, feeling the taut muscle beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. Lower still, to the belt that had been teasing you with its presence, the polished metal of the buckle cool beneath your fingertips.

Jungkook inhaled sharply when you undid it, the sound rough. His hands around you clenched, but he didn’t stop you. Didn’t pull away.

Didn’t want to.

You took your time, savoring the way his breath hitched as you worked open the button, the zipper, how his body tensed beneath your touch. And then—when you pressed your palm against him, feeling the full length of his need—his head fell back, his throat bared in a perfect, aching display.

God.

Your breath stilled in your chest.

He was beautiful like this.

Not just in the obvious way—not in the way the world saw him, sharp-suited and composed, the perfect image of a man in control. No, this was something else entirely.

You traced your gaze over him, over the column of his throat, over the way the muscles in his jaw tightened as he swallowed. Over the way he looked like he was waging a war against himself.

“Y/N,” he gritted out, his voice tight, strained, as if he were warning you.

Or begging.

But you only pressed a little firmer, fingers teasing, tracing, thumb swiping over his swollen tip that leaked with pre cum.

With a growl, his hand wrapped around your wrist, halting your movements, dark eyes snapping open to meet yours. "Fuck, baby. I'm not patient enough for this."

And then he was lifting your hips, guiding you against him, his tip poking at your entrance, making you let out a shuddering breath. He leaned in, his lips brushing over your cheek, feather-light, a stark contrast to the way his hands gripped your thighs.

"Let me feel you," he hiss, more plea than demand, his voice thick with restraint. "Let me have you all of you, angel."

And when you nodded—when you let him pull you to the very edge, let him replace his fingers with something hotter, heavier—your hands fisted in his shirt, nails biting into his shoulders as your breath hitched.

Jungkook groaned against your ear as he pushed himself all the way to the hilt, sworeing how he would never get enough of you, his fingers flexing at your waist as he stilled, letting you adjust to the sudden intrusion of his massive length, letting himself revel in the feeling of you wrapped around him like you always would in the sweetest of his dreams, like you did a certain night away. And from that moment he had wondered how had he ever functioned without this? How will he ever function without you if you keep yourself away from him?

Your hands slipped up, cupping his face, tilting him toward you until your lips brushed. “Move,” you whispered, voice barely there.

Slow at first, rolling his hips into yours, his mouth catching every broken sound that left you, his hands never stopping their worship of your body.

And when he felt his willpower leave him, when slow became desperate, when his name spilled from your lips like a prayer—he answered.

He met you in every way you needed.

It was urgent—messy and desperate and filled with everything neither of you could say out loud. Could only afford in hushed whispers and lips tracing sin on skin. Something he'd taken pain from you if it meant he'd get to kept this. Because it was better than nothing, better than those years when he wanted you with a desperation that should’ve dulled with time, with grief, with regret.

But it hadn’t.

It had only grown sharper.

It was too much. It was not enough.

The way he gasped softly as he pushed himself inside you—inch by inch, stretching you around him, your hands fisting his shirt like you couldn’t decide whether to pull him closer or push him away.

He pressed you further onto the counter, knocking over something ceramic that shattered on the tile, neither of you caring. The pace of his cock driving inside you turned desperate, driven by something raw, something that tasted too much like loss but felt too much like home.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, closer, closer. "Oh yeah! Fuck, just there!" You panted, hips snapping against his, encouraging him further as he outright pounded into you.

"You’re—fuck—so tight,” he rasped. “So warm. I knew it. You were made for me.” He highlighted with a squeeze to your boob, rolling your pebbled nipple between his digits. Your walls fluttered around him, still so tight, still taking all of him like you had been made to, eyes fluttering close when he gave it a pinch.

And fuck—he wanted to see that again.

“Eyes, Y/N.” he murmured, his voice rough, strained.

Your lashes lifted, glassy and unfocused, your lips parting around a soft gasp as he rolled his hips again, hitting deeper this time.

He smiled, dipping his head, lips brushing over your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “That’s it, baby. Let me see you.”

You swallowed hard, fingers pulling into his hair. “Jungkook I can't—Too much!”

His grip on your waist tightened, his pace faltering slightly. “Shhh. I've got you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You don’t have to do anything. Just take me.” He cooed, his head falling to the crook of your neck. His teeth grazed over your pulse, tongue following, lips dragging along heated skin.

The sensation sent a shiver rolling down your spine, sharp and electric.

Your back arched, pressing further into him, your thighs tightening around his waist. You could feel yourself spiraling, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every roll of his hips, every deep, mind blowing thrust.

You felt full.

Overwhelmed.

Like you were going to break apart any moment.

Jungkook must have felt it—the way your nails dug into his skin, the way your breath stuttered against his ear—because his grip shifted, one hand slipping between you, fingers pressing against your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow, lazy circles.

Your body jolted at the added sensation, a sharp cry tumbling from your lips that he caught in his own.

And he smirked.

“My angel's so close, hmm?" he murmured against your mouth.

Your breath hitched, a whimper escaping before you could stop it. "Yeah—shit—yeah. Wanna come again. Want come so bad, Jungkook."

Jungkook groaned, his cheeks hollowing, brows furrowing like he was barely holding himself together. “Fuck, you sound so pretty when you do that.”

You were right there.

Jungkook felt it.

And he wasn’t about to let you go without making you fall apart for him.

His thumb rubbed faster, tighter circles, his thrusts rougher, deeper, his lips brushing over your ear, his voice low, wicked.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he promised, panting. “Right here. Around me. Look at me when you do.”

The coil snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body tightening, then releasing all at once. Your vision blurred, your entire body trembling, your nails raking over Jungkook’s back as you moaned his name, breathless and undone. "Shit, that's right." He heaved.

His thrusts started to get sloppier, trying to constraint the sound of his hips slapping against yours in the tiled bathroom only while he pursued his own release. More urgent—less about control and more about instinct. He could only last so long with your pussy milking him for all he's worth.

"Fuck—baby," he rasped, voice wrecked, forehead pressed hard against yours, sweat-slicked and trembling. "I’m close… fuck, I’m gonna come. Gonna fill you up."

You found yourself nodding mindlessly, relating with the wretched appetite in his voice to be warmed up to within.

“Such a needy girl,” he murmured, voice rough as gravel. “So desperate to be filled, huh? You want all of it, angel?” His hand moved from your waist to your jaw, thumb swiping your lip like he was trying to soothe something uncontainable.

Jungkook's thrusts slowed into something deeper, deliberate, chasing every inch of you as he buried himself to the hilt and groaned, full-bodied and guttural, like it had been torn straight from his chest. His release hit him hard, cock twitching deep inside you, thick warmth spilling in hot waves as his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise like he was trying to memorize you, like he hadn’t spent the better part of his life trying to memorize you in ways he had never deserved.

He didn’t stop—just kept grinding into you, riding it out, chasing the feeling of being so deep inside you that the world didn’t matter. His jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut as he emptied every last drop, as if he could carve his name into you from the inside.

Like the years had never carved a distance between you, like nothing—no one—had ever come between this pull, this thing that always seemed to exist between you and him.

And yet, reality was creeping back in.

You could hear it—the soft murmur of voices beyond the door, the distant clatter of dishes, the low hum of conversation that you were supposed to be a part of.

The world you were supposed to return to.

You exhaled shakily, body still trembling in the aftermath, shifting against the counter, trying to gather yourself, trying to think. Your fingers curled weakly into his shoulder, and you felt it—his chest rising and falling against you, his breath warm against your temple, the quiet steadiness of him as he held you there, as if neither of you were quite ready to move just yet.The sweat cooling on his skin glistened where the low light caught it, and his nose nudged softly into your hairline, inhaling you like he wasn’t ready to let go yet.

"Still with me, angel?"

You hummed a airy "barely" and he kissed one, featherlight and sweet, dragging his mouth lazily toward your jaw. He was taking his time. He didn’t seem to care that your clothes were halfway off or that you were still tangled around him.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in the quiet. You sighed, resting your head back on his shoulder, content and warm and glowing all over. The mirror behind you was fogged with breath, the air still thick with the scent of heat and sweat and him.

“We should go back now," you whispered and when you moved to slip away, his hands curled against your thighs, halting you in place. Not tight, not forceful—just there, just asking.

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin where he adjusted the hem of your dress after wiping the remnants of him with a tissue, doe eyes giving away the look a kicked puppy would have. “Not yet. Give me a minute."

Not yet.

Not don’t go. Not stay.

Just not yet.

And maybe that was why you didn’t move.

Maybe that was why you let yourself linger for just a second longer, your fingers smoothing over the collar of his shirt, tracing a wrinkle that your own grip had left behind. A pointless action, an excuse to touch, to feel the warmth of him for just another moment before you had to pretend like none of this happened. "Fine. I mean I wouldn't want to walk back smelling like sex and you."

Jungkook’s gaze darkened. His hands slid up, brushing over the curve of your cheekbone, his touch slow and sharp like satisfaction curling under his tongue.

“That right?” he murmured. “You smell like me?”

The question caught you off guard.

Too late. He was already drunk on it. He ducked down, nosing along your throat, breathing in deep with a groan like the idea physically did something to him. “Fuck. You do. You smell like me, angel."

You blinked, your fingers stilling against his shirt, your breath hitching in your throat.

Something darker lit his eyes—satisfaction painted in shadow. “Good.”

Your breath caught. “It’s good that I reek of you?” And definitely not the hottest scandal the neighborhood will get their hands on. Right.

He dipped his head, nose brushing your neck, lips skimming your pulse. “You should smell like me,” he whispered. “You should walk out there with your thighs dripping and my scent all over you. Glowing because you took every inch of me." he murmured, voice low and reverent. "Let them wonder."

You whimpered, helpless under the press of his mouth, the press of his words.

“I—” you started, but your thoughts tangled as he sucked gently at your neck, just above where your collar would hide it.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Still want to go back?”

"Yes."

Jungkook studied you for a second longer, his eyes searching, tracing every inch of your expression, as if he was looking for something, as if he was still waiting for you to change your mind.

But you didn’t.

So he only exhaled, pressing his lips to your head. And then, finally, finally, he let you go.

You breathed out, fingers curling at the edge of the counter before you shifted again, moving to slide down—to plant your feet back on the ground, to leave but not before letting yours eyes drift to him for a second where he tucks himself in his slacks.

“Y/N.”

His voice was softer this time, but it stopped you all the same.

You barely had time to react before his fingers found your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

Your breath stilled.

Jungkook’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip, slow, lingering. And then, so softly, so quietly he asked—“when you walk out from here will you start avoiding me to the next Sunday again?"

Your brows scrunched up and you attempted to look away.

"Please don't, angel." He pressed his lips to where the crease formed for a brief moment.

And god help you, you wanted to listen.

The evening (6:25, you noted from your wrist watch) was quiet, the sky yawning open into a stretch of velvet dark, the stars distant pinpricks of light like secrets kept at a distance. You had always known the halls of the university to be full—full of voices, of conversations that layered over each other, of common stories and repeated gestures. Even today, it had been the same.

The evening air carried the last remnants of warmth, a hesitant shift between winter and spring that clung to the pavement, to the air, to you, you could feel reprieve take hold instead of a sort of suffocation.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, your breath curling in the cool air. The once-busy campus had emptied out, leaving only a handful of cars scattered beneath the flickering glow of overhead lights.Your heels clicked against the pavement, hurried, purposeful, as you wove between the cars, searching.

Hoseok was ahead, his figure easy to spot—relaxed posture, a casual sway in his step, his tan coat catching the dim light. It wasn’t hard to catch up with him. He moved like someone who never rushed, even when he should. But you still called his name, breathless from the rush.

“Professor Jung—Hoseok, wait up.”

His tailored blazer was unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to reveal lean forearms, his usual crisp attire softened by the slight ruffle of his hair, undoubtedly from running a frustrated hand through it after a long day. His dark eyes lifted at the sound of your approaching footsteps, and when recognition flickered across his face, his lips curled into an smile.

"Ah," he mused, had just reached his car, one hand already on the door handle when he turned at the sound of your voice. His lips curved into an easy smile as he leaned against the frame. "To what do I owe the honor of you sprinting across the lot?"

You huffed, coming to a stop beside him, shifting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “I think some of my test papers got mixed up with yours. I noticed a few of my poetry essays were missing, and I have a hunch they ended up with your psychology midterms.”

Hoseok made a thoughtful noise, rubbing his chin. “That… would explain why I was grading a sonnet on existential dread instead of cognitive behavioral theories.”

You sighed. “I knew it. I must have switched the stacks when I was in a rush earlier, I'm sorry."

“Don’t worry about it," he assured you, resuming unlocking his car. "I’ll check when I get home. Worst case, I’ll bring them to you tomorrow.”

You nodded, relief sagging through your shoulders. "Thanks, Professor Jung. You're a life saver. I planned to finish grading them tomorrow."

Hoseok made a mock grimace. “You work too hard.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Says the guy who spent last night preparing an extra credit seminar.”

“That was different. That was for the kids who actually care about my class,” he countered, before nodding toward the nearly empty lot. “You’re headed home? Want a ride?”

It was harmless. A casual offer from a friend, from someone who had sat across from you in faculty meetings, who had lent you his pen more times than you could count, who had laughed with you over shared frustrations about students turning in assignments late. There was no reason to hesitate.

It had been a long day, longer than you realized. You would actually prefer it rather than waiting for the bus that always seems to be running late by minutes.

Yet the answer that came was.

"She's already got a ride." The voice wasn't yours. It had been the one you had come to realize that avoiding was futile, that whatever admissions it breathed into your ear ran deeper that you would have assumed, affected you more than you'd liked and you have started to come terms with it. The words weren’t sharp either, weren’t cruel, but they cut through the quiet with the ease of something unquestionable.

Hoseok’s brows lifted slightly as both of you turned toward the voice, towards the faint crunch of footsteps against pavement.

The raven haired man who had once been standing a few feets away, watching, was now stepping forward, minimizing the distance until he was right beside you, hands tucked into the pocket of his coat that was as dark as the night, the sharp cut of his jaw illuminated by the glow of the streetlights. His eyes didn't lock with yours as they usually would, instead they zeroed In on the psychology professor who was unaware of the sudden tension buzzing through the air.

What the hell?

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had someone waiting.”

You swallowed, grounding yourself. “Uh—yeah.” You cleared your throat. “Hoseok, this is Jungkook. My—" You cringed at how visibly you struggle to come up with words when the ardour of the man beside you pressed into your side. God, he was always so warm.

When Hoseok, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow you snapped out of it and continued. "Minho's brother."

Hoseok glanced between the two of you, and his mouths part in understanding. Dots connect. His eyes glance at you with a look that says 'That Jungkook?' And you blink, 'That Jungkook.' All that you've ever told him about Jungkook making it clearer.

"Ohhh." He grins and extends a hand without hesitation, always one for politeness. “Well, nice to finally meet you, Jungkook. I'm Jung Hoseok. I first met Y/N at a masters program. Been friends since then."

Jungkook’s gaze flickered to the offered hand before he shook it, firm and brief. Just a little tighter than necessary, enough to make Hoseok chuckle under his breath.

“Oof. Strong hands,” he said, raising an eyebrow but otherwise unfazed.

"Nice to meet you." There was nothing outright hostile in Jungkook’s voice. Nothing overly tense but you still felt like you were caught between two frequencies—one warm and familiar, the other crackling with something dangerously unspoken.

Hoseok seemed to pick up on it. He glanced between the two of you again, the corners of his mouth tilting into something unreadable before he shifted his weight.

“Well, I won’t keep you if you're settled then,” he said easily, flashing you a small smile. “See you Tomorrow?”

You nodded, grateful for the out. “Yeah,

see you.”

Hoseok gave Jungkook a small nod before slipping into his car, headlights flashing on as he pulled out of the lot.

You exhaled slowly, shifting on your feet, resisting the urge to lean into him. No, you were supposed to question him first.“What was that? And what are you doing here?”

“What was what?” He hummed, his mouth no longer set in that stern shape, his hand slipping from his coat pocket to brush a stray strand of your braid that barely seemed to hold its own away.

You narrowed your eyes, looking around instinctively before back at him. “You know what.”

Jungkook took a slow step forward, not even bothering that you were out in public, the space between you shrinking, charged. His head tilted slightly, voice deceptively light, tounge pushing against his cheek; That little tell of his, a habit you learned and found more attractive that it should have been, a habit he did when he was displeased with something. Maybe even pissed. Or both. "Didn’t know you were that close with Hozook, angel."

You blinked, thrown by the sudden turn in conversation. “It’s Hoseok.” You scoffed. “We work together, Jungkook. I’ve known him for years."

His lips pressed together, as if that information did absolutely nothing to quell whatever had flickered across his face moments ago.

Then—he opened his mouth, about to say something else, when you cut in, tone flat, unamused, every word sharpened.

“You’d know that if you hadn’t ghosted me for years.”

Whatever he was about to say dissolved right there on his tongue. His jaw twitched once. His brows dipped slightly, something unreadable passing through his gaze—but he said nothing. Good.

After a beat, he exhaled, shaking his head before motioning toward his car when he noticed the thin layers of your clothing, a dress shirt paired with a half sleeved sweater. “Come on.”

You frowned, your feet hesitating. You should be walking the other way. Should be dealing with public transport, going through the motions of an evening that should have belonged to you alone. He wasn’t obliged to be a part of this. “You didn’t have to come pick me up.” you say, smoothing down the strap of your bag.

He shrugs and his hand reaches you, or most specifically your bag, fingers curling around the strap and taking in his fist. “I was in the area.”

You snort, unimpressed. “Right.”

Still, you don't protest when he opens the door for you for reasons you don't want to analyze. And when you slide into the passenger seat, you don't mind how natural it's starting to feel.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh. The city hums past you in streaks of gold and red, the kind of light that makes you feel like you’re inside a dream you once had and forgot the ending to. The faint murmur of the radio filling the space between you.

You’re both quiet for a while.

Then—“How was work?” he asks, without looking. His tone is mild, almost too careful, as if the question isn’t just about your day but about the right to ask.

It’s a simple question, casual, but the way he says it slows your thoughts. Like he’s trying, like he wants to know you again.

You shrug, shifting in your seat. “Fine. Uneventful. Spent half the day grading, the other half convincing students that deadlines actually mean something.”

He hums in amusement. “They don’t.”

You glare at him. “They do when I say they do.”

“Terrifying,” he muses, the corner of his mouth twitching.

You roll your eyes but it does little to conceal your own smile. “What about you?” It feels like you owe him the same curiosity.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, a slow, measured thing. “Had a meeting. Went as expected. Some numbers that needed fixing. Boring stuff.” You had always understood your husband's disdain for a life that was a repeat of listening to some guy talk too much, lose his temper when his ego would be on the line. But you had never known why Jungkook would prefer this or even why he wouldn't.

You look at him then, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the city lights flicker across his skin in intervals—light, dark, light, dark—like the world couldn’t quite decide how to hold him. You weren’t sure you could either. Maybe you never asked enough questions, never studied every crease on his face liked you'd with minho and inspect it to hell.

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” He steals a glance at you, quick, assessing. “Less exhausting now, though.”

But now that you do, now that you want to, you understand what he means.

It’s easy, this. Talking like this. Falling into a rhythm you hadn’t realized you still knew, one that had been untouched for years but still existed, waiting beneath the veneer. The intimacy of nothing in particular.

Jungkook has to force himself to focus on the road, fingers flexing again as he shifts gears.

If you scrutinize deeper, you'd also find that this—this slow glide through streets neither of you had named, the soft murmur of the radio, your shoulder nearly brushing his in the dark. This is what he’s always wanted. Not the secrecy. Not the stolen minutes behind doors that you had to double check if they are locked.

But this.

A ride home after a long day. A quiet conversation. The sound of your addictingly sweet voice in his car, in his space, in his life in a way that feels so woefully unpolished that it almost hurts.

“You’re not driving to my place.” Your voice pulls him back, your gaze sharp now, watching as the streets grow less familiar.

He doesn’t even pretend to be surprised at your realization.

“No.”

Your brow furrows. "Can you for once just drive me to my apartment without taking me to some place I don't want to go?"

"No."

That alone makes your fingers twitch where they rest in your lap.

You had spent so much time trying to untangle your own thoughts about him, about whatever this was turning into. Picking at it. Trying to name it. But Jungkook had been the picture of certainty. Unflinching. Unbothered. Like none of it had touched him the way it had touched you. Like he had already made peace with something you were still trying to name.Like he’d walked back into your life not to ask if he could stay—but to decide that he would.

Tonight, he seems different.

Its in the way his jaw tightens every time you shift in your seat, like he’s bracing himself. The way his tongue swipes over his bottom lip before he speaks, only to change his mind and stay silent. The way his gaze flickers toward you like he’s waiting for something.

You don’t know what to do with that.

Jungkook and hesitation have never belonged in the same sentence. At least, not since he came back.

You try again. “Where are we going, Jungkook?”

His mouth pressed into something unsure. Jungkook, unsure. It wasn’t something you were used to seeing now. It wasn’t something he looked when he pressed you against the kitchen counter, hadn’t sounded like this when he whispered his most cordial of dreams into the corner of your neck.

When he finally speaks, his voice is even, controlled. “Somewhere I want you to see.”

“That’s vague.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a surprise.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach pull tight.

Because you’ve seen Jungkook confident. You’ve seen him arrogant, smug, amused. You’ve seen him angry, cold, unreadable. But nervous? No. Not since he came back from a different life, not since he became the man that no longer fit into the spaces you had once saved for him.

And yet, right now, here he is. Inside, the space, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh, fingers drumming idly like a song he hadn’t decided to play yet. It was a small thing, a habit from when he was younger—back when he used to tap against the wooden desks in class, always restless, always itching to move.

Some things hadn’t changed.

Some things had.

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your coat. “You’re being weird.”

"I’ve always been weird, angel."

"No you haven't." There's something defensive in the way you phrase these words. "Don't change the subject."

This time, he smiled—brief but real. It softened something in his face, something he so rarely let slip anymore.

“You’ll like it,” he murmured after a beat, voice softer now, like he was almost convincing himself of the same thing. “I think.”

Just turned down a street you didn’t recognize, the road quieter here, the buildings spaced apart, until he finally pulled up in front of a modest, modern structure with floor-to-ceiling windows and a single light illuminating the entrance.The kind of place you wouldn’t look at twice if you didn’t know what you were searching for.

You couldn't help but ask again. "Where are we? What is this?"

Jungkook cut the engine, but he didn’t move right away. His fingers tapped against the wheel once, twice, before he finally exhaled and turned to you.

"I bought this place," he said simply.

You blinked up at the building again. "What?"

His lips pressed together, eyes flickering away before he cleared his throat. "Just—come inside."

You followed him out, your steps slow as you took in the building, the way the large glass panes mirrored the stars. The sky leaned against the windows like it, too, wanted to press closer, to see inside. There was a sign by the entrance—simple, elegant script, almost shy in how little it asked to be noticed. You don’t recognize it, and that alone makes you reconsider.

Jungkook said nothing as he unlocked the door, the quiet snick of the key turning loud in the stillness. He held it open for you like always, but this time his eyes didn’t meet yours.

You stepped inside and the push of the door revealed —A gallery.

Not just any gallery.

Paintings. Everywhere.

Paintings stretched across every wall, soft pools of golden light falling over their frames. Each piece breathed color—bold, bruised, aching with emotion. Blue melted into umber, ochre kissed the edge of crimson. Every brushstroke pulled something raw from your chest.

You moved forward, like your body remembered the path before your mind could catch up. Your fingers hovered in the air, trembling as they traced the lines without touching them, as if the act of reaching alone might wear you.

All of it look like what had been painfully dear to you.

Your stomach twisted.

Because you knew this work.

You knew it. Not just the style, not just the way the colors lived together in layered silence—but the soul of it. The way it looked back at you. The way it knew you.

You knew the hand that had created it. Been the first and last one to hold them close to you.

You reached for the closest canvas, your vision blurring at the name signed at the corner.

Jeon Minho.

The name cleaved through you like a wave, cruel and kind in equal measure. Your heart twisted. Your fingers hovered over a piece, afraid to touch, afraid it might slip through your hands if you weren’t careful. It was his—all of it, the way he saw the world, the way he translated it onto canvas.

It was like standing inside his head again, like hearing him laugh through color, like stepping back into a time where his presence still existed beyond memory.

Your breath shook.

“This…” Your voice wavered. “This is his.”

He was watching you instead, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense like he was waiting for you to feel it before he explained it.

And you did.

God, you did.

In the farthest corner of the room.

Your feet carried you again, before your mind could catch up, before you could brace for the impact of what you were about to see.

The world blurred at the edges.

The painting was soft, muted in color, like it had been caught in the golden hour of a fading summer. Three figures sat at the edge of a dock, backs turned, feet dipping into a painted lake that rippled with every brushstroke.

Two boys who's curves of smiles you would know even from behind.

One girl who knew.

It was them.

It was you.

Your throat tightened painfully, a memory rising unbidden, curling at the edges of the canvas, spilling into the quiet of the gallery until it was no longer just a painting—It was then.

You were twelve the summer Minho decided that the best way to survive the heat was to sit at the edge of the lake until the sun stopped trying to kill him.

Jungkook had been the first to follow, feet kicking idly at the water, arms propped behind him as he leaned back, his oversized t-shirt damp from an earlier splash war that he had definitely lost.

You had been the last to sit down, cross-legged between them, tossing small pebbles into the lake just to watch the ripples expand.

It had been quiet, warm, easy. The afternoon smelled of earth and sun, of laughter spilling into the open air.

“Stay still, Minho!” you giggled, reaching over to press another blade of grass into his already messy hair.

“Why?” he huffed, cracking one eye open. “You’re ruining my masterpiece.”

“You’re ruining my masterpiece,” you shot back, grinning as you tucked another strand behind his ear. A few away, Jungkook sat cross-legged, watching the two of you with quiet fascination. He was younger then, still round-cheeked, his dark eyes wide and serious as he curled his fingers in the grass.

“Are you gonna put grass in my hair too?” he finally asked, tilting his head.

You paused, considering, then reached over and plucked a small daisy from the ground.

“Not grass,” you said, leaning closer. “But hold still.”

He did.

Even then, Jungkook had been good at that—at waiting, at being patient in a way that seemed too big for his age.

Carefully, you tucked the daisy behind his ear.

“There,” you murmured, sitting back.

Minho snorted, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Now he looks really ridiculous.”

But Jungkook only blinked, reaching up to touch the flower gently, like it was something delicate, something that had been given to him and him alone.

He didn’t take it out.

It stayed there like the three of you—trapped in summer light, forever twelve, forever laughing, forever somewhere time could not reach.

A quiet exhale broke the silence behind you. But the deep ache stayed spread through your chest, slow and unforgiving.

"He never showed me this," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "He painted it the year before he…" Jungkook hesitated, the words catching. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze tracing the familiar lines of Minho’s signature. "Before he passed."

Your chest constricted. The truth never stopped feeling like a knife.

From the first time since you stepped inside, you finally turned to Jungkook then, eyes searching, waiting for him to tell you why.

Why he had done this.

Why had he crushed that one devastating voice in your head that would make it's appearance timely—you are forgetting him. You are forgetting the exact way his laughter curled at the end. The domesticity of how his step fell beside yours. Those were slipping with every sunrise you surived without him. Dissolving like fog under the sun. You are forgetting your min min.

And one night, you'd wake up desperate, breathless, trying to recall the way he said your name but you wouldn't. And the guilt—God, the guilt—would sit on your chest.

Until now that Jungkook had gathered every fragment of Minho’s soul and brought it back to life. Not as a ghost. But as something immortal. As something known. Someone someone will always know. A hundred things rise to the surface. None of them make it past your lips.

Jungkook exhaled softly, running a hand through his hair before shoving it back into his coat pocket. His shoulders were drawn tight, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke. "I started looking for them a while ago. A month before I came back, maybe longer. They were scattered—some in old studios, some with collectors. A few were in storage, collecting dust. I tracked them down, bought back what I could."

He hesitated before continuing. "Hyung's anniversary is next month." The words felt heavy, like they were scraping raw against the throat of a boy who had never quite come to terms with losing the only man he's ever looked up to. "And I—" A pause, like he was choosing his next words carefully. "We—never really did anything, did we?"

You blinked hard, trying to push back the sting behind your eyes.

"No." Your voice was barely there.

A muscle in Jungkook’s jaw ticked. "I didn’t want this year to be like that. I wanted to do something. Do you like..this, angel? We could open this to the public too if you want. Show mom and dad."

Something rises within you, vast and unnameable—less a feeling, more a tide. It isn’t just the gallery. It isn’t just Minho.

It’s the echo of affinity stitched into every frame. The invisible thread that leads back to Jungkook.

It’s the fact that Jungkook did this. That he spent God knows how long making this happen, gathering Minho’s work, making sure his art wouldn’t just sit in forgotten portfolios, lost in the quiet corners of time.He unearthed what time tried to bury. Preserved what you feared was lost.

And the immensity of it—the quiet significance of what he’s saying, of what he’s not saying—hits you harder than you were prepared for.

The gallery holds its breath. Your pulse does not.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for his hand like you would in the dreamiest of dreams.

Jungkook stills.

His fingers are warm beneath yours, rough at the knuckles, tense. But he doesn’t pull away. Not from you. Never from you.

“Thank you,” you whisper. It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all you have. Like gratitude too big for language. Like grief softened into approbation. “This is—” Your throat closes, a breath hitching past your lips, eyes blinking away tears that had nothing to do with sorrow and everything to do with love."This is beautiful. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Jungkook doesn’t speak, but something shifts in his face, something almost imperceptible. In a way that made him want to take this moment where you're looking at him like he had hung the stars back in the sky and bury it deep inside his ribs, somewhere no one could ever touch it.

And when he does speak, his hands intertwine with yours, eyes holding yours like gravity. "You're beautiful."

Your lips parted, caught off-guard.

A muscle of his cheek clenches. “I meant—your face is all red. It’s distracting.”

You smiled, watery and gentle, and he swore if he if he had even a silver of the talent his brother carried in the cradle of his hands, he would’ve painted you too.

With your face flushed from crying and the faint glimmer of laughter still clinging to your lashes. With your fingers looped between his like you didn’t even realize you were holding on.

He would’ve painted you in soft oils and pale light, your presence the only subject, the only truth. And maybe he’d leave a smear of color just beneath your eye where your tears had dried, like a signature only he could understand. Not even someone who could’ve looked at it years from now would have understood.

But Jungkook couldn’t paint.

Couldn’t even draw a straight line without it wobbling under pressure. He had no brushstroke to offer you, no canvas that could carry the weight of this feeling blooming in his chest like it had always belonged there.

So he squeezed your hand instead, pulled you into him and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, repeating how you're so beautiful, how he wants to spend the rest of his life telling you so, how he will lay the world on your feet if you only just smile like that for him.

What he doesn't say is that he came back for this. He stayed for you. He'll always stay.

And how still, in the soft lull that followed, his mind—traitor that it was—pulled him somewhere else.

Back to the night he first listened to Minho’s voicemail.

He hadn’t planned to.

It had sat in his inbox for two weeks after Minho passed, unopened. Just a little notification bubble, small and silent, like it knew it wasn’t ready to be heard.

But that night, something in Jungkook had split.

Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the way the world kept turning like nothing had happened. Maybe it was just loneliness.

He’d climbed up to the roof of some rented building in Daegu, drunk off something cheap, the stars sharp above him, the world far below.

And he played it.

"Jungkook-ah." Minho’s voice cracked a little. Old, soft, raspy. Too gentle for someone whose lungs had been fighting him for years.Too familiar, too. The kind that had once read bedtime stories and yelled over bicycle crashes.

“I figured you’d be too pissed to pick up. Can’t blame you.” A soft chuckle, winded.

"I know it’s been a while. Years, actually." He waited, if considering whether it's worth a try or not before resuming. "Too long, huh?"

"I saw your name the other day. Don't even remember where. But it made me stop. Not that I got too much going on for me." Another shaky chuckle followed. "I don’t know what kind of life you’re living now. Maybe something busy. Maybe something brilliant. But if you’re hearing this… I want you to know I was proud. I am proud. Even when I was angry. Especially then, maybe. Even when I didn’t understand you. I watched you become your own person, and it scared the hell out of me. I didn’t wanted to see you turn into our father."

His voice wavered, raw and fraying.

"But you didn’t become him. You didn’t. And I wish I’d told you that sooner."

“Because you're my little brother. You always will be and I'm sorry I forgot that for a moment and I..I don’t know how much longer I’ve got so I had to tell you this." He paused, and Jungkook could almost hear the way Minho looked up at the ceiling when he was thinking. Like there was something celestial about regrets once they’d been said out loud.

"They don’t say it, but I can tell. I can see it in the beautiful brown of my wife's eyes."

Jungkook remembered pressing his palm against his chest like it could stop the ache. It couldn’t.

"Though it has dulled a shade ever since the coughing starting hurting worse. I suppose, I should be sorry for that too, but I don't want to die drowning in sorrys. I don't want to die regretting. Even if it kills me that I'll never hear your name in the news again, that I will never see her in morning light and think that heaven’s not far off."

He cleared his throat, like it hurt to speak. Maybe it did.

"I want to be content with all that I've had. With all that I've become. I want to be hopeful that the world will be kinder to her. To you. That you'd not spend your whole life outrunning ghosts."

Minho’s voice lowered, like it was just the two of them now. Like it had always been.

"I hope it’s not too late." I hope I'm not too late. "I hope—when the dust settles—you’ve still got something to hold onto. Someone. And I really hope she forgives you."

Silence stretched, one last time for minho, perhaps. For his little brother, it was the sound of his own breaking. He tried to hold his breath. Tried to stay still. But the pain didn't stay quiet. It raked up his throat, rude and coarse, until the first sob slipped out, ruptured and helpless. His hand, the one holding the phone, trembled violently. The other curled into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white, nails digging into his palm like that might stop the shaking.

It didn’t.

“I’ll be somewhere soft. Don’t rush. Just… be good. Remember your hyung. I love you, Jungkook-ah."

Static.

He pressed the phone harder to his ear, like if he clung to it tightly enough, Minho might speak again. That maybe—somehow—he could rewind, could stop it, could change everything.

Only static.

"The centre of every poem is this: I have loved you. I have had to deal with that." — Salma Deera, Letters from Medea (2015).

538 notes · View notes

zuhaism · 3 months ago

Text

⊹ ｡˚ 𓂃 ♡ PUPPY LOVE ?!

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pairing : sophialaforteza x brothersbff!reader

synopsis : sophia laforteza spent years convincing herself that whatever she felt for you was just a childhood crush. something she buried the day you left. but then you came back, slipping into her life like you never left at all.

a/n : i wrote more than this lol. this is like the intro ig they in for a ride😛😛. and i js realised i named the guy alex cs i was reading mammamia by @/cinnamanz shout out to bro for making that masterpeice and im sowy 😔. btw making a dani christmas fic idc if its not chrisms im making it vro 💔

when sophia was nine, she was an absolute menace. not in a cool, rebellious way. more like the annoying little sister who wouldn't take a hint. she knew it. her brother knew it. his friends definitely knew it.

but not to you.

during one instance in summer and you all spent your days biking around the neighborhood, playing ding-dong ditch like a bunch of reckless kids with nothing better to do, she insisted on joining in.

her brother had scoffed, “sophie, you suck at this game. you’ll get caught in two seconds.”

she had pouted, “no i won’t.”

the others laughed,”no just stay on your bike.” one of them said. but you just grinned and shrugged, “let her try.” you dismissed them and there’s audible groaning from the group of boys.

and just like that, she had your approval. that was all she needed. she beamed at you. she knew the basic rules of ding dong ditch. ring the doorbell, pedal like hell, don’t get caught. easy. but when it was her turn, nothing went easy at all.

her heart pounded as she sprinted up the porch, her small fingers trembling on the doorbell. the chime echoed in her ears, and as soon as she hit it, she spun on her heel, ready to run. but her foot caught on the edge of the step and in an instant, she was falling.

the pavement met her with a rough scrape, and her knees burned from the impact. a sharp sting shot through her, but the rising panic in her chest drowned out every other sensation.

the porch light flicked on.

her stomach dropped.

she scrambled to her feet, but she was too slow. her brother and his friends had already melted into the shadows, their bikes disappearing into the distance. and there she was, left alone, frozen on the pavement with a bloody knee as the front door creaked open.

she was so dead.

but then, out of the dim light, you appeared.

she barely had time to register before you stepped in front of her, leaning casually against the porch railing like it was no big deal. your expression was calm, as if she didn’t just screw up infront of you.

“sorry, sir,” you said smoothly as the old man peered at you from inside. “wrong house. thought this was my friend’s place.”

sophia’s eyes widened. the man grumbled something about “kids these days” before retreating inside, closing the door behind him with a final thud. the moment the door clicked shut, you reached out and grabbed her wrist, gently yanking her up onto her bike.

“let’s go, sophie.”

she didn’t resist, she simply followed, her legs pumping furiously even as the pain in her scraped knees nagged at her. her heart wasn’t just racing from fear. it was racing because you had come back for her. you turned back and didn’t leave her there. Helpless.

sophia was raging with disappointment and also something else as she pedaled the bike. Her gaze landing on your back pedalling down the neighborhood. when you finally regrouped with the others, her brother was already laughing.

“sophie can’t even ditch properly” “you didn’t even try” “sophie just stay on your bike quietly next time”

sophia’s face flushed, and she hugged her arms to herself as embarrassment and shame mingled into a burning heat along her neck. she wished she could just vanish. then you sighed, cutting through the teasing.

“oh, come on,” you said, your voice gentle yet firm. “she tried her best. cut her some slack. she actually has a conscience. not all of us enjoy terrorizing innocent neighbors.”

sophia blinked, her eyes darting from you to the sneering faces around her. the others groaned and rolled their eyes, but in that moment, she couldn’t care less. all she felt was the overwhelming throb of her heart and a strange, warm flutter deep inside her chest.

the ride back to her house felt different. as you pedaled side by side, she kept sneaking glances at you watching how your hair caught the light in the wind, the slight parting of your lips as you focused on the road. you looked so effortlessly cool, so completely unbothered by everything.

by the time you reached her driveway, the sting in her knees had become a dull ache that reminded her of every fall she’d ever taken. she hopped off her bike and winced, trying to mask the pain.

“hey,” you said, noticing immediately as you slowed down, everyone already left while you stayed behind to ask. “you okay?”

she forced a smile, shrugging off the concern. “yeah, i’m fine.”

but you knew better. you knelt down in front of her, tilting your head as you inspected the scrape on her knee. a messy ribbon of dirt and dried blood tracing along her skin.

“that’s not fine,” you murmured.

before she could protest, you rushed inside dampening a paper towel. when you got back out sophia was sitting on the stairs. “this might sting a bit,” you warned as you knelt in front of her. she braced herself as you gently dabbed at the wound. a sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips, and you couldn’t help but smirk softly.

“baby,” you teased, though there was genuine care in your tone.

her face flushed deeper, and she mumbled, “i’m not.”

“whatever you say,” you replied with a light chuckle, fishing out a band aid out your pocket then pressing the band-aid over the scrape and smoothing it down with careful, deliberate strokes. “there. good as new.”

she stared at her knee, then at you, her wide eyes searching your face.

“what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

she shook her head quickly, turning away as if to hide her vulnerability. “nothing.”but it wasn’t nothing. in that tender moment, as she tried to mask her pain and embarrassment, she felt something shift inside her, an undeniable spark that made her heart beat faster. nine-year-old sophia laforteza was completely, hopelessly in love, even if she didn’t fully understand it yet.

sophia still remembers the day you left. it had been a summer afternoon, thick with the smell of cut grass and the distant hum of cicadas. you stood on her driveway, kicking at a stray rock while her brother complained about you moving away, arms crossed like his sulking could somehow convince you to stay.

but sophia? she just stood there, gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turned white. she wanted to say something. anything. but all she could do was stare at the ground and swallow around the lump in her throat.

you had crouched down in front of her, tapping a knuckle under her chin to make her look up. “hey,” you had said, smiling softly, “don’t look so sad. i’ll visit. it’s not like i’m disappearing off the face of the earth.”

but you did disappear.

there were a few texts at first. pictures of your new neighborhood, jokes she barely understood, casual check-ins. but then middle school started, life got busier, and slowly, inevitably, the messages faded.

before she knew it, you became a memory. a childhood chapter she tucked away, rereading only when nostalgia hit late at night. she convinced herself that whatever she felt back then. that stupid, childish crush was gone.

until one fateful day it all came back. sophia wasn’t expecting her day to be anything special. she was walking down the hallway with her friends, disappointed with her grades on the recent exams, when she saw you.

leaning against a row of lockers, casually talking to her brother like you had never left, like you hadn’t been gone for years. her feet stopped before she even realized it.

“what—”

“no way,” she whispered, heart hammering against her ribs.

you looked different. taller, sharper around the edges. your uniform slightly rumpled, hair messier than she remembered. but the moment you smiled. that same easy, lopsided grin. she felt something inside her lurch violently back to life.

she barely had time to process before you looked up. and the second your eyes found hers, your whole face lit up.

“soph?”

you pushed off the lockers, taking easy strides toward her. laughing. it hit her harder than she thought possible because it was the same.

the world narrowed to just you.

the second your voice cut through the noise warm, familiar, so casually affectionate. it sent a violent jolt down her spine.

“holy shit,” you grinned, stepping forward like this was the most natural thing in the world. “come here, baby.”

baby?

the word crashed into her, loud and deafening, like someone had just rung a bell directly in her skull.

because, god, it had been years since she’d last heard you call her that. since she had been the baby of your little group. the youngest, the smallest, the one trailing behind while you stayed with her and her brother ran ahead.

back then, she hated it.

“i’m not a baby!” nine-year-old sophia had whined, stomping her foot.

but you had only laughed, ruffling her hair and calling her baby anyway, and for some reason. it sounded different coming from you.

so she never told you to stop and now she’s facing the consequences.

her body froze, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and throat. her friends barely had time to react before your arms wrapped around her, pulling her in.

the warmth of you hit her all at once. solid, grounding, impossibly real. she felt everything. the way your chin brushed the side of her head, the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way you smelled exactly how she remembered.

her hands hovered mid-air, uncertain, but her body betrayed her. before she could think, she was gripping the back of your blazer, her fingers curling into the fabric like she needed to anchor herself. because if she let go, if she even moved too fast, she was terrified she’d wake up and this would all be some elaborate, messed-up dream.

her friends were losing their minds behind her. manon’s choked gasp. megan’s loud, “oh, what the fu—” lara grabbing her arm, shaking her violently.

but sophia couldn’t focus on any of it.

because your arms tightened around her just slightly, a slow, lingering squeeze before you pulled back just enough to look at her, hands shifting from her back to her shoulders. your eyes flickered over her face, scanning, like you were checking to see if she was still the same girl from all those years ago.

she didn’t dare move. barely dared to breathe. and then, just like before, just like always, your hand lifted. before she could react, you were ruffling her hair, laughing. “you got taller.”

sophia sucked in a sharp breath.

it wasn’t fair.

how easily you fit right back into place, like you had never left. how you could just stand here, completely unaware of the way her heart had just thrown itself against the bars of her ribs like it was desperate to escape.

she scowled, nose scrunching as she smacked your hand away, even as heat crawled up her neck. “and you got uglier.”

you only laughed, unbothered.

her stomach flipped.

you pouted, tilting your head, teasing. “aren’t you excited? your favorite person is back in town permanently now.”

her favorite person. that's what youve always been. she has a feeling it’s going to stay that way for a long time. she scoffed, rolling her eyes like it didn’t affect her. like you didn’t affect her. “you wish.”

you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest, dramatic as always. “you’re so mean to me.”

“you deserve it.” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

before you could say anything else, another voice cut in.

“wait, hold on—”

manon was staring at her like she had just witnessed the moon landing. her eyes darted between the two of you, a grin way too knowing stretching across her face. “is this the cutie you used to talk about when—”

oh, absolutely the hell not.

“okay, we’re leaving.” sophia grabbed her wrist and dragged her away before she could finish that sentence. “oh, come on!” manon whined. behind her, megan and lara were already snickering.

“wait” lara grinned, “so that was y/n?”

lara finally asked after sophia had dragged them to a more secluded space. sophia glared ahead, jaw locked. “no idea what you’re talking about.”

megan lifted an eyebrow, arms crossed. “liar. your ears are so red”

sophia groaned, picking up the pace, yanking them along with her. the teasing turned into background noise, but the weight of it all settled onto her chest.

you were back. after years of being gone. after she thought she had finally let go of whatever childish feelings she had for you.

except now, she wasn’t a kid anymore, and neither were you. but the way you had smiled at her. so easily, so effortlessly. like nothing had changed. her stomach twisted.

she clenched her jaw and shoved it all down, deep, where it couldn’t reach her.

it didn’t mean anything.

she wasn’t nine anymore.

and she wasn’t going to let you get to her again.

the second tragedy of sophia’s day was sitting at her dinner table. the first, of course, was the fact that she had spent the entire afternoon thinking about you returning like you never left.

which meant she had gotten absolutely nothing done.

calculus? a lost cause. chemistry? an afterthought. all she could do was replay every second of seeing you again. every teasing grin, every laugh, the way you looked at her the same with a little something she couldn’t pinpoint.

and now, as she stood frozen in the doorway, her stomach plummeted.

because there you were. in her house. sitting comfortably at the dinner table, chatting with her dad like you weren’t the reason she had stared blankly at her notes for hours.

“sophia, honey, welcome home,” her mom’s voice cut through her panic. “come sit next to y/n.”

her heart actually stopped. because, of course, there was an empty seat right next to you.

perfect. just what she needed. another excruciatingly painful evening of trying to act normal around you.

she took a breath, squared her shoulders, and willed herself to move. you looked up as she approached, and there it was again. that smile. the one that had derailed her entire day.

“hey, soph,” you greeted, warm and easy, like it was completely normal for you to be here, in her house, in her life again.

she swallowed, nodding stiffly before sliding into the seat beside you. you nudged her lightly with your elbow. “long day?”

sophia forced herself to breathe. “yeah.”

“extra classes?”

“yeah.”

you hummed, picking at your food. “what’s got you stuck this time?”

“calculus.”

“oof,” you winced

her mom perked up at that, setting down her chopsticks. “oh! y/n could help you with that.”

sophia froze.

you? helping her? absolutely not.

“she’s been acing her ap calculus class,” her mom continued, beaming. “it’s perfect!”

sophia clenched her jaw. of course you did. you were always a natural at things you didn’t even try for. meanwhile, she had been drowning in numbers for weeks, getting nowhere.

“maybe you should let y/n tutor you,” her mom added, smiling like she hadn’t just ruined sophia’s life.

great. fantastic. because the one thing she needed less than anything in the world was to spend even more time with you.

“no thanks,” sophia muttered, stabbing at her food.

you gasped dramatically, hand over your heart. “wow. you wound me, baby.”

sophia choked.

her fork slipped from her fingers. she did not just hear that. you did not just say that. again.

she whipped her head toward you, eyes wide, betrayed. but you just grinned at her, all shameless and teasing, like you hadn’t just sent her into a full-blown internal crisis.

and worst of all? no one else at the table even reacted. her parents just kept eating, like this was completely normal.

like this wasn’t the most earth-shattering moment of her life. her grip tightened around her fork, heat crawling up her neck. “don’t call me that.”

you blinked, tilting your head. “what? baby?”

oh my god.

she kicked you under the table. hard. you yelped, nearly dropping your spoon. “hey!”

she scowled at you, but you were still smiling. that same stupid grin, like you knew exactly what you were doing to her.

“take the tutoring, soph,” her brother chimed in. “god knows you need it.”

sophia turned even redder. “this is none of your business!”

he shrugged. “what? your last test score was—”

“okay! fine!” she snapped, fists clenched. she turned to you, glaring. “you. library. tomorrow. after school. no funny business.”

you raised your hands in surrender, grinning. “scout’s honor.” she narrowed her eyes, warning you one last time before turning back to her food mumbling about you being a weirdo.

it has been a week tutoring and sophia convinced it was torture. she had to always keep herself in check and try to not look to stupid infront of you. but what made it worse is you’re so understanding.

its frustrating.

you never made her feel dumb, never handed her the answers outright. instead, you guided her, nudged her toward figuring things out herself. you’d lean closer always too close. tapping the edge of her notebook as you encouraged her to think it through.

and it worked.

somehow, against all odds, she had started understanding calculus. started answering questions in class, participating.

even her friends had noticed.

“no lara …ive had tutoring.”

“what you need to set me up soph, im drowning”

sophia only rolled her eyes and left class with lara calling out for her.

other than the improvement in her attitude during class, sophia absolutely loathed when you tucked her hair behind her ear so you could see her work.

hated the way it happened so effortlessly, like it was something you did without thinking. like it was just natural to reach over, brush your fingers against her skin, and push those stubborn strands back.

her entire body locking up as she tried desperately to keep her expression neutral, to not let you see just how stupidly, embarrassingly affected she was. hated how it made her feel unsteady.

it made her wonder if you had always done this, if she had just been too young, too naive to notice how close you always were, how easy it was for you to slip into her space like you belonged there.

and when your fingers brushed her skin, when you leaned in slightly she could smell that familiar scent of yours, the one that had embedded itself into her memories. she refused to acknowledge the way her heart kicked against her ribs just like she did last time.

she has grown out of it. so she would force herself to react the only way she knew how. with annoyance. with a sharp, “can you not?” or a dramatic sigh as she swatted your hand away.

rolling her eyes as if that would somehow erase the fact that her face was burning. but it never worked. because you’d just laugh it off completely unbothered. and go right back to helping her like you hadn’t just made her feel butterflies.

whats worse is youd be all sweet after, and treating her to something like boba, ice cream or whatever. just because.

“bubble tea?” she had a problem of never saying no to you. pathetic. she thought to herself. but a small voice in her head was thrilled that you asked. she convinced herself it was the after effects of calculus.

the night was windy. the silence was deafening but also comforting to sophia. she could hear barking in the distance that reminded her of her own dogs and how she was going to be with them after.

you and sophia walked side by side. the quiet was only broken when you asked, casually, like it was just another thought that had floated into your mind, “so, you seeing anyone?”

sophia almost tripped over her own feet. she froze for a full three seconds. before she managed to scoff and shake her head. “what? no”

you hummed, hands in your pockets, tilting your head as you glanced at her. “really?”

she frowned, shifting her backpack higher on her shoulder. “why do you sound surprised?”

you gave her an easy smile, and she felt that stupid tingle creep up her spine again. “c’mon, soph. you’ve grown so beautiful—there’s no way no one wants you.”

she could feel heat creeping up her face before she could stop it. why are you saying this so casually. she forced herself to roll her eyes, trying to act unbothered despite the fact that she was literally about to explode on the spot. “shut up.”

you only laughed, completely unfazed by the way she was actively fighting for her life.

before she could even process what was happening, you reached for her backpack, slipping it off her shoulder effortlessly.

“what—” she started, but you just slung it over your other shoulder, adjusting the straps like it was yours now.

you grinned, glancing down at her with an amused glint in your eyes. “this bag is, like, ten times bigger than you, baby. i don’t even know how you’re carrying this around all day without toppling over.”

sophia gawked at you, her mouth opening and closing. she was offended. she smacked your arm as hard as she could, she knew it did no damge to you. but you still gasped, all dramatic, clutching your chest like she had just mortally wounded you.

“wow” you breathed, “why am i getting bashed for doing public service”

“because i don’t need your public service,” sophia huffed, crossing her arms.

you just laughed, adjusting her bag on your shoulder like it weighed nothing. annoying.

the walk to the boba shop was short, just a few blocks away from campus, but sophia felt every single step. maybe it was the way your arm would occasionally brush against hers, or how effortlessly you carried both of your bags like it was the easiest thing in the world. maybe it was the fact that you had called her beautiful like it was something undeniable. she scowled to herself. no. youre not thinking about that.

before the moment could get quiet again, the boba shop came into view, the neon sign casting a soft glow against the pavement. you pushed the door open, motioning for her to go in first, and she absolutely did not feel anything about that. not at all.

the familiar smell of tea and tapioca filled the air as you both stepped inside. the shop was mostly empty, save for a couple of students hunched over their laptops in the corner. the cashier perked up as you approached the counter, giving a friendly nod.

she watched as you stepped up to the counter with effortless ease, ordering like you’d been doing this for years. she didn’t even need to say anything—you already knew her usual. it was something small, something insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it made her feel something she absolutely did not want to name.

the cashier punched in the order, and before she could even think about reaching for her wallet, you had already handed over your card.

“my treat,” you said, completely casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. “for doing so well in calculus.”

sophia stiffened. you said it like you were proud of her. like it actually meant something. her fingers twitched at her side, the automatic urge to argue bubbling up, but she clamped her mouth shut.

she exhaled through her nose, muttering a small thanks while eyes darting anywhere but at you.

the walk back to campus was calm, the kind of quiet that felt easy. sophia focused on her drink, letting the cold seep into her fingers, every now and then glancing at you as you absentmindedly shook your cup to mix the boba. she hated how natural this was starting to feel, falling back into your orbit like no time had passed at all.

as the campus gates came into view, you turned to her, tilting your head. “you want a ride home?”

sophia shook her head without thinking. “no, it’s okay. basil’s got it.”

you slowed your steps, raising an eyebrow. “soph. he’s gonna leave you stranded for at least an hour” she winced. you weren’t wrong. basil had a horrible habit of showing up ridiculously late. still, she shrugged, acting like it didn’t bother her. “it’s fine.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “c’mon, don’t be dumb. i’ll give you a ride home. i have to pick up something at your place anyway.”

the city lights flickered through the windshield as you maneuvered through the streets. one hand on the wheel, the other lazily adjusting the air conditioning.

its crazy how natural you looked like this. relaxed, the faint glow of passing headlights casting soft shadows across your face. she hated that she noticed.

she looked away quickly, pretending to be very interested in her boba. “so,” you said, breaking the silence, “how’s school been? besides me making you a calculus genius, obviously.”

sophia snorted, shaking her head. “hardly a genius.”

you hummed, shooting her a knowing look. “lara says otherwise.”

“lara?” sophia repeated, trying to keep her voice neutral, but she could already hear the edge creeping in.

you glanced at her, amused. “yeah” sophia knew she was being irrational. knew it was dumb to be irritated by something as small as you acknowledging lara’s existence. but she couldn’t help it. because you were supposed to be hers. you were already invading her space, was it so much to ask that she didn’t have to hear your voice saying someone else’s name?

she took a long sip of her boba, mostly just to have something to do with her mouth that wasn’t pouting like a child. “since when do you talk to lara?”

you laughed, drumming your fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “since she’s in my music club”

oh.

sophia frowned slightly. lara hadn’t mentioned that. she should have known, lara told her everything, and yet somehow, she’d never thought to bring you up? before she could dwell on it, you kept talking.

“she talks about you,” you added, throwing her a quick glance before looking back at the road. “don’t worry, it’s good stuff.”

sophia’s grip tightened around her drink. “…like what?”

you smirked. “like how she overheard the teachers saying you’re almost one of the best in the class.”

her lips parted slightly. what. she didn’t even know the teachers said that. lara never told her. but you knew? how did that make any sense?

she didn’t know what to focus on. the fact that she was apparently good enough to be talked about like that, or the fact that you were the one telling her. she forced herself to scoff, looking away. “tch. what can i say im self made.”

you tapped your fingers lightly against the wheel. “ofcourse you are, you put in the effort. you show up to tutoring, you do practices and you actually care about getting better. you deserve everything good that comes your way.”

her breath caught in her throat.

the words hit her square in the chest, and suddenly, it was hard to breathe. how could someone be this kind? how could you say something like that so easily, like it wasn’t something that would sit in her ribs for the rest of the night?

her fingers tightened slightly around her boba shes surprised it hasn’t exploded and before she could stop herself, her eyes drifted toward you. your profile was illuminated by the city lights outside, jawline sharp, mouth relaxed, brows furrowing just the slightest bit in focus. you looked so… at ease. saying things like this came naturally to you.

because how could she get all the credit when you were the one who spent your free time tutoring her? when you were the one making sure she understood things, guiding her without ever making her feel stupid for free, and still somehow acting like she was the one who had done all the hard work?

she should look away. she knew she should look away. but she couldn’t.

then—

“if you keep looking at me like that, i’m gonna think you’re in love with me.”

her head snapped forward so fast it was a miracle she didn’t get whiplash. “shut up,” she muttered, taking a very long sip of her drink just to avoid saying anything else.

you laughed, amused, clearly enjoying the way she was stunned. “i’m just saying.” she ignored you, staring straight ahead, praying to every higher power that the ride home would be over soon.

as soon as you pulled into the driveway, sophia was out of the car like it was on fire, barely sparing you a glance before disappearing into the house. you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you followed her inside.

basil was in the kitchen, lazily scrolling through his phone, but he barely got the chance to look up before sophia breezed past him, dropping her bag onto the floor with a little more force than necessary.

“dude, i was just about to head out,” basil said, glancing at her.

“shut up,” sophia muttered, opening the fridge for a cold drink. she needed it with the day she had.

you snorted, leaning against the counter. “yeah, an hour from now.”

basil shot you a look, unimpressed. “why are you even here?”

you grinned, holding up the gaming controller you’d come to grab. “came to pick this up. also, saved your sister from being stranded at school.” basil rolled his eyes dismissing yn.

sophia grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, twisting the cap open as she turned on her heel, fully intending to escape upstairs before she did something stupid.

but before she could make it past the doorway, she felt a gentle tug at her wrist.

she nearly dropped the bottle.

you were still leaning against the counter, a lazy grin tugging at your lips as you looked at her. “my hug as thanks?”

sophia stared at you, her thoughts scrambled. her skin burned where your fingers lightly curled around her wrist. “for what?” she blurted, attempting to sound annoyed, but it came out a little too breathless.

your grin widened. “a week of tutoring and for saving you from sitting around for an hour waiting on basil.”

basil scoffed from the kitchen, but sophia barely heard him over the sound of her own heartbeat.

she hesitated, but you tugged her just slightly closer, tilting your head like you were waiting. expecting.

her body moved before her mind could catch up. stiffly, awkwardly, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around you in what was probably the worst hug of her life.

but you didn’t seem to mind.

you hummed, warm and solid against her, your arms looping around her shoulders with ease.your comforting scent drowned her receptors.

sophia wanted to shove you. wanted to roll her eyes and scoff and say something sarcastic.

instead, she stayed there for a second too long, breathing you in, feeling the steady rise and fall of your chest against hers and then, before she could completely lose it, she pulled away, muttering a quick, “goodnight,” before practically sprinting upstairs.

rumors had been circulating that alex was planning to confess to sophia at the fundraiser. the very idea made her stomach turn.

she hated alex. he was one of basil’s friends. the one who never missed a chance to add salt to the wound whenever she messed up in front of the group. he made sure she felt like an outsider.

and now, all of a sudden, he liked her?

alex had spent years making her life difficult, and no amount of sudden affection was going to erase that. she wanted to tell him to get lost.

whenever alex pushed too far, you were the one who stepped in, the one who made him back off before things could go too far. you were the only one who ever really seemed to notice when she was uncomfortable, the only one who cared enough to make sure she was okay. and sophia hated the way that made her feel. she hated the warmth that crept in at the thought of you.

sophia groaned, slumping against the lockers as lara dug through her bag. “this is actually my worst nightmare.” sophia scowled, arms crossed tight over her chest.

lara finally glanced at her, unimpressed. “you’re being dramatic.”

“am not.” sophia huffed. “alex is the absolute last person on earth i’d want confessing to me. i mean, the guy made my childhood miserable! he’s a fucking bully and now he suddenly likes me? like, what—am i supposed to just forget years of bullying and fall into his arms?” she threw her hands up.

“i don’t want a confession! all i want is a handwritten apology letter with tears on it”

“who’s confessing to who?”

sophia stiffened. you.

she turned her head just in time to see you strolling up, brows raised in curiosity. the sight of you with hands shoved into your pockets, head tilted ever so slightly as you looked between her and lara.

lara, the traitor, wasted no time in answering. “alex. apparently, he’s planning to confess to sophia at the fundraiser.”

sophia braced herself, expecting you to tease her, maybe even laugh about it.

but instead your expression shifted.

it was subtle. your shoulders tensed just a little, your jaw tightening, something unreadable flashing behind your eyes before you quickly masked it with an easy grin. “oh?” you drawled, but your voice wasn’t as lighthearted as usual. “so, what—he’s just gonna make some big public scene about it?”

lara shrugged. “maybe.”

you scoffed, and sophia swore you rolled your eyes. “you could always just make it clear you’re not interested before he tries anything.”

sophia narrowed her eyes. “what do you care?”

“i dont” you said too fast, you were trying to cut off the conversation before it could lead anywhere dangerous. but then you hesitated, backtracking, exhaling softly through your nose before tilting your head toward her, your voice lowering just a bit. “but you do. and if you don’t like him, that’s kinda annoying, isn’t it?”

she knew you had a point, but she wasn’t focused on that. she was focused on the way your fingers twitched at your sides, the way the muscle in your jaw flexed before relaxing, the way your eyes were carefully fixed on some random spot on the lockers instead of on her.

before she could say anything, your phone buzzed, and you glanced down at it, thumb moving lazily across the screen. “basil said to wait by music room three after school,” you muttered, still half-focused on whatever was on your phone.

lara perked up immediately. “ooh, band practice?”

that finally got your attention. you looked up, smirked, and shot lara a wink before going right back to your phone, like it was nothing. “well see you later.” then you left.

sophia felt it like a physical blow. her stomach twisted, heat creeping up her neck before she could stop it.

that was hers. that wink, that stupid smirk, the teasing lilt in your voice. a jealous feeling clouded her mind.

before she could even think about it, she turned to lara, brows furrowing. “how’d you even know about that?” she tried to sound casual, but there was a slight edge to her voice, one that lara definitely caught.

lara just smiled, slow and knowing, like she was enjoying this way too much. “music club.” sophia clenched her jaw.

for the whole week, sophia couldn’t get a moment of peace. alex had been relentless, hovering around her like an annoying gnat that just wouldn’t go away. he was everywhere. before class, after class, during lunch. and she couldn’t even focus when she was with you.

not because of you, obviously. if it were just you, she wouldn’t mind. but alex had somehow made it his mission to sit with you two every single day, running his mouth and making so much noise that sophia could barely concentrate.

it was finally friday, and she was trying. really trying. to focus on solving an integration problem, gripping her pen just a little too tightly as she stared down at the numbers.

“and then my parents wanted me to go to princeton,” alex droned on beside her, leaning back in his chair smugly. like he belonged there with you two, “but i thought—”

sophia didn’t even look at him. she just clenched her jaw and kept scribbling in her notebook, pointedly ignoring him.

you, on the other hand, were visibly tense. she could tell by the way your fingers tapped impatiently against the table, the way your jaw clenched tight and defined, the muscle flexing beneath your skin.

she hated that she noticed.

alex was still talking. still. he had barely shut up the entire session, and it had been four whole days of him yapping while she was just trying to learn.

you exhaled sharply through your nose and finally snapped, turning to him with an expression so flat it sent a thrill through sophia’s spine.

“alex,” you said, voice edged with frustration. “shut the fuck up.”

alex blinked. “huh?”

you tilted your head, feigning patience, but your tone was anything but. “for the past four days, you’ve done nothing but talk about shit no one cares about while soph is literally trying to learn. do you even need to be here?”

alex scoffed, shifting in his chair. “damn, no need to be so hostile.”

“no, actually, i do,” you shot back. “because you’re annoying as hell and we’re trying to focus. so unless you suddenly became a calculus tutor, fuck off.”

sophia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. the look on alex’s face was priceless. eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water before he muttered something under his breath and stood up, huffing as he stomped off.

you let out a long sigh, rubbing your temples before turning back to her.

“finally,” you muttered. “now, where were we?”

sophia blinked down at her notebook, heart skipping a beat. “integration” she murmured.

sophia woke up to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through her curtains, warming her face. but more than that, she woke up to the sound of music. faint but distinct, a steady rhythm pulsing through the floorboards.

she groaned, burying her face into her pillow for a moment before sighing and pushing herself up. rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she shuffled out of bed, still dressed in her pajama shorts and an oversized hoodie, her hair a mess of waves from sleep.

it was saturday. finally. she’d been dreading the weekend for one reason only. alex’s ridiculous plan to confess at the fundraiser. but after you had told him to fuck off in the bluntest way possible, she was praying he’d finally take the hint and drop it.

but that wasn’t her concern right now. because where the hell was that noise coming from?

barefoot, she padded downstairs, the music growing louder as she made her way to the basement door. it wasn’t just any music. it was live music, the deep hum of a bass and the sharp strum of a guitar.

she pushed the door open and peeked in, blinking at the sight before her.

basil and the rest of the band were scattered around the basement, instruments in hand, deep in the middle of rehearsal. the air buzzed with the sound of drums, the occasional offbeat note, and laughter between takes.

but her gaze landed on you immediately.

you were sitting on a stool, guitar resting on your thigh, fingers effortlessly plucking at the strings. you were focused, brow slightly furrowed, bottom lip caught between your teeth. and god, it was stupidly attractive.

before she could even process that thought, you looked up—and your gaze locked onto hers.

for a second, the rest of the basement faded away.

your eyes flickered down, taking in her disheveled appearance, and then you grinned, that slow, teasing kind that made something in her stomach tighten. “morning, sleeping beauty.”

sophia huffed, crossing her arms, suddenly very aware of how she must look. “why the hell are you playing so early?”

“it’s literally noon.”

she scowled, making you chuckle as you set your guitar down, leaning forward on your elbows. “you mad ‘cause we woke you up or ‘cause you missed half the practice?”

her cheeks warmed. half the practice? how long had you been down here? she glanced at basil, who just raised a brow at her knowingly before returning to tuning his bass.

“whatever,” she muttered, shifting on her feet. but before she could turn to leave, you reached out, catching her wrist gently.

“stay,” you said, softer this time. “we’re almost done, and you can judge our setlist.”

sophia hesitated. the way your fingers curled around her wrist—light but firm—made her brain stall for a second.

but she rolled her eyes, feigning disinterest. “fine. but if it sucks, i’m telling you.”

you smirked, giving her wrist a small squeeze before letting go. “wouldn’t expect anything less from you, baby.” her cheeks immediately turned red.

sophia couldn’t stop staring.

you moved effortlessly, arms flexing as you adjusted the equipment in the truck, the fading sunset casting a golden glow on your skin. your sleeves were rolled up, exposing the lean definition of your forearms, and when you lifted a speaker into place, the wind tugged at the hem of your white button-up, lifting it just enough to reveal a sliver of your stomach.

“soph, get the fuck in the car.”

her brother’s voice snapped her out of it. she blinked, heat creeping up her neck as she realized she had been blatantly staring. jesus christ.

rolling her eyes to play it off, she huffed and strode toward the truck. she was dressed for the fundraiser. her silky top tucked neatly into a fitted skirt that accentuated her figure, her hair styled effortlessly, makeup subtle but effective. she knew she looked good. she just wished she wasn’t thinking about whether you thought so too.

she barely had a second to settle into the truck before you slid in beside her. and then another bandmate followed, cramming into the seat on your other side.

the space was ridiculously tight.

sophia sucked in a breath as your thigh pressed flush against hers. your shoulder bumped into her, and you let out a quiet grunt, shifting slightly. only for the guy next to you to do the same, squeezing you further into her space.

“fuck,” you muttered, glancing down at her. “okay, this is—hold on.”

before she could process it, your arm lifted and draped over her shoulders.

her breath hitched.

“what the hell are you doing?” she hissed, stiffening.

“trying to not breath down your neck,” you deadpanned, tilting your head toward the guy practically squishing you from the other side.

sophia clenched her jaw, but she didn’t shove you off. mostly because you were right. the way you were packed into the truck, this was the only way to make it even remotely comfortable. but also…you were warm. and close. and smelled stupidly good.

your fingers lightly rested against her arm, thumb brushing against the fabric of her sleeve as you got settled. and when you turned your head slightly, murmuring, “better?” so close to her ear, she almost forgot how to function.

she exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes as if her pulse wasn’t racing. “couldn’t get any worse.”

you chuckled, clearly amused, but you didn’t say anything else. just relaxed into the seat, arm still loosely slung around her. and sophia sat there, unmoving, fighting the urge to lean into you.

the whole ride was oddly comforting. light chatter from the front row with the soft music playing.

the way your fingers absentmindedly tapped against her arm, keeping time with the soft beat of the radio. the occasional hum under your breath when a song you liked came on. the lazy tilt of your head against the seat, eyes half-lidded, relaxed, completely unaware of the absolute disaster unfolding beside you.

she felt trapped. surrounded. every inhale filled her lungs with you. she hated to admit that she liked it.

the truck rumbled to a stop, and sophia barely had a second to process before she felt you shift beside her. your arm, the one that had been slung so casually over her shoulders the whole ride, lifted away, leaving behind a ghost of warmth that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

she exhaled sharply. god, she needed air.

but before she could bolt, the door swung open, and basil was already barking orders.

sophia rolled her eyes as she slid out of the truck, stretching her arms over her head, letting the crisp evening air cool the heat simmering under her skin.

the fundraiser was already coming to life around them. the sun was starting to lower on the horizon, painting the sky in warm hues of orange. carnival lights flickered on, illuminating the fairground in a golden glow. the scent of fried food and kettle corn drifted through the air, mingling with the distant laughter of kids running past.

but before she could take it all in, a heavy weight landed on her shoulders.

“carry that inside, yeah?”

sophia scowled at basil, who had just dropped a coiled-up cable over her like she was some kind of pack mule. “are you serious?”

basil only shooed her away. before she could snap at him, you walked past, effortlessly carrying an amp under one arm, a guitar case slung over your back. you shot her a grin over your shoulder. “c’mon, soph, at least pretend to be helpful.”

she grumbled something under her breath but followed anyway, dragging her feet as she carried the cable toward the stage area.

sophia cleared her throat, shifting on her feet. “alright, i’m gonna go find lara,” she announced, directing it mostly toward you and basil as you both worked on setting up. she needed to move, to go, to be anywhere but here—somewhere alex wouldn’t find her.

but before she could slip away, you turned to her, wiping your hands on your jeans, eyes locking onto hers, big wide doe eyes. “hey, you’re gonna come watch us play, right?” almost pleading. like her presence mattered

and god, why couldn’t she say no to you? why was that even a question?

she hadn’t seen you play in years. not since you were kids messing around in her garage, when your hands were too small to reach all the chords properly, when you’d grin at her between strums like you knew she was watching.

and now? now you were standing in front of her, taller, sharper, so much cooler than before, looking at her like it would make a difference if she was there.

she knew she should say something, but her mind was blank, lost in the way you tilted your head, looking at her expectantly.

sophia swallowed. tried to look unaffected. failed miserably.

“yeah,” she blurted out, barely a whisper. then, as if that wasn’t pathetic enough, she cleared her throat and tried again. “yeah. of course. i’ll be there.”

your face lit up instantly, all bright eyes and easy joy, and before she could even process what was happening, you wrapped your arms around her.

your arms were strong but gentle, warm but not suffocating, like you were made to hold her. you smelled like soap and a little bit of sweat from moving equipment, and it should not be as intoxicating as it was.

her hands hovered awkwardly on your back. patting it lightly not enough for you to notice, but enough for her to feel like she was about to melt straight into the ground.

then, just as quickly as you hugged her, you pulled back, grinning.

“awesome,” you said, still holding onto her arms for a second before finally letting go. “i’ll look for you in the crowd.”

she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. and then scurried away to find lara and get alex out of sight, out of mind.

after what it seemed like minutes of having fun with her friends. the sun started to set slowly. and that was her que to leave. “gotta go guys” she said amongst the laughter.

“what. why so early?” megan perked up. “shes going to see her hot rockstar girlfriend” said lara with a smirk.

lara’s smirk deepened when sophia didn’t immediately deny it. “oh my god,” she drawled, nudging megan. “did you see that? she hesitated.”

sophia’s eyes widened, heat creeping up her neck. “i did not hesitate.” megan gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest. “you totally hesitated.”

sophia groaned, shoving at lara’s shoulder. “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“yet,” lara shot back smoothly.

“shut up,” sophia muttered, but her ears burned.

her friends weren’t letting up. “nah, this is crazy,” megan grinned. “you got all dressed up just to go watch her play, huh?”

“that’s- i always look good!” sophia stammered. They were so annoying.

lara sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “it’s okay, soph. we get it. the effortlessly cool guitarist, the stage presence, the stupidly hot arm veins—”

before lara could even finish her sentence, sophia was already looking the other way, walking to the stage. she didn’t even turn around. she just flipped them off as she walked away, which only made them cackle harder.

sophia could already feel it before she even saw you—the buzz of anticipation in the air, the excited murmurs from the crowd, the way her pulse started to pick up as she pushed through the sea of people. and she finally got a good spot in the middle.

and then you walked onto the stage.

and sophia completely forgot how to breathe.

god.

the warm tones of the sunset traced every sharp angle of your jaw, the slope of your nose, the stray beads of sweat along your temple. the silver rings on your fingers caught the light as you flexed your hands, rolling out the tension before picking up your guitar. your sleeves were haphazardly rolled to your elbows, exposing the lean muscle of your forearms, your collarbones peeking through the loose neckline of your button-up.

you looked unreal.

her breath stalled in her throat as she watched you tilt your head back slightly. her fingers twitched at her sides, like some pathetic, desperate part of her wanted to reach for you.

then the first strum of your guitar broke through the air, and the sound of it. low and rich and you sent a shiver down her spine. the band kicked in, bass thrumming in her chest, drums pulsing like a heartbeat.

she wanted to keep watching forever. but then something blocked her view. a shadow fell over her, and her stomach dropped.

her focus wavered just enough for her to realize. alex.

he was saying something, voice edged with nervous excitement, but she wasn’t listening. couldn’t listen. not when you were right there, bathed in golden light, bass slung over your shoulder, looking like something out of a fever dream.

then, as if you could feel her staring.

you looked at her.

the air in her lungs vanished.

it wasn’t immediate. you didn’t react at first, just held her gaze, steady and unshaken, fingers still moving over the strings, body still swaying with the rhythm. but sophia felt it.

the weight of it. the intensity of it.

your lips parted slightly as you breathed through the lyrics, loose strands of hair falling into your face, eyes barely lidded under the glow.

she had to look away. because if she didn’t, if she kept looking, if she let herself fall for you again and she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

alex was still talking. something about how he’s liked her for a while, how he wanted to tell her properly, how he knew the timing wasn’t great. her pulse was still in her throat.

her thoughts were spiraling. all she could think about was you. she felt exposed. like something inside her had cracked wide open, and every feeling she had been pushing down for years was crawling out, raw and desperate, begging to be acknowledged.

she had spent too long convincing herself this was over. that whatever she felt for you was just nostalgia, and that she wasn’t still looking at you the same way she did when she was nine. hopelessly smitten.

she was right back where she started. and she was drowning in it.

“—so would you go out with me?,” alex was saying infront her. but all she could look at was you.

she barely even registered his voice. her thoughts were screaming. she needed to stop this. she needed to push it all back down, needed to bury it so deep it never saw the light of day again.

before she could think, before she could stop herself, the words were already tumbling out.

“yes, alex. i’d love to go out with you.”

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solxamber · 3 months ago

Text

Celebrating your birthday with: Rook Hunt

(this was written as a birthday gift for @uniquethingtastemaker, happy birthday again!!)

You wake up to the distinct sensation of being watched.

Not the vague, unsettling feeling of someone possibly looking your way—no, this is the sharp, unrelenting gaze of a certified menace, the kind of intense staring typically reserved for apex predators about to pounce.

Your eyes crack open.

Rook is kneeling beside your bed, hands clasped in reverence, staring at you like you’re the Mona Lisa except more breathtaking, more exquisite, and—most importantly—his.

“Bon matin, ma chère!” he sings, eyes alight with terrifying devotion. “The day of your birth has dawned, and I, your ever-adoring chevalier, have planned an odyssey in your honor!”

You stare at him. You stare hard.

Then you glance at the clock.

5:57 a.m.

Your soul threatens to leave your body.

“Rook,” you croak. “It is not even six in the morning.”

“Exactly! For the day must be seized in its entirety!” He flourishes a bouquet of your favorite flowers from seemingly nowhere, because of course he does. “Rise, my love! Adventure awaits!”

You let out a deep sigh, the kind reserved for tax season and unskippable ads.

“…You’re not going to let me go back to sleep, are you?”

“Non!” He grins. “But worry not, my love, for I have already brewed your favorite morning beverage and prepared a repast fit for the divine being that you are!”

You blink. You process. You make peace with the fact that today will not be a normal day.

“Fine,” you grumble, sitting up. “But if this involves unnecessary cardio, I will run away.”

Rook only laughs, undeterred. Terrifyingly undeterred.

You should have known he would take that threat as a challenge.

Because, of course, breakfast isn’t just breakfast.

No, no, no. Rook has turned it into an elaborate scavenger hunt, complete with handwritten poetry clues and mandatory dramatic readings of each one before you can claim your next plate of food.

Exhibit A:

You: “This one says: ‘My love is as boundless as the sky, vast as the sea, deep as the—’” You squint. “Rook, is this an eleven-stanza sonnet about my eyes?”

Rook, beaming: “Oui!”

Vil, appearing in the doorway with coffee in hand: “Oh, perfect. More nonsense before I’ve even had my morning serum.”

You and Vil share a look. A silent, exasperated understanding forged in the fires of Rook-related exhaustion.

“Do you want some of my toast?” you offer.

“I’ll take the whole plate.”

Rook, who absolutely anticipated this betrayal, simply chuckles. “Ah, but the real reward awaits, mon trésor!”

He gestures toward the final clue—a golden envelope that is far too dramatic for a mere breakfast game.

Inside, you find two words:

“Dress beautifully.”

You should have known. You should have known.

Rook doesn’t do simple outings.

No, today’s adventure includes:

A scenic hike where he insists on carrying you across a river because “only a fool would risk wetting your delicate shoes, mon amour!”

A meticulously packed gourmet picnic, complete with candles, wine, and food so unreasonably fancy that even Vil begrudgingly admits, “At least he has taste.”

Random bursts of poetry recitation, because Rook is physically incapable of letting a moment pass without waxing poetic about your existence.

And, of course—

“Why are you blindfolding me?” you ask, as Rook gently covers your eyes with a silk ribbon.

“Ah, but it is a surprise, ma belle étoile!”

Vil sighs in the background. “For the love of—if this ends with you being launched out of a cannon, I will personally end him.”

Rook only laughs. Which is not reassuring.

When the blindfold comes off, you gasp.

Before you is an entire garden, aglow with thousands of twinkling lights, petals cascading from above in a mesmerizing dance.

Everywhere you turn, your favorite flowers bloom in perfect harmony, their delicate fragrances weaving through the air like a love letter written in scent.

You look at Rook, utterly speechless.

He takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His voice is softer now, gentler, filled with a reverence that makes your heart stutter.

“You are the most magnificent being in all the world, mon cœur,” he murmurs. “And today, I wanted to honor you the way you deserve.”

For once, you don’t have a sarcastic remark.

You just cup his face and kiss him, slow and deep, until you feel his smile against your lips.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispers.

And, despite the chaos, despite the utter absurdity of the day—

You think, maybe, this was the best birthday ever.

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #rook x reader #rook hunt x reader #rook hunt #rook

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kqutie · 5 months ago

Text

EPIC : THE FAIR MAIDEN (not so platonic ver.)

CHAPTER THREE : THE NEW ISLAND

relations. : platonic various epic characters/reader -- platonic odysseus/reader ; polites/reader ; platonic eurylochus/reader ; platonic elpenor/reader ; platonic perimedes/reader ; platonic odysseus' crew/reader ; hermes/reader

chpt. sum. : You and the crew spend some time on your island, where they try to stay sane from all the crazy antics you pull. One God in particular, however, is having all the laughs, much like his great-grandson.

tags. : reader continues being a disney princess ; female, mute reader ; pure comfort ; reader helps ody get home ; animal crossing new horizons game mechanics ; this chapter is kinda chaotic XD ; the crew are simps ; hermes makes an appearance ; hermes being a flirty menace ; isekai and transmigration ; fix it fic ; characters know their future ; happy ending for everyone!

length. : 6.5k

a/n : I wrote this to feel better from my cold and monthly cramps all at once and I've gotta say, it was the perfect remedy (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)♡ it's just that it may read like the person who wrote this was suffering from sleep-deprivation and if you think that then you're absolutely right! please forgive me (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) i needed something to do other than rot in bed when i couldn't even sleep because it was so hard to breathe without pain anywho~ enjoy!

navi. | series m.list

← prev | two: the favourable circumstance

Venturing onto the island, you lead the way and invite Odysseus, Polites, Eurylochus and the crew to explore. You know that your island is safe, so you turn to everyone with open arms and a bright smile as if to say ‘Welcome! Please make yourselves at home’. Polites couldn’t help but grin at your obvious invitation, his heart-warming over the ‘open arms’ message he has managed to pass onto you.

“Thank you, fair maiden,” he takes a knee and bows, prompting everyone else, even Odysseus, their king, to follow his lead, “Thank you for welcoming us here,” The bashful image of you they look up to makes their hearts melt. Soon enough, they were happily setting out to explore the island, taking in its beautiful scenes while you venture off on your own, too.

You had one goal in mind: setting up a bath. Nothing is more relaxing than having a hot bath to soak in and getting to feel refreshed and new when you’re done washing up. Finding a secluded location, you design a bathing area composed of three outdoor baths with lots of bamboo surrounding it for privacy and equip the general area with the amenities needed, such as baskets full of bath towels and dispensers for shampoo, conditioner and body wash. You even set up a section of shower booths, where you plan on demonstrating how to use the shower before they get in the hot springs, for sanitary purposes.

The entire time you were putting things together, the crew had settled down, enjoying stable ground for the first time, in a long time. They had never seen such lush grass and thriving wildlife before. However, it only made sense. This was your island, after all, their fair maiden, who only seems to bring peace and comfort. Naturally, your home island would be a paradise.

“How wondrous,” Polites voices in awe, spotting an orchard of fruit trees and a crop field across the river where a beautiful wooden bridge arches to cross the gap. He’s never seen such elegant architecture quite like it before and speculates that it may come from the distant East.

“What a beautiful place,” Eurylochus comments, also in awe of the island’s gorgeous scenery and herbage. It was an unknown place that they were exploring for the first time and yet, he’s never felt safer.

“Where is our fair maiden?” Odysseus asks his nearest crew member, unable to admire the landscape for long, his mind too occupied by where you’ve disappeared off to without warning. Over the few days he’s spent in your company, Odysseus has grown a strong feeling of protectiveness over you. It’s a feeling he can comfortably liken to one he feels over Ctimene, his younger sister. Immediately recognising the warm tenderness and unable to deny it, he falls fully into the emotion instead. He’d happily take on another sister. It’s needed, especially with 600 men surrounding you.

“I believe I just saw her speed by,” Lycaon comments, making the Captain raise a brow.

“How fast could she possibly be running to—” Odysseus was cut off, however, when he catches your speeding visage in his periphery. Astonished, everyone close by stands still for a moment to observe your activity. One minute, you were racing one way, and the other minute racing the other way. And then, you stop in front of a tree, where the crew are convinced that you’re finally done with your zooming about — that is until you suddenly materialise an axe and begin chopping at the tree, earning you perfectly chopped logs of wood. Some log piles are differently coloured, clearly coming from a different type of tree, but you were hacking your axe at only one tree.

“Huh?...” Elpenor asks, confused as Perimedes stares at you with a blank look on his face.

Everyone’s jaws collectively drop to the floor. Was a beauty like you always capable of such strong feats of strength? And were the trees here as magical as you?!

“H-how is that possible?” one crew member asks nobody in particular, scratching at his head.

“She’s the fair maiden, it’s best not to question anything,” another man comments loud enough for all surrounding persons to hear and hum in agreement over.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Odysseus chuckles fondly with a shake of his head. Just before you are off zooming again, Odysseus comes up to you and politely asks, “Fair maiden, may we have some of the fruit from the orchard?” smiling, you happily give your consent with a nod, “Thank you,” he bows his head slightly, “do you have a preferred method of how we should go about collecting the fruit?”

You think for a moment before deciding it won’t harm them much to learn how to shake trees. It’ll save you the hassle of getting them the fruits whenever they feel a little peckish. With a nod, you lead the men over the bridge to your orchard and step up to a pear tree with three ripe and incredibly large pears on it. From a distance, the men watch as you move your soft hands to grip the tree’s trunk and begin violentlyshaking it until the three pears drop, unbruised, from their perch. Their only reaction was stunned silence. Again, had you always been this strong?

(From a distance, Odysseus can swear he hears a familiar, brain-tickling giggle.)

“I-I assume you want us to keep away from the crop fields’ produce,” Polites asks, stuttering through his stupefied state.

As expressive as always, you nod, gesturing to the neighbouring crop fields before tapping your chest, as if to say, ‘Yep! That’s mine,’, you then wiggle a finger at them with a teasing shake of your head: ‘Not yours,’ you make an ‘X’ with your arms and then gesture to your hand, ‘Don’t touch,’. Nodding, Polites agrees and spreads the word with instructions on how you want the crewmen to harvest the fruit trees but to keep away from the crop fields.

“I wonder what you’ve been up to while we’ve been exploring Fair Maiden?” Eurylochus asks, curious about your hidden activities. By now, a majority of the crew have fed back to comment on the things they’ve found about the island, talking about its geography, the landscape, its large variety of vegetation from flowers to overgrown weeds, the path of the freshwater, drinkable rivers, the waterfalls, the large lake and lack of natural threats. This was an island paradise, perfectly safe, as is expected from the island you call home. How lucky they were to have met you and to have landed on your island.

Happy he asked as you were just putting the final touches to the outdoor bathing area, you lead Eurylochus, Odysseus, Polites and some of the crew to the established bathing nook you’ve built. What you show them is nothing like their Greek public baths but it was familiar enough to get their hearts racing with excitement. Bathing in warm waters was always a rejuvenating experience, helping many soldiers with aching muscles and low spirits regain their strength and mental wellness. After their battles and journey, everyone was eager to have a long, hot soak.

“This is incredible!” Odysseus laughs in his joy, going up to you and fondly messing up your hair, “Did you really set all this up for us?” There were fresh towels in baskets, a nearby waterfall for a cold plunge and three sizeable hot water pools surrounded by heavy rocks. There was even a table provided for their belongings next to an area with alien contraptions and small bottles. Odysseus could only guess that those bottles held the appropriate soaps they needed for a thorough wash.

Playfully, you nod but huff and cross your arms, gesturing to yourself with a look that says ‘Yes but it’s for me too,’. Your gestures only made Odysseus laugh more, his warm, brown eyes looking fondly at you with a touch of gratitude.

“Of course, of course, for you as well,” Polites laughs as Eurylochus smiles with his arms crossed, “but I wonder how we should go about using this apparatus…” he points to the shower area you set up on one side, next to the small waterfall — hoping that the association with the waterfall would help them learn that the showers functioned the same way.

Happily, you demonstrate how to turn the water on and off, doing your best to tell the men to shower first before soaking in the hot springs. You even go so far as to show them the different dispensers for their different washing needs. Everyone has since grown attentive to observing your movements and expressions so it was easy enough to understand which coloured dispenser did what and the order they should go about using them. It was quite novel in appearance but familiar enough that navigation would easily become second nature. Everyone was excited to finally wash the salt off their skin and feel refreshed again. Once they were clear on how things went, you led them out of the area and see if they were satisfied with the privacy the bamboo trees offered along with the strategically placed bamboo partitions. Firstly and most importantly, however, your instructions on how they should use the baths needed to be met strictly.

“Understood,” Eurylochus voices in his usually strict tone, “I’ll make sure everyone else knows what to do,” gratefully, you nod at him and move to get out of their way but are stopped by Odysseus.

“Now that you’ve shown us, I believe you should be taking the first bath, Fair Maiden,” he nods towards the showers, “you’ve done so much for my men and me thus far, you are the first of us all who deserves a relaxing bath,” you give him a questioning look, asking ‘are you sure?’. “We’re sure, don’t worry,” he smiles at you kindly before a shout cuts through the tender moment.

“I will guard the Fair Maiden while she bathes!” a distant hand is raised within the crowd of men, the shout coming out so sudden and loud that it visibly startles you. Seeing your frightened expression, however, gets Odysseus visibly irate and he readies himself to give that particular crewman the tongue-lashing of his life. But before anything can be said, a conflict has already started.

“No! I will guard the Fair Maiden!”

“I am better with a sword, I can protect her better than you!”

“There’s nothing to protect her from on this island. I am a great conversationalist, I’m sure she would appreciate the talk while she bathes—”

“Don’t be so stupid, who’d want to listen to your stupid voice while bathing?!”

Not long into the argument, a fistfight breaks out, but even before that, Polites has already helped you sneak into the baths, making sure you were settled before heading out, promising that he, the Captain and the second commander would take care of things so that you can relax. With a loud shout and a fierce look, Odysseus has the crew behaving again, feeling no sympathy for those showcasing visible black eyes, bruises and swelling cheeks.

“I expected more of you two,” Odysseus shakes his head at Perimedes, who had a black eye, and Elpenor, who sported two painfully swollen cheeks. Elpenor tried to explain their motivations, but with both of his cheeks swollen, his words were barely decipherable and can be best described as incoherent nonsense.

“We only fought back because someone dragged us into the fight,” Perimedes explained before uttering under his breath, “it’s not like anyone else could take better care of our Fair Maiden…”

“Can you really say that after your antics at the boat earlier?” Polities appreciated that the two, at least, had the decency to look bashful.

“Eurylochus and I will guard the Fair Maiden,” Odysseus announces firmly, leaving no room for argument as Eurylochus stands tall beside him, arms crossed over his chest and making his appendages look all the more muscular — a silent threat to his own men, “Anyone who would like to challenge that is free to prove themselves in a one on one fight with either of us…” obviously, nobody would dare to openly oppose their captain and second commander. “Nobody?… Good, you know your place. Now set up your camps! Polites will supervise you,” Polites nods when Odysseus meets his eyes and happily goes along with his duties, herding the crew away from the bathing area.

Bathing first really was a good idea. It allowed you to test out the functionality of the baths and provided a rare quiet after days spent with the crewmen. It was so relaxing you didn’t think you would ever leave, but alas, you were getting hungry, and if you were hungry, then the crew were hungry too. You’ll look into your storage for tonight, but tomorrow, you will begin gathering more ingredients again for freshly cooked meals. After your bath, you pull out your wand and easily magic yourself into a new outfit. This one was something you prepared beforehand that matched your new cottage core theme. This outfit featured another custom-designed dress you made. This one was also long and was designed based on the 1804 French evening dress, with a ribbon tied just under your breasts and delicate short sleeves to give you a square neckline. It was a beautiful dress that made you feel like a water sprite. It took you ages to design but, looking in the full-length mirror to one side of the baths, you were happy with the results.

Stepping out of the baths, you greet Odysseus and Eurylochus with a smile, both of whom return the greeting kindly.

“You look refreshed,” Eurylochus comments with a curt nod of approval.

“I must say your sense of fashion is very nice, Fair Maiden…” Odysseus’ words make you tilt your head curiously. You wonder where he was going with this, he’s not usually the type to make such comments about your appearance, unlike the other unmarried men of his crew, “Do you suppose you have some similarly styled clothes I can offer to my wife, Penelope?” His words make you beam with excitement, nodding enthusiastically, which makes him grin in return, “You do?! And you’re willing to give them to my wife?” you nod again, “Thank you so much!”

You wave off the King’s gratitude casually as if you were saying that it wouldn’t be a big deal, and it really wasn’t. It was then, however, that you catch Eurylochus’ shy expression. When you turn to him curiously, Odysseus seems to already know what he wants to ask and has the biggest, teasing grin on his face as you patiently wait for the second commander to explain himself.

“W-would you be able to do the same for my wife Ctimene?” excitedly, you nod your head as well, instantly wiping away Eurylochus’ worries and making the large, imposing man, grin widely.

Group by group, Odysseus and his crew all take turns soaking in the baths. The only problem after was the clothes they would have to change into knowing that their current attire wasn’t any good. But you had an easy solution to that. Wanting to give them clothing items that seemed familiar, you offered clean Chitons, thankful that you had access to the catalogue from your Nookphone, which was always helpfully tucked away in your back pocket. Conveniently, there was no waiting time needed here, and your orders appeared before you immediately. You save the differently coloured Togas for Odysseus, Polites and Eurylochus to help differentiate them from the rest of the crew members. Odysseus was wearing his signature purple sash, whilst Polites and Eurylochus wore red sashes. Thankfully, you were right to assign the clothing like this, and everyone was thankful for the relaxing bath, clean clothing and the delicious meal you had prepared afterwards: a delicious novel dish (to them) of Fish and Chips. There were satisfied hums and complimentary remarks made all throughout dinner, with everyone taking the chance to look towards you in appreciation at some point in the evening.

“Polites and my crew have informed me of a house on the northeast side of the island,” Odysseus casually brings up as you eat your portion of fish and chips beside him. “Would that happen to be your home?” having perked up at his words, you nod. So your house was still standing… you wonder why your villagers’ houses aren’t, nor the other buildings on the island. “Polites made sure nobody broke in unnecessarily. Tonight, I’m sure you would appreciate sleeping in your home. My men and I have made our camps about the island already, so don’t worry about us,”

You smile at his thoughtfulness and bow your head gratefully, “None of that now,” Odysseus hurries to lift your head, “at this point, we all stand on level ground. You’ve done more for me and my crew than I think you’re aware of,” growing flustered under his high praise, you look away with a bashful smile. Truly, it wasn’t hard for you to do the things you’ve done, you loved playing animal crossing and it’s a joy to experience it in real life, especially when you get to offer the help your favourite characters need at just the right time. It would feel wrong if you didn’t offer your help knowing you had the power to.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

The next morning, you spend your time making fishing poles for everyone so that they can fish for their own meals and help you speed up the cooking. They were all more than happy to help you, and eager to learn from you as well. Elpenor especially; he doesn’t seem to have any technique working in his favour. Perimedes, on the other hand, has already caught his dinner and handed it over to you, but, as a faithful friend, he had vowed to stand beside Elpenor until the hopeless fool finally catches a fish himself. Sometimes, the taller blonde was tempted to pull the fishing pole from Elpenor’s useless hands, impatient in his helpfulness, but wanted his friend to feel the achievement of catching the fish himself first.

“Are you going to fish with us?” Eurylochus asks, turning away from the ocean to look at you curiously. Several other men were set up close by, also waiting for fish to take the bait. Nodding enthusiastically, you look forward with determination as the crew members look on curiously from where they’re stationed. Odysseus and Polites had already caught their fish, and you had helpfully stored away their catches for them. The two stand by, simply observing and eying your flowing dress curiously. You seem to have a habit of doing chores in the most unexpected attire. They suppose it’s because you are that exceptional — no item of clothing will hold you back from the things you want to do, even if they are long flowing, beautiful dresses.

“If the Fair Maiden catches a fish before you,” Perimedes begins, playfully jabbing his friend’s side with a sharp elbow, “I would begin to question your masculine prowess, dear friend,”

“The Fair Maiden catching a fish before me doesn’t bring my masculinity into question, Perimedes,” Elpenor huffs with a slight redness in his cheeks, “It only attests to the Fair Maiden’s greatness,”

“I suppose you’re right,” Perimedes shrugs, and they both watch you from their periphery, as is the habit of every crew member whenever they see you nearby. They just can’t help themselves; you draw their eye easily, and they are weak to beauties like you. Beauties with the kindest heart known to man. They yearn to bring you close but are well aware of their self-deficiencies — no man alive is worthy of someone as fair and wondrous as you. Not even the king himself.

Not long after you’ve cast your fishing pole you get a tug and everyone watches with baited breath as you fight with the fish at the end of your line. Everyone silently cheers you on until their jaws slacken at the monstrous creature you pull out of the water and proudly present to them, carrying it as if it weighs no heavier than a leaf.

A whale shark! This will earn you good money when you sell it to Tommy and Timmy.

“Wh-what sort of ocean creature is that?” Polites asks in disbelief, adjusting his glasses as Odysseus laughs from beside him, clutching his stomach as tears of laughter fill his eyes. The kind had long since abandoned all need to find an explanation for your ‘odd’ behaviour, he’s learned to shrug it off and, instead, find joy in the astonished, jaw-dropped, eye-bulging expressions of his crew members. Never before has he laughed so much, and he has you to thank for it. Odysseus wasn't finished laughing, however, as another wave of surprise exclamations, shock and disbelief flooded his crew when you casually stored away the gigantic creature in your back pocket.

(From a distance, Odysseus hears another familiar giggle overlapping with his own laughter.)

“H-HOW?!” Perimedes shouts with his hands clutching at his head in disbelief, his eyes wide as his brows have flown to his hairline. However, everyone knows that his question will never be answered as you flash him an innocent smile. You can’t speak; they just have to accept things as they come from you.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Savouring the stable ground and the grand scenery of your island paradise, the crew members observe you zipping around the land as if you have all the energy to spare, hitting rocks over and over to draw out raw materials unlike they’ve ever seen anyone else do. It’s as if Mother Nature herself wanted to provide you with everything you need; she was at your beck and call, and it was astonishing to witness. You even manage to draw out solid gold chunks from ordinary rocks, making the crew’s eyes bulge before they furiously rub at them in disbelief. Of course, they don’t confront you about it; it would be extremely rude to do so. They also don’t want their Captain and commanders breathing down their necks about any disorderly behaviour towards you. It’s clear to everyone that you are someone they care very deeply about, and all three have grown especially protective of you, so not only are you the most ethereal being to exist, but you’re also the most protected and secure.

It was a little scary now that they think about it…

Some of the men have come very close to openly protesting against you, however, especially when several have seen you burying sacks of gold after digging up a glowing area of land a fellow crew member had pointed you towards. Those who witnessed your strange behaviour were very vocal in encouraging you to dig the sack of money back up, but you were adamant about refusing, no matter their sound reasoning. All those men quickly shut up under their Captain’s sharp eyes, their second commander’s growling but firm command to stop, and their third commander’s scary, silent smile. Several days go by, and the crewmen realise that they hadn’t just seen you bury gold coins uselessly but they’ve actually witnessed you plant and grow a money tree.

As you’ve done many times before, once the tree has grown to its full size, you go up to the trunk and violently shake it to make the three large sacks of money fall from its branches. Before anyone could utter a word, however, you’ve already collected the money and zipped away without a single penny left behind. You were like a greedy little chipmunk, who had looted all the nuts and hurriedly sprinted away without an ounce of remorse at the fact that you left nothing for the others. All the could do was watch with sagging shoulders and depressed expressions as you ran into the sunset, happy with your bountiful haul.

Sadly, that money tree doesn’t sprout sacks of money again…

(Distantly, you hear laughter that tickles your brain just right, but you don’t want to get your hopes up.)

The crew also silently observe as you passionately shake trees every day for sticks and fruit as well as random items ranging from small, miscellaneous trinkets that don’t typically belong on trees to fully built furniture. They’ve all experienced small heart attacks every time, worried for your wellbeing when they see a large piece of furniture emerge from the branches and soundly drop. Thankfully, all items conveniently drop a safe distance away from you. But that’s because you’re the Fair Maiden. They don’t believe they have the same luck as you and it’s deterred a majority of them from shaking trees unless they know what would be dropping down, limiting them to shaking only the fruit trees in your orchard.

There was a time when you had shaken a tree, and a bee hive fell, sending everyone into an immediate panic as the angry bees rose in anger. Without thinking, Elpenor jumps in the way just as you’ve raised your net, taking the horrible storm of bee stings for you. You fall to the ground with him, holding him close as your apology is clearly expressed in your features, your brows furrowed and tears in your eyes. You want to call him an idiot so badly, didn’t he see your net?!

…What a loveable fool he was…

You see that he wants to smile in assurance from where you hold him in your arms but the bee stings make it close to impossible. His lips and eyes are swollen, his cheeks too and his arm and neck! Goodness, everywhere you look there are bee stings! This is much worse than in the game! Frantic, you lay his head on your lap as Perimedes falls to the ground beside you and takes his best friend’s hand in his own.

“How idiotic can you get Elpenor?!” Despite his words, you can tell the blonde is far from annoyed. Rather, he is more worried for his friend than anything else.

“The fair maiden was in danger…” Elpenor answers simply, his voice strained but you both shake your heads at him, silently asking that he don’t overtax himself.

Flicking through your storage, you bring out the bag of medicine you always prepare for emergencies. Usually, you would simply press the ‘take medicine’ option, however, now that this was real life, you were having to reach inside the bag. When you do, you bring out a simple balm, but the case is empty of any instructions or labels. Everyone watches closely as you take some of the balm onto your fingers and spread the ointment over their youngest crew member’s visible stings. All those who are watching, visibly awe at the immediate effects your medicine has on Elpenor. The balm barely stays on for a second to sink in before Elpenor’s injuries completely disappear, his skin no longer swollen, the concerning redness of his stings gone, and his boyish smile has returned.

“What is this…?” Perimedes asks, eyeing the medicine in disbelief but it had also disappeared along with Elpenor’s injuries. “I can’t believe it…”

“Fair maiden,” Elpenor turns to you with a bright smile, ready to express his gratitude and astonishment but is cut off when you jump into his arms, hoping your tight hug will convey the amount of gratitude you had in your heart for him. He was so brave but what a fool! You hope he never jumps in front of danger like that again!

“It’s okay,” you feel Elpenor gently brush his hand along your back, “I wouldn’t mind taking all the bee stings for you. Especially knowing that you can cure me instantly,” his happy smile can be heard in his words as you bury your face into his broad shoulder.

“You’re an idiot…” Perimedes laughs as you meet his fond gaze from over Elpenor’s shoulder. You give his much taller friend a look to convey your thoughts somehow and Perimedes nods, “The Fair Maiden doesn’t want you to do that again, so promise her right now or else you will incur her wrath!”

Elpenor laughs bashfully, “I-If that is what the fair maiden wishes,“ he reaches for your hands and kisses your knuckles to seal his promise.

Those who stood by watching gaze at you in unfiltered amazement. Never before had they seen medicine heal at the rate and effectiveness you have just demonstrated. Every day, they realise just how otherworldly of a person you are. Are you even a person? Maybe they were closer to figuring out your true origins when comparing you to the Gods and Goddesses, after all.

“None of you are allowed to speak of this to anyone outside of those here, got it?” Odysseus utters, appearing to materialise out of the crowd observing the scene. His sudden appearance startles everyone, but they silently agree with him the instant his words process in their minds. A dark look had overtaken their captain, and it wasn’t one they were fond of. Nobody asked questions, nobody harassed you, nobody stood out of place awkwardly. They know that acting out would only endanger you, making you a target of the gods, much like the way their captain had been targeted in the potential future they were forced to witness through song. There was a silent agreement among them that they weren’t letting anything like that happen again. Not if they could help it. And that means keeping quiet.

Seeing the amount of things you were doing daily on the island, however, had the crewmen itching to be productive. You understand they want to prove themselves helpful so after you collect the crops, you hand them watering cans to water the crop fields for you, you even teach them to make ingredients such as flour and sugar from the permanent outdoor cooking area you’ve set up. You’ve also helped them use your workbench to create tables and chairs to set up around your cooking area so that food can be eaten more comfortably. Everyone has gotten into the habit of catching their own fish and rationing the fruit so that everyone gets a piece. After only a short time, a functioning routine had been built amongst you, all centred around the chores you would typically do each day about the island but now, you had more people helping you, meaning that you could concentrate on stocking up supplies, cooking good meals for them and creating fun memories of all the wonderful people on Odysseus’ crew.

Everyone was just doing their part to contribute and make your task of taking care of them that much easier. This was your island, after all; it was the least they could do. If only you weren’t constantly stunning them with your strange antics. At least not any ordinary day goes by.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

After a week or so spent on the island, you were on the right track to filling up your storage with the right amount of food and ingredients, and everyone had gotten into a good routine. Hermes, however, was just itching to make an introduction. The mischievous god had been observing you for a while. Ever since the rumours began amongst the crew, his curiosity had been piqued, and Athena’s subtle ways of dismissing the gossip only worked at making him all the more curious about you. The messenger god was glad he took the time to investigate you himself; never before had he laughed so much and been so entertained. Despite never having interacted with you, he’s grown a fondness for you already, he delights in your innocent but outrageous displays, leaving the 600 men in your wake with bulging eyes, slack jaws and racing minds that still come slow to comprehend what they were just witnesses to.

He’s waited long enough, and quite patiently, he’d like to add. It was about time he finally revealed himself to you. And what better time to do so than while the sun sets and you had just said your farewells with the crew for the night, starting your way back home alone? He can’t miss this opportunity.

“My my, what a beauty~” he coos, doing his best to suppress a giggle at the stunned look on your face when he suddenly floats down from his high perch. “I say, is your name really ‘Fair Maiden’?” seeing the recognition on your face, Hermes flings his luscious, brunette locks over his shoulder with a coy smile, “I see you’ve heard of me~ yes, it is I, Hermes, the God of merchants, thieves, travellers,” his eyes glow a pure white beneath the shadow of his hat, staring at you for one knowing, uncomfortable moment as a large grin occupies the unshadowed part of his face. “And these dashing good looks of mine, of course~” he ends on a cheeky note, winking deviously as you try to muster a smile despite the chill lingering in your spine from his earlier expression. Does he know?

“Of course, I know~” he looks at his nails with admiration, “I was one of the few gods who knew of you the instant you came here,” Hermes flies down, his feet up in the air as he lowers his face to level, leaving only an embarrassing inch of distance between you, “You’re quite the hot topic you know. Athena has her hands full, keeping talks of you to a minimum up in Olympus. I suppose you two have some sort of deal going on between you…” Hermes carefully inspects you as you avoid his eyes. How adorable you are~ So cute!

It’s not like that…

“Oh? Explain it to me then, pet~” he coos with fondness, reaching up to play with your hair innocently as you try not to get too bashful. Not only was he an intimidating presence, but he had a very handsome face. You can see where Odysseus got his admirable features from. It was in Hermes’ handsome-framing hair, his golden, sun-kissed skin, his charming but disarming eyes, and his pretty lips meant for more than just pleasant words… “Don’t leave me waiting now~ Beauty and sweetness can only get you so far when it comes to wasting the time of a god~” he giggles, leaving his remark suspiciously suspended between humour and a serious threat.

I- uh…

“Just kidding!” he giggles into your temple, nuzzling your head affectionately and displaying something similar to cuteness-aggression, “I know you’re only captivated by my gorgeous face, so feel free to take all the time you need in answering me darling~” Hermes wraps his arms around your neck, using you as his anchor to the ground. He continues nuzzling his face into your temple as he kicks his legs in the air like a teenage girl reading her favourite ‘x reader’ fanfiction in bed. Hurriedly stepping away from his dizzying nearness, you take a moment to gather your thoughts, avoiding his teasing grin as you catch your breath.

Athena and I only share a similar goal. We find that it’s best to work together to achieve it. There isn’t a single bargaining chip put down from either side. You explain in your head as the god nods along, seeming to hear your thoughts telepathically. You suppose all gods have a way of communicating with you.

“I see~ That’s good! That’s very good actually,” he flies forward, his face inches from your own once again, eager to keep the close proximity as you slowly back yourself into a nearby tree. “That means you don’t have Athena’s blessing,”

N-no, I don’t…

“Fabulous!” Hermes throws his arms up, finally drawing back and striking a celebratory starfish pose whilst suspended mid-air. However, just as quickly as he celebrates, he just as quickly moves closer to you once again, his face so impossibly close that you’re falling into the glow of his eyes and feel the brush of his lips against your own as he speaks, “then I will be giving you my blessing, darling. A great honour, I know~” he suppresses a giggle and affectionately tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before placing his palm against the tree trunk beside your head, effectively pinning you in place, “No need to thank me, pet~ But we do need to seal the deal, somehow,” he talks at such lightening speed that you barely have the time to register his words before he’s capturing your lips in his own, his large hands softly holding your face in place and drawing out the kiss for as long as he wishes. You don’t know whether to push him away or deepen the kiss further.

Wh-why—…?

“All great travellers are mine to take care of,” he explains in a firm whisper, pulling away as he licks his lips and coos at the stunned, flushed expression on your pretty face, “Call me whenever you need, darling! Take care now~” Hermes begins to float up and slowly disappears into the night sky, revealing from behind him another one of your storage sheds.

Hermes had left your brain in shambles and your heart in a dangerous race with itself. You don’t know how long you stayed slumped against the tree that mischievous god had just claimed your lips against but the sunset had long since passed.

After calming your racing heart, you step up to the shed and curiously look inside. It looked like any other one of your storage sheds but the black void within was more ominous looking… was this Hermes’ doing? Or was it just because it was nighttime and dark outside?

A sudden nudge in your back makes you fall into the black void with a yelp, and you fall for a moment before dropping forward onto a hard, cold, wooden floor. Looking around, you take in your surroundings and recognise the layout immediately. You’re on Odysseus’ ship, on the top deck, and in front of your open storage shed. This one was the first you had fallen out of and into this world, which you had kept on board, knowing that you just had to look for your home to access your full storage again. And you had plenty more storage sheds to spare, there was no need to do all that moving about.

Did you just…?

Rushing to the shed, you hold your breath and throw yourself forward before you have the chance to second-guess your actions. The same blackness consumes you as a rush makes your head spin but, this time, you fall onto soft grass — you’re back at that other storage shed now. Gasping silently, you admire the grass beneath your hands as your heart begins to race at the incredible gift Hermes had bestowed upon you.

“What’s the latest, Sulky?” a cute voice enters your ears, making you shoot your head up and gasp at the sight of your villagers. They were not the anthropomorphic cute avatars from Animal Crossing that you were familiar with, but stood before you as normal animals— only, they’ve managed to retain their unusual colouring and patterns.

“Marshal?...”

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next | four. the washed-up stranger →

next | small imagine : you didn't have to kiss her hermes →

a/n : phew~ I hope everyone had a fun read! I loved writing Hermes hehe~ and if anyone's curious, I imagine his design from Zieru's 'Dangerous' animatic on YouTube. Also the villagers will be appearing in the next chapter but I don't know whether to base it off my villagers or take some favourite villagers suggestions... either way we're definitely having Marshal as a villager!

For those of you who are curious about who my villagers are, here's the list for you: Fauna ; Shino ; Poppy ; Filbert ; Marshal ; Chrissy ; Fang ; Boots ; Gaston ; Mitzi

taglist : @bluepanda08 @doodle-with-rhy @sunshinedaisy21 @jolixtreesunn @ellaprime7 @marcelemry @nishayuro @celestialzdiviner (almost forgot the taglist phew~)

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livinginshambles · 2 years ago

Text

You're unbelievable (derogatory) | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You're best friends with James, but since his new relationship with Lily, you find yourself standing on the side more often than not.

Your friendship with James breaks when he has to choose between you or Lily, and it's only after the damage is done that he realizes the consequences of his actions.

Note: Lily's kind of a not cool in this fic. Not proofread, mistakes (grammar and maybe continuity because I rewrote the middle from memory) Time lines are wrong, howarts is endless.

_______________________

“James Potter, you’re unbelievable!” You exclaimed, and if not for the widest grin ever plastered on you face, those words could hold an entirely different meaning. You gave James a tight side hug while you clutched your precious gift to your chest.

“Well, you better believe it darling,” Sirius appeared on your left. “Prongs made us stand in line for that signed copy for eight hours. EIGHT HOURS,” he complained and shook James back and forth by his shirt collar.

“And not to mention, he woke us up at 2 o’clock in the morning for that,” Peter happily reminded him, and Sirius wailed at the memory and dramatically dropped to his knees. You stumbled back and James was quick to hold you steadily.

“Oh, quit it with the theatrics,” Remus mused, and he pulled Sirius up from the floor where he had slouched his entire weight against your legs. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Sirius huffed. “For you maybe. Because you secretly wanted to get your book signed too,” he accused Remus. Remus sheepishly shrugged.

James pressed a kiss to your temple, and you melted inside. “Happy birthday, love,” he whispered with a fond smile, and you bashfully looked away.

“Thanks,” you muttered awkwardly. Godric, you despised the attention that birthdays bring along.

“On that note, I’m heading towards the library,” you excused yourself. “But thank you guys so much for getting that book for me, I love you guys so much,” you said and blew them a kiss as you stepped backwards to the door.

“Hold on,” James frowned. “We’re not celebrating?”

“Uh, no I have to work on our Potions assignment.”

“Oh. Well, let me walk you to the library, yeah?” James offered, but you had an inkling feeling that it wasn’t really a question.

You laughed and pulled a face at him. “I can’t stop you anyways, can I? You’re an absolute menace, Potter.”

“I’m just trying to spend the day together.” James wrapped an arm around you and guided you towards the door.

“You know, the day on which the world has been blessed with your birth. And just as it was always meant to be, might I add, because look at where this led, such a perfectly beautiful day to celebrate.” He winked.

“Today is a wonderful day,” you hummed in agreement. “But you know I was supposed to be born late April, not March. So not really ‘as it was always meant to be’ at all,” you pointed out.

James rolled his eyes. “Uh, yes it was. Otherwise, we would’ve never met at the hospital and become bestest friends.”

“That’s not even correct gramm-”

“Besides, didn’t see you much today,” James unbotherdly continued.

You shook your head in amusement. “Come along then,” you pretended to relent in a joking manner. James was already pulling you along anyway.

You looked back at the rest of the marauders. “You guys also coming?”

You got an unenthusiastic hum from Peter and nothing from Remus, who was too deep in his book to have heard you. You looked at Sirius.

“Darling, I love you, but that’s six flights of stairs,” Sirius laughed, and he settled in on the sofa.

You gasped in fake horror. “So, is that the limit of your love for me?” You sniffed and pretended to wipe away a tear. “I guess-, I guess that’s it then. We’re just not meant to be,” you sighed.

“I know, darling. And I’m sorry. Just know, it’s not you, it’s me,” Sirius solemnly agreed.

You opened your mouth to continue your devastating-sad-ending-love-story when James, who had felt strangely annoyed at Sirius, impatiently grabbed your hand and pulled you out the door.

You enjoyed the feeling of walking hand in hand with James, even though it was short-lived. He let go of your hand as soon as he realized he was still holding it, and you two walked next to each other in a comfortable silence. Again, short-lived.

“I swear, one of these days, Lily might give me a chance. She smiled at me yesterday after supper, you know.” James happily bragged, eyes in a dreamy haze, no doubt imagining Lily.

You peered up at him and quietly admired his blissed look. It may never be directed towards you but seeing him so happy really made you glad and all warm inside.

Not that you’d ever let him know that.

Instead, you snorted at his words, tiptoed, and slung an arm across his broad shoulders. “In your dreams, maybe,” you sassed at him. James wanted to huff at your reply, but at your struggle to reach his other shoulder, he couldn’t help but laugh wholeheartedly, and he wrapped his arms around your shoulder instead.

“You’ve got to stop growing, James,” you protested and ducked out from under his arm.

“Quite the opposite actually, perhaps you should start,” he mocked you and you reached out to shove him but he put a step back out of the way fluently and then smoothly pulled back his shoulder just in time when you tried to shove him again. “So predictable,” he tsked. You opted to stick out your tongue instead.

“So,” James started. You hummed in reply. “Mum’s asking if you’re spending Easter with us again,” he casually mentioned.

“Oh really, Euphemia is asking me huh,” you teased him.

James looked away embarrassedly.

“Hm, not sure,” you shrugged nonchalantly. “Think I’m gonna be sort of preoccupied with my cousins from Ireland,” you looked at him through the corner of your eyes and caught his disappointed expression. A grin grew on your face like that of a Cheshire cat and you nudged him again.

“Oh, come on James, I’m kidding, you know. I’ve literally never not spent Easter with you. Besides, I live right across the street, James. I can literally come over any time, even if my cousins visit.”

“Yeah, but I meant like stay over at my house for the whole holiday,” James pouted. You glanced at him and smiled fondly. “Well, again; I live right across the street. So I guess I can also just go and visit my cousins at my house any time.”

You finally reached the bottom of the staircases and stopped mid-step. “Bloody hell, I forgot my books.”

You shot James a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I just have to go back up real quick, but it won’t be long at all-.”

“I’m right behind you, love.”

“You can’t be serious,” you gaped at him.

James was beaming. Sirius and Remus’ jaws were slacked on the floor and Peter frowned as if he was trying to comprehend James’ statement.

“She agreed to a date!?” Sirius shrieked out. “But-,” Sirius stammered and he let his eyes fall onto you for a split second. It was very quiet for a moment while all of you processed this news.

“Well, I’ll be damned, Prongs,” you grinned up at him. “Not such a far-fetched idea after all.” You smiled encouragingly at him and he shot you a grateful look.

“Congrats,” you nudged him, and that seemed to break the rest of the marauders out of it, all congratulating and offering date ideas.

You zoned out for a moment. A bitter-sweet taste in your mouth. You we’re thrilled for James. You knew how much she meant to him. But that little piece of hope that you had unconsciously clung onto, made the news tough to take.

Regardless, you were just happy to have James in your life. He was your best friend, and you would support him, no matter what. Because you knew he’d do the same for you.

“When’s the date?” you curiously asked.

James scratched his head. “Uh, next week, Friday night.”

“Wait, Friday when you were going to take me to see the blue crescent moon?” you deadpanned.

“I’ll take you to the next one, I promise,” James solemnly swore and he put his hand on his heart.

You huffed in disappointment but quickly turned around to face Remus with a sweet smile. “Remus, my best friend,” you started, and instantly got pulled back by James who wore a pout on his face.

“Wait, it was supposed to be a you and me thing,” he whined while he tugged you back into his side. You stuck your tongue out and ruffled his hair.

“You’re busy, and the next blue moon is going to be a full moon, so we’ll be with Remus,” you pointed out. “And after that, it’ll be another two years until the next.” Then you skipped back over to Remus.

James hummed in thought. He knew you were right. “Fine,” he reluctantly said. “But I’m taking you to watch the passing comet next month,” he bargained.

You stuck out your hand with a laugh. “Deal,” you grinned.

“It’s a promise,” James confirmed.

It became clear to you that you might have overestimated your own importance to James after he and Lily officially started dating.

Your eyes were searching for James, and you decided to confront him when you spotted him.

“James!” You ran to catch up to him. You smiled at Lily with a small wave. “Lily,” you acknowledged her. “Can I borrow him for a moment?” You asked her. She shrugged and waved her hand in a discarding manner, “of course.”

“Hey uh, you didn’t show up yesterday, just checking in?” you asked James in concern when Lily was out of reach.

James mind blanked for a moment. He was racking his brain about ‘yesterday’ and his eyes grew wide when realization hit him. “Bloody hell, I completely forgot!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah,” you laughed, relieved that he was alright and had just forgotten about it.

“Well you didn’t show up in the astronomy tower so I tried looking for you, but I couldn’t find you. I asked Sirius for the map, but can you believe it? He said he’d lost it.”

You chuckled when you recalled his apologetic expression and completely missed the way James shut his eyes and pinched his nose in guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” James said. He pulled you into a hug.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, Sirius joined me to watch the comet pass by. Wasn’t that impressive, but it did look like a falling star so I guess I made a wish, and-”

“Can have him back now?” Lily’s voice came from behind him, and he quickly released you. “Yeah, of course,” you rushed to say, but she had already grabbed him by the arm and led him away.

James looked back at you and mouthed a ‘sorry’ at you. You shook your head dismissively and raised your thumbs up.

It was only during the next missed hangout, two weeks later, that you found out he forgot because he’d been with Lily instead.

Peter had seen you off to find James, and had watched you return three hours later, a sad look on your face.

“Not again,” he’d groaned and slipped up. You couldn’t be angry at James because you realized that he was just putting effort into his new relationship. Peter had hugged you and you two had spent the evening sneaking into the art room to paint each other.

Peter was surprisingly a splendid artist and you had put the painting that he painted of yourself against the wall on the floor next to your bed, and gave Peter the one you painted of him.

“Damn, Peter,” James nodded at the canvas. “You painted that?”

“Huh? Oh,” Peter was getting dressed and pulled his sweater over his head. He looked from the painting to James. “Uh, Y/N did,” he beamed. “It looks good right?”

“You guys painted..?”

“Yeah, cause you didn’t show up again yesterday,” Peter casually mentioned. “You know, she was-“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because James had already sprinted out of the room to find you to apologize.

But as usual, James thought it had to be a grand gesture.

Flowers! Lily liked flowers. Girls like flowers, perfect. The idea popped up in his head, and he went to work to cover your entire dorm and bed with flowers.

It seemed like a perfect idea.

Until it evidently wasn’t.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, it slipped my mind,” James apologized for the thousandth time as he sat by at the side of the hospital bed with the rest of the marauders. They shared a look with each other.

“Well, I bet you’ll never forget about my severe flower allergy ever again now,” you joked in attempt to console him. Your face was swollen and your eyes were bloodshot.

You smiled at James and tried to push back the hurt you felt at the fact that he forgot about something as important as that.

“I’ll make it up to you,” James quickly promised with a grimace.

“Do you get that same sense of déjà vu or is it just me,” Sirius remarked from the other side of the bed.

“No, I get it too,” Peter agreed almost too quickly.

James frowned at his friends for the little jab. They knew he didn’t do it on purpose right? He looked at Remus for support.

“Better be one hell of an idea,” was all he said.

“Oh come on,” you attempted to kick Sirius weakly with your leg but failed because your legs were still half paralyzed.

“Stop giving him such a hard time,” you started. James shot you a relieved look.

“He’s already feeling shit for almost killing me,” you grinned and James groaned and dropped his head on the side of your bed. You moved your arm with some effort and let your fingers stroke through his hair.

“I’ll be the best best-friend there is, starting from right now. I’ve got so many ideas for Easter holiday and it includes your favorite chocolate,” he promised in a muffled voice.

Whatever you imagined his ideas for activities during the Easter holiday included, it wasn’t with Lily in the picture. Yet here you were, sitting across of her at the dinner table.

They were both deeply engrossed in each other and you and Fleamont shared a look.

“How’s your year been, sweetheart?” Fleamont asked and he looked at you over his glasses. You smiled at him, relieved.

“It was great so far, I mean, despite being bedridden for two weeks, but the guys have been great,” you jumped to talk about your adventures.

“I went to watch the blue crescent moon with Remus, and the comet with Sirius. And I’ve painted with Peter! I’ve got to say, he’s painted me in a flattering light,” you rambled on passionately.

“Oh, and we’ve started a study group thing together, it’s basically just Remus and I trying to help Sirius and Peter though,” you lightheartedly joked.

“We’ve played some harmless pranks too, like turning every toad into a cat and every cat into a toad, it was utter chaos!” You shared and at his disapproving look and focus on James, you quickly intervened. “Don’t worry, James didn’t do anything, he’s been good,” you joked.

You missed Fleamont’s raised eyebrows.

“I’ve been swimming in the lake with the boys and pranked Remus and Peter with Sirius and pretended to be merpeople, you should’ve heard their screams!”

Your eyes were gleaming at this point as you relived your happiest moments so far. “Well, until Remus cast a spell on Sirius that turned him into a slug of course.”

“So when the four of us went to Hogsmeade…” You continued to ramble on and failed to notice how James’ eyes subconsciously trailed over to you every now and then, listening in on the conversation and realizing his name never fell once.

Lily noticed his divided attention and was unsurprisingly and rather justifiably annoyed at James.

She voiced out her concerns to James that very night during which you had excused yourself and gone home across the street.

You didn’t want to third wheel and Godric forbid should you share a room with Lily. She hated your guts as it was and you didn’t feel like being smothered in your sleep.

When you had offered to go back home, you had sort of hoped he would say something along the lines of “No, please stay” and instead were met with a “Yeah, that’s probably for the best”.

And now, all he could wish for was chilling on his bed with you next to him while he was being chastised by Lily. His eyes glanced up and he stared at the enchanted bedroom ceiling full of stars, Lily’s voice long gone from his mind.

“Are you even listening to me?” She waved her hand in front of his face and he fought the urge to pull an annoyed face at her.

At his lack of response though, she repeated herself. “I’m your girlfriend. I thought you wanted this?”

James let her words sink in for a moment. She was all he ever wanted. And it was so so different from what he’d imagined it would be like.

Of course, he wasn’t planning on breaking up or anything, he didn’t want to be that douchebag that was only in it for the chase after all. And he hoped somehow that those feelings would return sometime.

She was everything he wanted. He just wished she’d be more interested in his friends, less disapproving of his pranks, or more proud of his achievements at Quidditch.

He would appreciate it if she were just a little bit more patient with him, and shared a little bit of his humour.

He just wanted her to be more open and enthusiastic about their relationship and himself.

He wanted her to be a little more like you-

He reeled back from that revelation. Oh.

Oh no. That would ruin his friendship.

“-and you know what, you can’t have both, James,” Lily continued and he snapped out of his thoughts.

“I can’t be your girlfriend if she’s in the picture. So choose. It’s me or her.”

James stared at her in surprise and then walked out of his room without another word to her.

He looked out the window at the real starry night sky. It seemed to him that he’d lose you regardless. But maybe, he’d be happy with Lily. She was all that matters, he convinced himself.

“Don’t you see how wrong it is that she’s making you choose,” you asked him incredulously, but your eyes looked at him pleadingly. James forced himself to look back at you and shook his head.

“No, she’s-, she’s right,” he mumbled, and you staggered back at that. “I mean, you’re a girl, you know?” You raised your eyebrows in an unimpressed manner. “Astute observation.” You dryly remarked.

“And everyone assumes things about us, so please, you have to understand that this isn’t fun for Lily either,” James tried. “I just can’t be friends with you and be in a relationship with Lily at the same time.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

“I can’t,” he urged. “And between you or her, I choose her. She’s my girlfriend,” he reasoned.

“And I’m your best friend since we were born,” you stubbornly retorted.

James looked at you beggingly, hoping that you’ll understand his predicament and that you’d make it easy on him. At the squint of your eyes and the deepening frown on your face, he gulped. “Please. I’m really sorry, but I have to choose her,” he finished weakly, doubling down on his decision.

Realizing that he wasn’t joking, it felt like he might as well have punched you in the gut. Your stubborn look flickered to hurt and then morphed into an ice-cold front of indifference.

You took a deep breath and collected yourself. You stared at him up and down, not recognizing your best friend in him anymore.

“You’re unbelievable,” you shook your head at him, and your voice was devoid of any emotion. With no other words to address the situation, you pushed past him roughly.

Months passed by and the summer vacation started. Then it ended and Hogwarts began again. All without a word from James. He had stopped spending much time with the marauders, mostly busy with walking after Lily.

Sometimes he would glance at you when she wasn’t watching, and he’d feel so lonely.

He waited for you during the vacation, but you never went to yourr house across his. Instead you spent your time with your cousins in Ireland.

When he made his way towards the platform on September 1st, he felt weird. First of all, he was slightly reluctant to go. He realized that he had thoroughly enjoyed his holiday without Lily.

But secondly, and perhaps most importantly; This was the first time ever that he went to the Hogwarts Express by himself, without you by his side, and an epiphany cleared his mind. Everything was so wrong.

You eyed him up and down. With lack of better words, he looked terrible. So terrible, that you might’ve pitied him any other time, because how could you ever be angry at James, when he looked so sad.

When his eyes are glassy and red. When his hair is disheveled as a result of an undoubtedly rough night. When his voice cracked at his sloppy apology. Or when his lips trembled almost unnoticeably when you said no.

But all of that wouldn’t magically clear away your own misery of the past months.

“I was supposed to be your best friend,” you enunciated slowly. “It’s always been you and me. Merlin, we’ve known each other since we were born and they ran out of baby cribs at St. Mungo’s, so they put us together in one!” you exclaimed.

You bitterly scoffed to yourself at the reminder of your literal lifelong friendship.

“But you cut me off for a relationship with Lily? Lily who rejected you for years and when she finally did agree to date you, never even gave you the time of the day?”

You stared at him incredulously and had to remind yourself to tone down your voice a little. You had unconsciously been raising it and didn’t want to attract unwanted attention.

“You followed her around like a lost puppy and cast me aside because she didn’t trust you for being friends with a girl and you were so easy to discard me,” you laughed humorlessly, trying to mask your hurt feelings. “I guess I must’ve really not meant all that much to you.”

To James’ credit, he at least had the decency of looking remorseful. His own words were replaying on a loop in his head. Of course he regretted it all.

“You can’t come back after that and expect me to just open my arms for you,” you firmly stated.

James looked at you helplessly, and you let out another laugh in disbelief. “Oh, Godric, you did,” you stared at him with wide eyes in surprise.

James could feel himself getting flustered and spoke up again. “I just thought that maybe-,”

“No, no, no. Like I said, I’m not doing this again.”

“Please, lov-, Y/N please, if you would just let me prove to you that you do mean so much to me,” His voice was getting increasingly more desperate. “I just want-, I need you to give me a second chanc-”

“A second chance? James, you are way past that. You’ve already had a second chance,” you bitterly told him. “Merlin, I’ve given you a second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth chance. I would’ve given you a thousand chances, but even that, you threw away.”

You tiredly rubbed your face. “I have nothing left to give you.”

Your words hit him in the face and his chest tightened.

“Oh… No, I-, I definitely understand.” His voice came out quietly.

James wanted to hide away. He felt utterly pathetic and ashamed at his own actions.

“I’ll uh, I’ll leave you alone, then.” He turned around but stopped mid step.

“But Y/N? If you ever change your mind, or if you ever need me, I’ll be there for you this time. Always right behind you.” James let his eyes linger on your face for a moment, taking you in. Merlin, he really missed you.

Your mind struggled to find the words to properly articulate all that you’ve felt these past months.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. For not trying to fight for you more,” you sympathetically offered.

“Oh, what? No, that’s-, it really was all my own fault. I chose her over you, and it was stupid. I was stupid, not you.”

“I don’t know. I feel like I should’ve tried harder to find a solution. I regret it too, you know, that we lost us.”

James frowned at your words.

“You-, I don’t even-,” you sighed. “I thought we would be in it for life, you know,” you eventually confessed, and James eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if he understood that completely, but his heart had made a small jump at your confession. Surely you didn’t actually mean…?

“Maybe not side by side as lovers or anything,” you quickly tried to cover yourself, but instead confirmed James’ thoughts. “But I was so sure we’d be partners nonetheless.” James watched you smile fondly, but sadly at the thought.

“I tried so hard not to be jealous of the fact that I was no longer the first person you’d go to for everything.” You chewed on your lower lip and James forced himself to pry his eyes away from it.

“You could be again,” James whispered to himself. But it was loud enough for you to hear it. You chose to ignore it and the way your heart tugged.

“But it was never an issue of jealousy when you actively forgot me on so many different occasions and then just kicked me out for her.”

“I'm sorry, I don’t know why I… how I even…”

“Look, I have to go,” you settled on, and nodded awkwardly at him. “But thanks for apologizing,” you added before you left.

You’d gone about your life according to the same routine of the past few months and paid James little to no mind. Though he was spending all of his time with the marauders again, you somehow found a way of disappearing right when he would arrive.

Days passed and James watched you laugh at the punchline of the joke that a ghost had told you. So close and yet so far.

James knew that you told him no when he had asked if things could go back to the way they were, but he couldn’t give up on you. It was as if something was physically stopping him from doing so.

He wanted you to see him again, but would never cross your boundaries, which left him in a difficult position.

The first opportunity presented itself when he overheard some guy talk shit about you. Except he only saw red instead of an opportunity. Because how dare they.

“She’ll give in someday. I’ll show her how to have a good time. Godric knows she’s too prudish, wouldn’t even let me-“

James surged forward before he could even think and grabbed the guy by the collar, his wand was pointed at the boy’s throat in a matter of seconds, a piercing glare on his face as he gritted through his teeth.

“Don’t.” It was a warning and the boy heeded it and scrambled away when James released him.

“What are you looking at,” he called out to the students that had stopped to watch what was happening. They too, quickly scrambled away, pretending they hadn’t seen a thing.

But by supper, everyone had heard about it, including you. You looked at him from further down the table and nodded at him with a appreciated smile.

James heart skipped a beat and he dreamed of you that night.

So what else could he do for you that would make you happy, he wondered while he wandered around the castle. The marauders were hanging out with you right now, leaving James to his own devices.

“Books!” He yelled out loud and it startled a cat. “Signed books had been successful, right? But what books, and how to…” He muttered to himself.

You stared at the pile of books that started to form next to you while owls flew in and back out again, only to return with more books. When you opened the one on the pile to your left, you saw that it was signed by one of your favorite authors.

Your eyes grew wide and you quickly inspected the signature from up close. Your hands stroked the beautiful hard back cover of the book. First copy.

People all over the great hall were looking at the spectacle but you just laughed and blew a kiss at the last owl.

You glanced at James because you knew it was him who orchestrated all of this. Only he would know all your favorite authors and books.

James simply offered you a smile and continued eating his food, but he was absolutely beaming inside at the gleeful look on your face.

You visited him in his dorms that night. “James,” you whispered. You held your finger to your lips as a sign not to wake the others.

“James, thank you for the books, they’re amazing,” you told him. “But James, you’ve got to stop. Don’t fight on my behalf. Don’t spend so much money on me. Please “ you begged him.

James’ smile fell. “I made you uncomfortable,“ he noted. You sighed and sat down on his bed. “I used to give you gifts all the time,” he weakly defended himself.

“I don’t want to forgive you,” you started. James looked down.

“You hurt me. Do you get that? You hurt me and broke our friendship and I don’t know when I’ll want to be friends again, but it’ll never the same when I do. So you have to stop doing all of this. You can’t try to buy it with gifts and heroic deeds.”

“I don’t want it to be the same either,” James sighed out in a defeated tone. “I just need you with me. One way or another. I’m not trying to buy anything, I just want to make you happy.”

You understood his words and the implied confession behind them. After all, you had felt the exact same way months ago.

You sadly smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. James closed his eyes at the contact and tried to savor the moment. You really were his greatest regret.

“I don’t want to forgive you,” you stubbornly repeated.

“You don’t have to. I just want to be there.”

“Right behind me, right? No matter what pace?”

“Of course,” he replied.

It took time. Months and months actually, where he respected your boundaries and slowly inserted himself back into your life, with your permission of course.

At first simply joining you with the marauders again. Then thoughtful actions such as giving you his spare quill. Later on even sitting next to you during Transfiguration and building up to study nights and eventually back to star gazing.

However slow it was, everything was worth it, James thought to himself as he opened the door to invite you in for the Easter holiday.

“Hi, thank you for coming over,” he widely smiled.

“Ah you know, I live right across the street, love.”

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lesbikaiser · 22 days ago

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Hi, it's my first request and I hope I do it right…. Can I request anything for the ultra sadistic Hiori?

I don't know about letter game , so any letter you're willing to write is great, or some short smut..

Have a nice day 🌸🌸

hii ^-^ sorry everyone for disappearing and sorry anon for taking sooo long </3 i don't really love how this one came out because i feel ive done better before, but for now it's all i can give y'all, so i really hope you like it at least a little.

please ignore any mistakes, i proofread but you never know.

cw: mutual masturbation, loses whoever cums first, the loser gotta help the winner cum by doing anything the latter asks, afab!reader but no pronouns were used, menace hiori :p

your fingers tremble against hiori's shoulders, nails nearly ripping his shirt as you try to concentrate on your current task – to make him cum before you do. your hand wrapped around his dick is now weakly pumping him, all sticky with his pre-cum and going up and down at a slow pace, thumb rubbing his tip so faintly he can barely feel it.

you're really trying your best, but it's just impossible to focus on jerking him off when his fingers keep hitting the same spot inside you over and over, making your eyes roll back and the most pornographic moans leave your lips, your head fallen forward and forehead resting on his neck as you try to keep your eyes open and focused on the sight below you – his delicious, leaking dick twitching in your hand.

but it's insane, how his wrist keeps stimulating your clit whenever he pushes his fingers deeper, his freezing skin rubbing against your sensitive nub and turning your brain into mush, a knot forming at the pit of your stomach and you know what is about to come – and so does he.

"mmh, i could do it for hours..." he teases, lips glued to your ear thanks to the miserable position you got yourself in, voice sweet like honey and hot breath fanning against your cheek, making the hair on your nape stand, your head spinning and mind going dizzy. "c'mon pretty, i can barely feel anything."

he's clearly mocking you, fingers curling and scissoring against your walls as he leans back to give you a look, a convinced smirk on his face because he knows he has won already. it's almost unbearable, how good he makes you feel so effortlessly and how hot he looks while doing so, his big blue eyes staring at your soul like he isn't absolutely wrecking your cunt, your slick all over his groin and the squelching noises filling the room.

it's unfair how he isn't even trying to get you off, barely touching your neglected clit yet you're already falling apart, gathering forces to compose yourself and masturbate him properly but it's no use when he plunges his fingers deeper, reaching spots your could never on your own.

"hio–ri!" you choke, trying to get his name out, squeaky syllables dying in your throat and you're seeing star behind your eyelids, lower lip caught in between your teeth. as some kind of retaliation, you tighten your grip on his cock, your boyfriend hissing at the stimulation before covering it up with a smirk.

"'s that all you got? give up already~" his melodic voice gets on your nerves, the way he speaks so condescending with that shit-eating grin on his face, pretty lips planting open-mouthed kisses all over the sensitive skin of your neck.

"ne–ver!" your scrunched face doesn't match the way you stutter so pathetically, furrowed eyebrows and trembling lips giving you such a pitiful appearance when you're trying to look serious, eyes locked with his as your thumb circles the slit on his tip, smearing pre-cum all over it, the boy under you trying to muffle a whimper coming from his lips with an annoying smirk.

his fingers falter inside you, the pleasure of your hand going up and down his shaft getting the best of him as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, giving you a second to bathe in the sight of his pretty face – flushed cheeks contrasting with the deep blue in his eyes, matching his silky hair, bitten lips looking so gorgeous and inviting, almost begging you for a kiss.

"aha, playing dirty now aren't we?" you watch the way his lips part to speak, too mesmerized by them to really make out whatever he's saying, your hand going up and down his shaft creating a slick slick! sound and demanding your entire attention.

not until you lean in towards him, a gasp leaving your mouth instantly, your boyfriend pulling his fingers entirely out of you and wrapping one of his arms around your waist, the soaked fingers of his free hand pinching your ass before diving back into your sopping core, slipping easily past your entrance and hitting a brand new spot due to the change of positions.

"w–wait!" you try in vain to protest, his pace completely different now, faster and harder than before, bullying your sensitive walls and stimulating every corner inside you at once, your hand previously wrapped around his dick now limp atop his thigh as you drool against his shirt, the lewd squelching noise coming from your soaked cunt filling your ears.

you can't help the moans overflowing your lips like a waterfall, hips moving on their own to ride hiori's fingers and get him to reach deeper, you can faintly hear him snickering as he watches the deplorable state you find yourself in, surrendered to the overwhelming feeling and long lost in your own lust to even bother on jerking him off.

"there, there... that's how i like it." he pats your butt with his free hand, a soothing move contrasting with the force he's using to finger your abused pussy, wrist still colliding with your skin as he literally fingerfucks you. you're hardly able to process anything aside from the immeasurable pleasure in your core at this point, your brain doing its best to gather the words needed to build a phrase in your head as your boyfriend keeps his assault on your oversensitive cunt, teeth slightly nibbling at your ear before he smirks against the shell of if when goosebumps appear on your neck. "just a dumb little thing at my disposal."

"no... not fair–" a squeal interrupts your slurred speech when hiori hits a specific spot inside you, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull and teeth sinking down his neck, earning a gasp from him.

"mmh, is it?" he snickers, moist lips kissing your flesh before his tongue darts out to lick at your burning skin, sucking bruises along the entirety of your throat only stopping at your earlobe, his whisper coming in an overly sweet, condescending tone. "just cum for me, love."

none of your efforts seem to be effective when he asks you with such a convincing voice, his hand – previously holding your waist – now sneaking up your back to grab your hair, pulling your body off him and forcing you to face the sadistic grin on his face, his fingers scissoring against your walls and opening you up.

he watches the way your mouth has fallen open into an 'o' shape, tongue hanging loose from it and your breasts jiggling due to the intensity of hiori's thrusts, you look so incredibly ethereal, it only incites him to give you more, to push you over the edge.

it's all too much for you, waves of pure pleasure electrifying your veins and making your sight go white, your mind too fogged up as your only thought is how bad you want to cum, the coil in your core about to snap at any time. your hands hold onto the boy's shoulders for dear life, one of them scratching the nape of his neck before diving into his hair, letting your fingers tangle with his blue, soft locks.

it's when you feel hiori's thumb pressing down your sore clit that all comes crashing down on you, your back arching in the air and head thrown back as a loud, satisfied moan leaves your lips freely, eyes shut tight and toes curling. your walls spasm and convulse uncontrollably around your lover's fingers when you cum, your cunt gushing all of your essence onto both yours and your boyfriend's thighs, a buzzing sound deafening your ears as you ride out your high, hiori still stimulating all the right spots inside you.

your body falls limp onto his chest, face hidden against his neck as you inhale deeply, trying to catch your breath, the afterglow of your orgasm hitting you like a train – you feel amazing. the boy under you slowly takes his fingers out, earning a whine from you due to the slight overstimulation, his hand on your back caressing your skin as he affectionately soothes you, deep blue eyes focused on how shiny your arousal made his fingers.

seeing it makes hiori impossibly hornier – like his dick throbbing and staining his shirt with pre-cum wasn't enough. it makes him harder, twitching furiously against his tummy, the tip a deep shade of red begging for some attention – and he knows you're gonna give it to him soon. he gently taps his pointer and middle finger against your back, free hand grabbing your ass firmly when he clicks his tongue, trying to get the attention of your tired, sleepy self.

his voice is low, just a soft whisper – but laced with lust and eagerness. so hypnotizing, floating directly to your ears and hitting rightly where he wants it to hit. you can hear the smirk on his lips when he speaks, the depths of your body shuddering in anticipation.

"now now, don't go sleeping on me yet, baby. i haven't come and you gotta give me my prize."

#blue lock smut #bllk smut #yo hiori smut #hiori smut #ㅤ𔘓 – my works...!

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golden-cherry · 1 month ago

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deal - cl16 (55/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Game night with friends is great - even if you're playing Monopoly.

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst (talks about their relationship), Kika and Pierre are a menace but we still love them

Word Count: 3.7k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: thanks for being so patient with me. only four chapters to go! feedback is appreciated!

The rain had started just before sunset, a gentle percussion against the windows that makes everything inside feel more like a refuge. You’re already sunk deep into the soft beige couch when Kika’s voice floats in from the kitchen.

„No. Absolutely not. Salt and vinegar chips are aggressive, Pierre.“

„They are honest“, he counters. „They have character. Unlike your … hummus.“

You glance at Charles, who’s sprawled next to you with one leg crossed over the other, nursing a bottle of beer. His mouth curls upward without hm really smiling.

„They’ve been in there for ten minutes“, you say.

„Twelve“, he replies, checking his watch with mock seriousness. „They’ll emerge either with snacks or serious injuries.“

You chuckle and shift your weight, leaning slightly into his side. The couch smells faintly of lavender and some kind of woodsy incense Kika always uses. It’s the sort of home that feels lived-in in a curated way – plants in every corner, art books fanned out just so, mismatched mugs that somehow match.

„She’s going to veto anything that leaves dust on fingers“, you say.

„She banned Cheetos last time“, Charles nods. „Tragic.“

In the kitchen, the debate escalates into dramatic rustling – cabinet doors open and slam, a bag crinkles, someone groans.

„You think we should go help?“, you ask, not moving.

Charles raises an eyebrow. „You want to walk into a domestic snack standoff?“

You don’t. The couch is too soft, and there’s something nice about this moment – just the two of you in someone else’s home, in that quiet space between arrival and activity, before the jokes start flying and someone gets way too competitive about something.

„I like their kitchen arguments“, you admit.

„They make it sound like they’re planning a heist“, Charles says. „No, not that dip, you fool!“

You both laugh, and just then, the kitchen door swings open, Kika appears with a triumphant grin and a tray of bowls – olives, popcorn, baby carrots, fancy crackers shaped like leaves. Pierre trailes behind her with two bags of chips cradled under his arms like contraband.

„Okay“, Kika announces. „We reached a diplomatic compromise.“

„No hummus“, Pierre says solemnly. „But I secured limited rights for kettle chips.“

„Under strict supervision“, Kika adds.

„I’ve never felt less free“, Pierre mutters.

The Portuguese sets the snacks down on the coffee table like sacred offerings. „We’ve matured“ she tells you both. „This is what growth looks like.“

„See? No Cheetos“, Charles whispers to you.

You give him a subtle nudge with your knee. „Don’t get us kicked out bevore we even pick teams.“

„Teams?“ Kika perks up. „No teams tonight. We’re playing Monopoly.“

Pierre freezes mid-chip pour. „Non. Kika, we’ve discussed this. Monopoly is violence disguised as capitalism.“

„I love violence disguised as capitalism“, she says sweetly, already pulling the battered game box from the bottom oft he stack next to the small table. The corners are frayed, the logo almost worn off from years of grudges.

You glance at Charles, who looks as though he’s just been handed a ticking bomb. He leans in, murmurs, „This is how families fall apart. Just like mine did when you cheated during the game on Christmas.“

You nudge him once more and watch as Kika sets the board down with the gravity of a courtroom clerk opening a trial. „Exacty. That’s why I’ve been saving it for a night when we all really trust each other.“

The French sinks into an armchair with a groan. „I trust no one here.“

„That’s the spirit“, she beams. She unfolds the board with a ceremonial gravity, the creases stubborn from years of being tucked away, corners curled like they remembered past battles. Kika smoothes it flat with the palm of her hand while Pierre laid out the stacks of money with the precision of a disgruntled accountant. „No teams tonight“, she repeats, her usually sweet voice now like a knife wrapped in velvet. „Just four adults making emotionally healthy financial decisions.“

Charles rolls his eyes and grabbs the dog token, rolling it between his fingers before placing it a GO.

„Perfect“, you mutter, grabbing the battleship. „I’ll just go full naval dominance.“

Your best friend selects the top hat without hesitation while Pierre eyes the thimble, considers, then chooses the wheelbarrow with a dignified nod.

By round three, the board starts to fill like a storm creeping in. Kika has Park Place, Charles has a dangerous hold on the oranges, and Pierre is quietly gobbling up railroads like he has a personal vendetta against public transit.

You land on unnowned Boardwalk, pausing for a moment, reading it like it might say something else this time. Then you buy it, casually. Too casually – something the others notice.

„Really?“ Pierre says. „Already?“

„I manifest luxury“, you say, sliding the blue deed toward your pile.

Charles lets out a low whistle. „That’s going to be a problem.“

You smile at him like a dare.

Midway through the game, it’s clear that civility reached ist expiration date. Kika enters what she calls speculative frenzy – trading like a Wall Street broker in a blackout, building houses across the dark blues and light greens with unsettling speed.

„You’re overleveraging“, Pierre warns, scowling as he lands on her Connecticut Avenue with two houses. „This is how bubbles burst.“

„No“, Kika grins. „This is how you win.“

Charles lands on one of Pierre’s railroads next turn. „Jesus, again?“, he groans, peeling off another $200. „He’s bleeding me through infrastructure.“

The French is serene. „This is socialism with Pierre characteristics.“

But it isn’t until you place your third red hotel on Broadwalk that the table shifts. Literally. The Monegasque leans back and blinks at the plastic monument. „Wow“, he says. „That’s – aggressive.“

You shrug. „Kika wanted to play Monopoly.“

Pierre sits back as well, arms crossed. „There are war criminals with more restraint.“

The game stretches long into the night. Charles keeps landing one swaure away from danger like he has some unspoken deal with the dice. Pierre clings to his railroads, bitter and oddly proud. Kika tries to orchestrate a mega-deal – trading utilities, two yellows, and a get-out-of-jail-free card to bankrupt Charles – but he turns it down, smiling.

„I’d rather die than owe you.“

„Your funeral“, she says sweetly.

You start to win. Not loudly, not dramatically, but with the cold precision of someone who decided they’ve had enough of losing. You build slowly, collecting rent patiently, and refuse almost every trade. When Pierre finally lands on Boardwalk, you say nothing, just holding out your hand.

He counts bills in slow motion. „You’re a monster“, he says, sliding the bills across the table.

„You said that like it’s a revelation“, Charles mutters, sipping what’s left of his beer. But when Charles finally lands on it too – late in the game, when the room is quiet and the snacks are almost empty – he just laughs.

Of course, it’s Charles. Of course, he lands there after you built the whole thing up. He looks at the hotel, then at you. There’s a pause, a long one. He glances down at his dwindling stack of Monopoly cash, flipping through the bills theatrically – mostly tens and ones, a crushed five.

„Well“, he says. „I appear to be financially devastated.“

„You’re short by two hundred and fifty“, you say, barely hiding your grin. „And that’s with the discount for being cute.“

Kika makes a noise between a gasp and a snort.

Pierre leans forward, delighted. „Ah! Romance enters the economy!“

Charles places his last bill down, slides it slowly across the table like it weighs much more than it does. Then he leans back in his place, tilts his head toward you and says with mock solemnity, „In lieu of payment, I’d like to offer alternative compensation.“

„Oh?“, you raise your eyebrow. „Like what?“

„A kiss for each hundred I owe“, he says smoothly, „and one bonus kiss for emotional damages sustained while being financially crushed by someone I trusted.“

Pierre claps. „This is better than Netflix.“

Kika tosses a baby carrot at him. „Shut up. Let them negotiate.“

You lean forward, elbows on your knees, feigning deep consideration. “So that’s three kisses total?”

“Three now. More if you offer a payment plan.”

You can feel the heat rise up your neck, but you keep your voice cool. “Is this a legal tender situation? Because I don’t think the rules of Monopoly include mouth-based currency.”

“I’m improvising,” he replies. “It’s either that or I give you Pierre’s remaining railroad.”

Pierre hugs his last deed card to his chest. “Over my dead body.” He looks over at his girlfriend. „I take it back. I don’t like this negotiating thing.“

“I’ll accept the kisses,” you say, sitting back and crossing your arms. “But I’ll be filing a report with the Monopoly banking commission.”

Charles grins and leans closer to you. Everyone else has gone quiet now — not uncomfortable quiet, but that hushed space people give when something sweet is unfolding and no one wants to ruin it.

He leans down, one hand resting behind you on the back of the couch, and kisses your temple first.

“One.”

Then the corner of your mouth.

“Two.”

Then finally — soft, warm, and far too brief — your lips.

“Three.”

“Bonus kiss?” you murmur.

He smiles. “With interest.”

The room exhales in a ripple of laughter and fake groans. Pierre throws a napkin in the air like a referee calling the end of a match.

Kika stands and stretches. “Okay, game night is officially over. You’ve turned it into Love Actually.”

You laugh, but you don’t move. Charles‘ arm is around your shoulders, warm and certain, pulling you into his side with that casual confidence that makes it feel like he’s always known exactly where you’re supposed to fit.

The others start packing up. Pierre is half-heartedly scooping dice and Chance cards into the box, humming a French song under his breath. Kika’s loading empty glasses into the dishwasher, narrating every step like a cooking show host who’s also mildly tipsy.

You and Charles stay seated on the couch, sunk into that rare, effortless quiet that only happens after a night full of laughter — where you don’t feel the need to speak because everything has already been said in jokes, in glances, in gestures.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t check it right away. Just presses his chin lightly against the top of your head and breathes in.

Another buzz.

You feel him sigh against you, just barely.

He pulls out the phone and unlocks it. The screen lights up his face in the dim room. His eyes skim the message, and you feel the shift before he says anything — his body going just a little stiller, his breath just a little quieter.

“What?” you ask, not moving away, but already knowing it’s not nothing.

He shows you the screen. A message from his boss, or maybe someone higher — formal, clipped.

“Need you in Maranello by Thursday. Ferrari x Shell gala locked in. Black tie. PR expects full grid image – don’t be late.“

You stare at it, the words too cold to hold onto.

“Maranello?” you ask softly.

Charles exhales through his nose, still staring at the message like it might change if he waits long enough. “Yeah. Shell sponsorship gala. Some new multi-year thing. They want the whole team there. Photos, speeches, charm.”

You blink, letting that settle. “So it’s not just a dinner.”

“No. It’s a full Ferrari circus. Tuxedo, press, sponsors, probably some awkward speech I’ll have to fake-smile through in Italian.”

“And you’re flying out -?”

He looks at you. “Wednesday night. I’ll be gone maybe four days. Five, max.”

You lean your head back against the cushion, the ceiling suddenly more interesting than the conversation. You can feel him watching you, waiting for the follow-up questions that haven’t formed yet.

Then, softly: “Come with me.”

You turn your head. “To Maranello?”

He nods once. “You’d be working. Ferrari wants content from the whole week. Behind-the-scenes, pre-gala, the event itself. I could ask for you to be cleared as my personal photographer, that you already are." His gaze softens. „And as my girlfriend.“

The official term makes your heart race.

You hesitate, unsure of how to respond. The idea of flying out with him feels overwhelming in the best way possible, but also complicated. It's one thing to be his personal photographer, to stand behind the lens and capture the moments that everyone else misses. It’s another to be there as his girlfriend — visible to the public, to his team, to the world.

"Charles," you say slowly, your voice threading with uncertainty, "You know it’s not just that easy, right? I’m not - I’m not sure I can be both at the same time. I mean, how do I even show up there? As your photographer? Or, what? As your girlfriend? It’s one thing to be behind the scenes, out of view, but to be visible, in the middle of all that? I don’t know how –"

You feel a twinge of panic at the thought of all the eyes on you, the people who will look at you and immediately know who you are. How will they see you? Just another girl in the spotlight, or someone who’s there for work? Maybe both, but it feels like one will overshadow the other.

He doesn’t say anything for a beat, but his eyes lock onto yours, steady and patient.

“I get it,” he says softly, his voice careful, measured. “But that’s what I’m asking. You to come with me. Not just as my photographer, but as everything. We’ve talked about this before. We’ve kept things quiet for a reason, and I’ve kept you out of the spotlight because I didn’t want you to feel like you were defined by me or my job."

The words settle in your mind, and you realize how much he’s been thinking about this, how much he’s weighed the possibility of putting you in a situation where you might feel like you’re exposed, vulnerable.

“You said you didn’t want me to get caught up in the circus,” you remind him quietly, your gaze dropping for a moment. “That was the whole point of keeping things separate. You wanted to protect me from all of it. From the pressure, from the opinions - the cameras. But now -” You let your words trail off, unsure of how to finish.

He shifts, leaning closer, his hand finding yours, holding it gently as if to remind you he’s right there with you, standing in the same uncertainty. “I didn’t want you to be part of the circus back then, no,” he admits. “But things are different now. This – what we are, it’s real. And I don’t want to hide it anymore. If you’re not ready, I understand. But I’m asking you because I want you to be there, with me. Not just working, but being with me. And I want the world to see us, too.”

There’s a rawness to his words now, something almost vulnerable in the way he’s looking at you. You’d been caught up in your own fear of what this all meant for you — how you’d fit into his world, how others would see you. But now, looking at him, you realize that maybe he’s just as scared as you are. Scared of pushing you too far, too fast.

Scared of losing you in the process.

“I don’t want to hide,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost like a confession. “Not from you, and not from the world. If you come with me, it’ll be because we’re doing this together. I’m not asking you to be invisible. I’m asking you to be with me.”

You think for a moment, feeling the weight of what this would mean. The risks, the pressure, the eyes that will be on you. And yet, when you look at Charles, there’s something comforting about the idea of being by his side. It’s not perfect. It’s not easy. But maybe, for once, it doesn’t have to be.

“I’m scared, you know,” you finally say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “What people will say, how they’ll look at me. We haven’t even really talked about us — what we are, what this means, and now you want me to step into that world? Just like that?”

“I know,” he says, squeezing your hand gently. “I don’t want to rush you into anything. But I also don’t want to hold you back, or keep you from what you deserve. If you’re not ready, that’s okay. But if you are, if you can handle it - then I’d love for you to come. As you — as my girlfriend, as my photographer. Whatever you want. Whatever you are comfortable with.”

There’s something reassuring in his words, something that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this decision. You know it’s not going to be easy. But maybe, just maybe, this could be your chance to step forward and own this moment, both the professional and personal sides of yourself.

“Okay,” you say finally, the uncertainty still lingering but fading just a little bit. “I’ll go. But only if we do this together. I’m not just your photographer, and I’m not just your girlfriend. I’m me, and I need you to see that.”

“I see you,” he says, his voice steady, his gaze never leaving yours. “Always.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and you feel the weight of them, heavy with promise. You watch him, still unsure of how all of this will play out, but something about the way he’s looking at you — like you matter just as much in this world he’s a part of — makes you feel a little more certain.

“I know this is a big ask,” he says, his tone soft but firm, as though he's been thinking about this for a while. “And I’m not rushing you into anything. I’m not asking you to step into the spotlight with me right away, if that’s not what you want. But when we hit the red carpet, I want you to be my personal photographer. I want you to capture all the moments. The behind-the-scenes stuff. That’s your space. I know you’re amazing at it, and I want that for you.”

He pauses, his thumb brushing lightly over your hand, the gesture gentle and deliberate, grounding you in the present moment.

“But after that, when the red carpet's over and the cameras are focused on other things, when the spotlight’s not so much on me -” His voice trails off, and when he looks at you, there’s a flicker of something softer, more vulnerable in his eyes. “If you’re ready, you can come an be by my side. If that’s what you want. No pressure. I don’t want you to feel like you have to. But I don’t want you standing behind a lens forever, either. I want to be able to look at you, to be with you, when we’re not in the middle of the circus.”

The room feels quieter now, his words sinking in like a quiet but steady rhythm. He’s giving you the space to make this choice for yourself — to step into this new world at your own pace. It’s not an ultimatum. It’s not a demand. It’s just an invitation, one you feel like you could take.

You blink, your heart beating just a little faster. “So you’re saying I’d be free to move between both worlds? The photographer, the girlfriend -”

“Exactly,” he says, his voice a little lighter now, but still steady. “No pressure to pick one over the other. You do what feels right in the moment. If you need to step back and do your thing, you can. But when the moment’s right for you — when you’re ready to stand beside me as more than just the photographer, as us — I’m not going to stop you from that.”

You let the silence settle between you, letting the idea marinate in your mind. It feels different now, lighter somehow. The boundaries are less rigid. You could be there as both, if that’s what you wanted. Not just one or the other, not just his photographer or his girlfriend, but you — with the choice to move in and out of both roles when it felt right.

“You’re giving me a lot of space,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “But I need to know something, Charles. You want me there with you as both, right? It’s not just because you’re asking me to do my job. It’s because you want me there with you — as me?”

His eyes soften, and the smile that forms on his lips is quiet, but so full of sincerity that it makes your chest tighten just a little. “I want you there because you’re you. Not just because you’re my photographer. Not just because you’re my girlfriend – even if we haven’t talked about the formalities yet. I want you there because you make this whole thing feel... real. And I want to be with you, no matter where we are.”

The words settle in your chest like a promise. You don’t have all the answers, and maybe there’s still a little uncertainty. But for the first time, the idea of stepping into his world doesn’t seem as daunting. He’s not just inviting you along for the ride — he’s giving you the freedom to be yourself, both professionally and personally, and trusting you to make the decision that feels right.

You take a breath, finally letting the tension leave your shoulders. “Okay,” you say, the word carrying more weight than it did before. “I’ll do it. I’ll come with you. As your photographer. And as your girlfriend, if you want me there. But we do this together, as us.”

A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the uncertainty between you both feels like something you can navigate — together.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says softly, squeezing your hand. “It’s always been us, even if we didn’t know it yet.”

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc cute #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine

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sashi-ya · 1 year ago

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𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑫 　「part 3」 soshiro hoshina x f! officer! reader

a/n: i wasn't expecting the amount of love I've been receiving for cuts of freedom and ��んぱい！and because you all been so sweet and requested for a next part on this story, well... here it is! I hope you enjoy 🥺💖 tw: mdni! sex explicit scenes. shower sex. creampie. breeding mentioned. nipple play. soshiro being soshiro. wc: 1.3k // part1: cuts of freedom // part 2: かんぱい！// masterlist

Praying for no Kaiju appearances while this night lasts, you sit with your legs crossed and your cheeks on fire. He ordered you to keep it all inside of you, and all you wanna do is to please the slanted eyed demon in front of you.

Oh, he seems unbothered. Nothing has changed from the time he stood up as everybody was having fun and the time he returned to the table.

“I want you to sit back at the table with my cum still inside you… would you be able to hold it in for me?” “Ye-yes, Hoshina fuku-taichou…”

Soshiro takes quick snaps with his burning irises from time to time, never watching you for longer than a couple of seconds… however, it’s enough for you to understand, to feel as if he was making sure you were still holding it with all your will or if his warm seed has started to ooze down your legs.

Truth is, you are squeezing your folds with all your might to obey the vice-captain. Guilty of enjoying such impure act, perhaps also guilty for wanting that release to reach deeper, to make you his, to impregnate you even though the consequences.

“(Name)-chan!” you listen your name being sung by his sweet playful voice.

Shaking your head, you turn back to reality as you were not only lost in the memory of him cumming inside you but also the lack of energy you are experiencing.

“Y-yes, vice-captain Hoshina? You chime, with your back straight but your legs still crossed to the side.

You can see a little smirk on his lips, the little white of one of his fangs protruding… hungry, still, for your flesh.

“You seem tired; after all you’ve been through you should go to rest” he comments, but in reality he is doing nothing but ordering you to leave. And you know, exactly, why that is.

Again. And again. And again. He wants you all day, all night. Desperate, as if, perhaps, you were part of his training routine. Like the oxygen he breathes, and the water he drinks.

You are ready to object, but he is right. Even if he’d told you so because of real concern, you are absolutely tired.

You stand up, rather quickly and nervously. Your eyes open big, bigger. You shouldn’t have. Immediately, your hand reaches for your leg, stopping there by pure instinct. Were for you not realizing on time to stop, you could have use your hand to keep his seed from coming out.

Soshiro’s eyes slightly open in the menacing way that leaves you both trembling and needy. He knows what just has happened. He knows your already wet panties, now have become wetter and by far a lot more stickier.

“Y-es, I’m going to sleep. Have a good night everybody!” you salute, feeling your throat absolutely dry.

Everybody waves you goodnight as you walk with clear discomfort on your pace, ready to reach the showers before going to sleep.

It doesn’t take much for you to reach the community bathroom. Despite the base being huge, everything is at reach within the perimeter the soldiers move. And so, leaving the clothes you are sure should be burnt instead of cleaned on the ground, you hop into one of the shower units.

Drop by drop, lukewarm water cleans you from sins… but for how long?

In silence, he is so stealth and fast. Scared, but not surprised. You already know how he feels, how he smells and how he tastes.

“I thought you were going to sleep” Soshiro murmurs, entering the shower with you. “I- I couldn’t go to sleep with… you know” you whisper back, scared of anyone else coming.

His eyelid twitches.

“Didn’t I order you to keep it all inside, officer (---)?” he scolds you, pulling you against him by your waist.

You look down, eyes fixing on the perfectly sculped pecs, on the pale skin that is so easily bruised, so tempted to bite and mark.

“But- I tho-“ you wanna say something, excuse yourself, but your lips become sealed with his.

Those kisses he gives, scratching a little bit whenever he opens up with his sharp fangs… the way his hand squeezes your ass, the feeling of his hardness getting pressed in between your belly and his.

“You thought what? That I would fill you up again before sleep?” he asks, with his lips against yours.

You gasp. Not only he is good when fucking you, he is also good with words.

“This brings me memories… that day I’d have fucked you until you dropped if it wasn’t because you were hurt” he continues, reaching your breasts, pinching your nipples in between his fingers.

Soshiro inhales your moaning, going harder the more you do.

“Don’t say that, I know you we- were worried- fuck- for me” you giggle while his fingers are now deeply inside your folds.

Soshiro’s cheeks turn blushed, not because of the hot water but because of those words. In fact, you were absolutely right; he almost lost his mind when he saw you being a victim of your anti kaiju suit. Soshiro acts tough, but he is indeed the most gentle of them all.

“Shut up…” he embarrassed exclaims while picking you up from your thighs, making your back hit the shower wall behind you.

Snaked your legs around his tiny waist, both bodies eliminate any space in between them. Is it love or lust? it is both perhaps.

Probably a couple of seconds are what it takes for him to bury himself inside of you; there is nothing he wants more than that. Even if sore, even if drained. You, as well, don’t mind if your body asks for a rest.

Jumping rhythmically to his thrusts, with water pooling on your eyelashes; with your fingers interlocking with deep purple tufts of hair. All of him, all of you.

Your shoulder experiences sharp little cuts, that’s both painful and delicious; like the jaws of those monsters you fight, Soshiro bites your flesh to muffle the moans he can’t control.

The closer to ecstasy you both go, the louder the whimpers. And the louder the whimpers, the dangerous it gets for you. What would they say if Hoshina fuku taichou and an officer gets caught in such impure, unproper acts?

None of that, however, represents a worry for him nor you. There is no space, nor time nor brain capable to think of the rest right now that Soshiro has attacked your nipples. He pulls, he bites and sucks. Your core feels like exploding, the way his dick reaches for the perfect spot as if he was made for you, the way he stimulates your breasts.

No air is left to be breath, the humid atmosphere of the shower makes it even harder for the two of you. And his eyes, electrifying and deep, burn holes into yours as he looks up to see the expression on your face.

“Beautiful” he murmurs, with his tongue playing with your right extra sensitive button.

You brush his wet hair back, unable to think, unable to resist the urge to burst.

“Soshi..ro, I-…” you need to express what you heart aches to reveal. As if he didn’t know, as if he didn’t feel the same.

“Sh.. I know, me too” he shuts you up, this time before plastering a deep kiss on your lips.

This time, he doesn’t order you what to do with his needy release. Instead, he definitely knows you will keep it inside once again. Is it that he wants to breed you?

Oh, what a dangerous game you both are playing… What a risky kink of yours, Soshiro Hoshina.

The sound none of you wanted to listen has just took over the whole squad: Emergency Kaiju alert. “bet it will feel weird to fight with all of that inside, huh?” he laughs, rather loudly. “AH…. SOSHIRO T-T”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Next part?

#kaiju no 8 #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju no 8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 fluff #kaiju no. 8 smut #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soushirou #hoshina soshirou x reader

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natsaffection · 1 year ago

Text

Mafias Mistress pt. 4 | N.R

MafiaBoss!Natasha x CivilianYounger!Reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22), Gore, guns, Death, screaming, so much teasing, be forced to watch people have sex, restraints, Begging, edging

Word Count: 7,4K

A/N: truely very exciting to write..🫠

You hummed softly to yourself as you moved around the kitchen, the tantalizing aroma of dinner filling the cozy apartment.

Tonight was supposed to be a peaceful evening, a chance to relax after the recent chaos. You were determined to create a feast that would make even Natasha smile after a long day.

You barely noticed the sound of the front door creaking open at first, completely focused on the task at hand. "Natasha, you're home early!" you called out cheerfully without turning around. "I'm almost done with dinner. You're going to love it!"

The silence that followed your words was unexpected and sent a shiver down your spine. Slowly you turned around, a smile still on your lips. But the figure standing in the doorway was not Natasha.

A tall, imposing man with sharp features and cold eyes stared at you. His presence radiated menace, and the way he surveyed the room sent a wave of fear over you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you instinctively took a step back.

"Who are you?" you asked, trying to keep calm despite the rising panic in your voice. The man grinned, his gaze never leaving yours. "Viktor," he replied, his tone dripping with malice. "I'm an old... acquaintance of Natasha's. You must be Y/N."

Your mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the conversations you once had with Natasha. Viktor. But that name means absolutely nothing to you.

"What do you want?" you asked, your voice shaking despite your efforts to appear brave.

Viktor took a step closer, his presence overwhelming the small kitchen. "I'm here to leave a message," he said, his eyes flashing with a cruel light. "Natasha has interfered in matters that are none of her business. It's time she understood the consequences."

Your breath caught as you realized the gravity of the situation. You were a pawn, a means to an end in a game that was far more dangerous than you had imagined. The knife you had been using to cut vegetables lay within reach, but you knew it was no match for Viktor's imposing frame.

Your next move was driven by desperation. Without thinking, you grabbed the knife and held it up defensively. "Stay back!" you warned, your voice firmer now, even though your hands were shaking.

Viktor chuckled, a chilling sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Brave, but stupid," he said, taking another step forward. "Do you really think you can stop me?"

Before you could react, Viktor lunged at you, disarming you with terrifying ease. The knife fell useless to the ground. He grabbed your arm with an iron grip and pulled you close.

"You will deliver a message for me," he hissed, his breath hot against her ear. "Tell Natasha she can't hide forever. We will find her. And when we do, she will pay for her interference."

Tears of fear and frustration welled up in your eyes as you struggled against his grip, but Viktor's strength was overwhelming. "Let go of m-me!" you cried, your voice breaking.

With one final, menacing smile, Viktor released you and pushed you back. As you collapsed to the floor, shaking and gasping for air, you didn't hear the sound of footsteps quickly approaching outside.

The front door swung open again, revealing Natasha, heading to your apartment to surprise you. "Y/N, I'm him-" Natasha's voice trailed off as her gaze fell on the scene before her. Her eyes widened in fear and anger as she saw you slumped on the floor, Viktor standing over you.

The smile that had graced Natasha's face moments before vanished, replaced by a cold, deadly expression. Her body tensed, and in an instant she was a predator ready to attack.

"Viktor," Natasha spat, her voice a dangerous growl. "Get away from her." Viktor slowly turned around, his expression one of slight surprise mixed with amusement. "Natasha, what a pleasant surprise," he drawled, though the malice in his eyes betrayed his words. "Exactly the woman I was hoping to see."

Natasha's eyes flashed with anger as she walked toward him, each step deliberate and full of menace. "You made a big mistake coming here," she hissed in a deep, deadly voice.

Viktor laughed, though there was a hint of unease in his eyes as he faced Natasha's wrath in full force. "We'll see," he said, his bravery wavering slightly.

Without warning, Viktor drew a gun and pointed it directly at you. The intention was clear: to hurt Natasha by hurting the person she cared about.

Your scream and plea pierced the air, your eyes widening in fear. "Natasha, please, do whatever he wants!" you pleaded, your voice shaking uncontrollably.

Something dark flickered in Natasha's eyes as she reached under her jacket and pulled out her own gun, pointing it hard at Viktor. Your shock was palpable, your world spinning out of control. The Natasha you knew had never hinted at this side of herself. Is she a cop? Does she have the gun for self-defense?

"Put the gun down, Viktor," Natasha ordered, her voice cold and unwavering. "This is between you and me."

Victor's grin faded as he looked between Natasha and you. "So, the kitten has claws," he sneered. "But do you really think you can pull the trigger, Natasha? While she's watching?"

Your heart was pounding, your head was racing. This was a side of Natasha you'd never seen, never even imagined. The realization that Natasha was deeply involved in a dangerous world shook you to the core.

"Natasha, please," you whisper, your voice breaking. "Just do what he says." Natasha's eyes softened for a brief moment as they met yours, but the iron resolve quickly returned. "I won't let him hurt you," she said, her voice filled with a deadly promise.

In the tense standoff, Viktor's confidence began to waver. He had underestimated Natasha's resolve and willingness to protect you at all costs. "Last chance, Viktor," Natasha said, her voice deadly. "Drop the gun and walk away, or I'll end this right now."

Viktor hesitated, gripping the gun tighter. But he could see the determination in Natasha's eyes, the unwavering resolve that meant she wouldn't hesitate to fire. Slowly he lowered his weapon, a frustrated growl escaping his lips. Natasha moved quickly, disarming Viktor and knocking him to the ground. She stood over him, her gun pointed at his head, her expression cold and merciless.

"You will never threaten her again," Natasha said, her voice ice cold. "You and Dreykov will get the message loud and clear." Viktor's eyes widened in fear as he realized the true depth of Natasha's determination. Before he could say another word, Natasha pulled the trigger and the shot echoed through the apartment.

Your scream shattered the silence, a raw, emotive sound of shock and terror. You crawled away and pressed yourself against the kitchen counter, your eyes widening in horror as you stared at Viktor's lifeless body.

"Y/N, don't look at him, look at me.." Natasha said quietly, turning to you. She held out a hand, her expression full of concern. "It's okay- it’s okay! You're safe now!“

"D-Don't touch me!" you screamed, your voice high in panic. "Stay away from me!" Natasha froze, her heart breaking as she saw the fear in your eyes. She took a step back and raised her hands in a placating gesture. "Y/N, please, just let me explain-"

"I said stay away!!" you screamed again, your body shaking. "What did you d-do? He gave up! He-"

At that moment, the front door flew open and Maria stormed into the apartment along with several of Natasha's men. Maria took in the scene with a quick, practiced glance, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation and knew what to do.

Maria stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "It's going to be okay," she said in a firm voice. "I'm from the police and I'm here to help..“

You looked at Maria, confusion and fear battling in your eyes. "An officer? I don't understand...h-how did you know...?"

Natasha's eyes met Maria's, a silent understanding passing between them. "We have to go," Natasha said quietly, her voice full of urgency. "They're going to come get us now."

You shook your head, your fear giving way to anger. "No! I'm not going anywhere with you! You lied to me, I-I don't even know who you are!"

Maria squeezed your shoulder gently, your eyes serious. "Y/N, I know this is a lot to take in, but you have to trust us. Natasha is trying to protect you. If you stay here, you're in danger."

"I know I lied, but everything I did was to protect you.. You have to come with me. It's not safe here anymore.." Your eyes darted between Natasha and Maria, your mind racing. The woman you thought you knew stood before you, a stranger in many ways, but your desperation and sincerity were undeniable. The apartment that had once felt like a sanctuary now felt like a prison, its walls closing in with every second.

"Y/N," Maria interjected gently but firmly, "Natasha is right. We don't have much time. I understand that you're scared and angry, but we have to move. Staying here is not an option.”

Your breath came in short gasps, your thoughts a whirlwind of fear, betrayal and confusion. “You’re a cop?” you ask, searching for some semblance of truth in the chaos.

Maria nodded, her face a mask of calm determination. “We need to get you to a safe place where we can explain everything.”

Natasha’s eyes never left yours, the vulnerability in your gaze breaking through the fear and confusion. “Please, Y/N. Trust me one last time. I promise I’ll explain everything, but we have to go now.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Natasha, the woman you loved and the woman you now realized you didn't fully know. The weight of the decision weighed on you, the urgency of the situation colliding with your need for answers.

"Okay," you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. "Okay, I'll go with you." Relief flooded Natasha's face, but she kept her composure, knowing they were far from safe. "Thank you," she said quietly. "We need to leave right now. Maria, can you get the car ready?"

Maria nodded and quickly walked to the door, yelling orders to the men outside. Natasha turned to you, her hand gently brushing your arm. "Stay close to me," she commanded in a firm but gentle voice. "I won't let anything happen to you."

You nodded dazedly and let Natasha lead you out of the apartment. The hallway was filled with Natasha's men, their faces grim and watchful. They formed a protective barrier around you as you made your way to the elevator, the tension in the air palpable.

The elevator ride down felt like an eternity, the silence heavy with unspoken fears and questions. You clung to Natasha's arm, your head reeling from the events that had unfolded so quickly. The woman you thought you knew was a stranger, her life a series of secrets and shadows.

When you reached the ground floor, Maria signaled for the car to be called. Natasha held you close, her eyes scanning the area for signs of danger. The car stopped and the men quickly ushered you inside, the doors closing with a reassuring thud.

Maria slid into the driver's seat and looked back at you. "We're going to a safe house," she said in a commanding tone. "When we get there, we'll explain everything."

You nodded, your hands shaking as she held onto Natasha. The car sped through the city streets, the lights blurring in a haze of confusion and fear. Natasha's arm wrapped around you, her presence a small comfort in the midst of the chaos.

"Y/N," Natasha said softly, her voice breaking the silence. "I know you're scared and confused. I promise I'll explain everything. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

You looked up at Natasha, your eyes searching for the truth in her gaze. "I'll try," you whispered.

The car drove through the night, a silent vessel carrying you away from the life you had known. Exhaustion, fear, and shock finally took their toll, and despite your best efforts, your eyelids grew heavy. Your body succumbed to overwhelming fatigue. Natasha held you close, murmuring quiet reassurances until you slipped into a restless sleep.

When you woke up, the world felt disorientingly different. You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the heavy curtains. You slowly sat up, the luxurious silk sheets and soft pillows around you an unfamiliar comfort. The room was large, elegantly decorated with expensive furniture and artwork that spoke of wealth and power.

A knot of fear tightened in your chest. Where am I? Your mind raced, you tried to piece together the fragments of your last coherent memories. The confrontation with Viktor, the horrific car ride, Natasha's grim determination.

The bedroom door creaked open and Natasha stepped in, her expression softening when she saw you awake. "Y/N," she began in a soft voice.

Your heart lurched, fear mingling with anger. You climbed back onto the bed, your eyes widening. "Stay away from me," you said, your voice shaking. "I want answers. Now."

Natasha paused, pain flickering in her eyes, but she nodded. "I understand," she said quietly. "You deserve the truth.." You clutched the sheets, your knuckles white. "Where are we? What kind of place is this?"

"We're in a safe house," Natasha explained, her tone calm but serious. "One of many I have for when things get dangerous. We're in Spain, far away from the immediate threat."

"S-Spain!?" you repeated, raising your voice. "You took me out of the country? Without asking me!?"

Natasha took a step closer, holding out her hands in a placating gesture. "I had to, Y/N. It wasn't safe for you in the city anymore. Dreykov and his people would have found us and especially you.."

Your eyes flashed with anger. "And whose fault is that? You lied to me about everything. I don't even know who you are."

Natasha winced, but nodded, accepting the accusation. "You're right. I lied to you. But please, let me explain." Your silence was your only response, your eyes demanding the truth.

Natasha took a deep breath, her expression determined. "I'm part of the mafia, Y/N. The Bratva, to be precise. I've been involved in this world for years, long before we met. My role is... significant. I run operations, deal with threats, and yes, sometimes that means doing terrible things."

The words hung heavy in the air, the reality of Natasha's confession crashing down on you. "The Bratva?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I wrote about them. About you, without knowing it.."

Natasha's eyes softened. "I know. I read your articles." Tears filled your eyes, your world fell apart. "So it was all a lie? Our relationship, your love for me?"

"No!" Natasha said urgently, stepping closer. "That was real. Everything I felt for you, everything we shared was real. But I had to keep my other life a secret to protect you."

"Protect me?" you scoffed, the betrayal cutting deep. "You put me in more danger than I could have ever imagined!" Natasha's face twisted in pain. "I know. And I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted this. But I couldn't shirk my responsibility. Not without putting us both in even greater danger."

You shook your head, tears flowing over. "And Maria? She said she was a police officer. Is that at least true??" Natasha hesitated, then shook her head. "Maria is one of my most trusted allies. She's not a cop. She's part of the organization, someone I trust with my life."

Your heart broke again. "So another lie..."

"I didn't want it to be like this," Natasha said desperately. "I wanted to protect you, give you a normal life. But the world I live in... doesn't allow that."

Your voice trembled with anger and sadness. "I want to go home, Natasha. I want my life back." Natasha's expression turned sad. "You can't go back, Y/N. Not now. Dreykov's people will look for you. Staying here is the only way to pr-“

"I don't want your protection!" you say, your voice shaking. "I want my life back!" Natasha took a step closer, her eyes pleading. "Please, Y/N. I know you're scared and angry. But if you leave now, you'll be in even more danger. Give me time to fix this."

Your shoulders slumped, the weight of your emotions crushing you. "I don't know if I can trust you anymore, Natasha." Natasha's eyes filled with unshed tears. "I understand. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make this right."

As the night wore on, you lay in the unfamiliar bed, your mind raging with a storm of confusion, fear, and grief. The life you had known was shattered, and the future was a terrifying unknown. Yet despite the pain, there was a glimmer of hope, a weak, fragile thread of trust that Natasha desperately tried to hold onto.

In the silent darkness, you made a promise to yourself. You would find a way to get through this, to reclaim your life, and to understand the truth about the woman you loved. No matter how dangerous the path ahead, you would face him head on, with or without Natasha.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a soft glow on the luxurious bedroom. You stirred, the events of the previous night coming back to you as you blinked awake. The room, with its opulent furnishings and unfamiliar comfort, felt like a gilded cage.

The door opened and Natasha entered, her face a mixture of relief and concern when she saw Y/N awake. "How are you feeling?" she asked quietly.

Your heart clenched, a whirlwind of emotions overwhelming you "I don't know," you admitted, your voice strained. "I still don't know if I can forgive you...You kill for a living Natasha...You have blood on your hands from what? How many?"

Natasha nodded, her expression pained. "I understand. But I'm here to answer all of your questions. I want to fix this as best I can.”

You look away, your mind racing. “I want to talk to Maria, if that is her real name,” you said firmly. “I want to hear her side of the story.”

Natasha hesitated, but then nodded. “Okay. I’ll bring her here.” A few moments later, Maria entered the room, her expression calm but serious. “Y/N,” she greeted in a respectful tone.

Your eyes narrowed, your trust shaken. “You lied to me too,” you accused. “You said you were from the police, for what?” Maria’s face softened with regret. “I’m sorry. We had to get out of this place as soon as possible. And yes, I’m not a police officer. I work with Natasha and my job is to ensure her safety and therefore yours too.”

Your anger flared. “How can I believe anything you say now?? How do I know you’re not just manipulating me?” Maria took a deep breath, her eyes serious. "You don't have to trust me, Y/N. But know that your safety is my priority. Natasha loves you and I respect that. I'm here to help you in any way I can."

You shook your head, the weight of betrayal weighing heavily on your heart. "I want to go home," you repeated firmly. "I don't want to stay here."

Natasha stepped forward, her eyes pleading. "Y/N, please.." You looked at Natasha, the pain of betrayal mixed with the remnants of love and trust. "I need time to think," you said quietly. "I need to figure everything out."

The days blurred into one another, each one feeling like an eternity as you mastered your new life on the sprawling estate. The house was a testament to opulence, each room carefully decorated with priceless art, luxurious furniture and cutting-edge technology. It was a palace compared to her humble abode, but the splendor did not ease the pain in your heart.

Every morning you wake up in the enormous bedroom, the bed too big and too empty. The silence was oppressive, only broken by the occasional rustle of curtains in the wind or the distant hum of the house staff's activity. Natasha had taken your words to heart, keeping a respectful distance and giving you the space you had asked for.

Despite the apparent freedom to explore the property, you were never truly alone. No matter where you went - the lavish living room with its panoramic views, the quiet library filled with rare books or the immaculate gardens filled with vibrant flowers - Natasha's men were always there. They followed you in silence, their presence a constant reminder of your gilded imprisonment.

One afternoon, the frustration and helplessness boiled over. You stood in the middle of the large foyer, your voice echoing through the vast space as you shouted at the men following you. "If you follow me for another second!! Get out of here!"

The men remained stoic, their expressions unchanged, their eyes fixed forward. Their training was impeccable, a testament to Natasha's influence. They didn't even flinch when your anger flared, their silence only heightening your sense of isolation.

"Do you hear me?" you shouted, your voice breaking with agitation. "I said leave me alone!" Still, there was no response. The men stood like statues, unwavering in their duty.

In desperation, you retreated to the garden, seeking solace among the blooming flowers and carefully tended hedges. You sat on a bench, burying your face in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks. The beauty around you was lost in the storm of your emotions.

As the days went by, you tried to find some semblance of normalcy. You spent hours in the library, losing yourself in books, hoping to escape the reality of your situation. You explored the many rooms of the estate, marveling at the luxury but feeling a pang of resentment at the life you had to leave behind.

Meals were a solitary affair, served in the large dining room by the staff. The food was exquisite, prepared by a chef whose skills surpassed anything you had ever experienced. Yet every bite tasted bitter, a reminder of the freedom you had lost.

Every night, as you lay in the enormous bed, your thoughts inevitably turned to Natasha. Despite the betrayal, you couldn't deny the love you still felt. It was a confusing tangle of emotions—love, anger, fear, and a longing for the truth.

One night, after another day of wandering alone and keeping silent vigil, you happened to find Natasha in the living room. The sight of her stirred something deep inside you - a mixture of longing and anger.

"Natasha," you said, your voice shaking. "Why are you doing this? Why can't you just let me go?"

Natasha looked up, her eyes filled with a sadness that matched yours. "I'm doing this to protect you, Y/N. How many times..! I know it doesn't look like it, but I'm trying-“

"Protect.." you scoffed, tears welling up in your eyes. "I don't feel safe. I feel like a prisoner." Natasha stepped closer, but you raised a hand and stopped her. "You said you wanted space, and I tried to give you that," Natasha said quietly. "But I can't leave you unprotected. The danger is still out there.”

Your heart ached under the weight of Natasha's words. Despite the anger and betrayal, you could see the genuine fear and worry in Natasha's eyes. “I don't know what to feel anymore,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I love you, but I hate what you did and what you still do.”

“I know,” Natasha whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. “And I'm so sorry for everything. But I promise you, I'll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

As you left, you still felt a spark of hope—a faint, fragile thread that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way through this together. But now you had to navigate the maze of your emotions to find your own way in this new, uncertain world.

As days turned into weeks, your emotions shifted from confusion and sadness to burning anger. The more you saw of Natasha's world, the deeper your resentment grew. You overheard snippets of conversation, saw deals being made, and witnessed the machinations of a life based on power and deceit.

One evening, as you walked through the halls, you overheard a conversation that drove you mad. Two of Natasha's men were talking in low, conspiratorial tones.

"Remember the old days?" one of them said, his voice dripping with nostalgia. "When the boss had a different girl every week? It was a constant party..”

The other man laughed. “Oh man..that was pure cinema.. But it seems like things have changed. She is pretty attached to this girl now..Don't know what she gets from her- Well..I do know actually..She’s hot..”

Your heart clenched as you took the implication. So Natasha had used countless women before you and treated them like disposable toys..

If Natasha thought she could keep you under control, she would learn a very painful lesson. So you decided to turn the tables and play your own game. You would use Natasha's own methods against her and undermine her composure until she broke.

The next day, you dressed carefully, choosing an outfit that was both elegant and provocatively seductive. As you walked through the mansion, you made sure Natasha's men could see you. You smiled at them, your eyes lingering a little too long, your touch a little too familiar.

In the kitchen, you found yourself next to one of the guards, a tall, gruff man with a rough side. You leaned close to him, your voice soft and seductive. "Could you help me with something?" you asked, brushing your hand against his arm.

The man stiffened, visibly uncomfortable but unable to resist your charms. "Of course, miss," he replied, his voice strained. You smiled, a devilish glint in your eyes. "Thank you," you purred, letting your hand linger a moment longer than necessary.

Natasha entered the room just as you were laughing at something the guard had said. Her eyes narrowed, a hint of anger crossing her face. You met her gaze, your smile becoming cold and triumphant.

As the days went by, you upped your game. You flirted shamelessly with the guards, your laughter and touches becoming more and more obvious. You dodged Natasha's attempts at conversation, fending off her touches with cold indifference.

One evening, Natasha found you in the living room, your hand resting on a guard's arm as you laughed at something he had said. The guard looked uncomfortable, his eyes darting nervously to Natasha and he took a step back fearfully, "R-Romanoff, I-"

"Y/N," Natasha said, your voice strained with barely controlled anger. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

You turned around, your smile icy. Natasha waited until you were alone before she spoke, her eyes flashing. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice deep and dangerous.

You crossed your arms and met Natasha's gaze with a defiant look. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm just having a little fun. Or is that not allowed in your world?"

Natasha took a step closer, her anger palpable. "You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N." You laughed, your voice bitter. "A dangerous game? Like the one you played with all the other girls? Or am I just another toy for you, Natasha?"

Natasha flinched, the accusation hitting home. "You're not a toy for me, Y/N. I love-"

"Love?" you scoffed, "Is that what you call it? Keeping me locked up, surrounded by your men, while you go about your dirty business?" Natasha clenched her fists, her control slipping away. "You're here because it's the only way to keep you safe! When will you finally understand that!"

"THATS not true!!“ you shouted back, your anger boiling over. "I don't feel safe, Natasha. I feel like a prisoner. A prisoner in your twisted game!!" Natasha's eyes darkened, her composure finally breaking. "You have no idea what I've sacrificed for you," she growled. "What I've done to get you here.“

You stepped closer, your voice cold and venomous. "And I never asked for it. All I wanted was the truth. But you couldn't even give me that." Natasha's breath came in ragged gasps, her anger barely contained. "You're pushing me, Y/N," she warned, her voice a dangerous whisper.

You grinned, the excitement of rebellion sparkling in your eyes. "Maybe it's time someone hit back." The tension between you crackled, an explosive mix of anger, betrayal, and unresolved desire. Natasha took a step forward, her eyes locked on yours, her control hanging by a thread.

But before anything could happen, Maria stormed into the room with a grim expression. "We have a problem," she said in an urgent voice.

Natasha turned, her anger now ricocheting onto Maria as well. "What!?" Maria looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of compassion and concern. "It's dreykov."

Natasha's face hardened, her anger replaced by cold determination. She turned to you, her eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "This isn't over," she said in a low, dangerous voice.

You returned her gaze, her own anger simmering. "No, it's not." As they prepared to leave, the tension between you remained, a simmering conflict that threatened to erupt at any moment. The game you were playing was dangerous and successful. But amidst your anger and betrayal, a spark of something deeper remained - a twisted, complicated love that refused to be extinguished.

As the tension between you and Natasha reached its boiling point, you still knew no bounds. You pushed every button, testing Natasha's patience with reckless abandon. But there was a line, a boundary that should never be crossed, and you were about to experience the consequences of your relentless rebellion.

In the dimly lit hallway, you walked ahead of Natasha, your footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. You ignored Natasha's warnings, your anger driving her forward with reckless abandon. But Natasha was not to be trifled with, especially when her authority was challenged.

As you passed another security guard and whispered something in his ear, Natasha grabbed the man close in one swift movement. His eyes widened in surprise and fear.

Before you could speak, Natasha spoke, her voice low and deadly calm. "Look at him, Y/N," Natasha commanded, her grip on the guard tightening. "This man is loyal to me. He would do anything I command him to do, to serve me. And you, you dare to flirt with him, to play with his loyalty?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and shame coursing through your veins. Maybe you had pushed Natasha a little too far..

Natasha turned to the guard, her voice a chilling whisper. "Do you know how lucky you are to still be breathing?" she asked, boring into his eyes. The guard's throat worked as he swallowed nervously. "Yes, boss," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha let go of the guard, but her eyes didn't leave yours. "Remember this moment, Y/N," she said in a warning voice. "Remember who's in charge here. And remember what happens to those who dare to challenge me."

As Natasha tightened her grip on the guard, a rush of adrenaline shot through your veins, your heart pounding with fear and elation. Yet as the guard's submissive behavior unfolded before them, you expected Natasha to further establish her dominance to quell the rising tide of arousal within you. Natasha's response, however, was unexpectedly passive.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched Natasha's calculated restraint, her eyes gleaming with cold, calculated intensity. The guard's submissive behavior only increased the tension in the air, leaving you feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable.

In that moment, as Natasha's voice echoed with a quiet threat, you felt a shiver of excitement run down your spine. But instead of fulfilling your expectations, Natasha remained distant, her expression unreadable.

With every step Natasha took toward you, you felt the pull of Natasha's dominance grow stronger, drawing you deeper into a world of dark desires and forbidden thrills. But Natasha's refusal to surrender to their shared arousal left you feeling unsteady, your longing for release colliding with your resentment toward Natasha's control.

And as Natasha walked past you, you knew you were standing on the edge of an abyss, your heart torn between the safety of the familiar and the tantalizing pull of the unknown.

Days later, you approach Natasha with a firm but polite voice. "I want to go out today." Natasha's eyes narrowed, suspicion immediately rising within her. "Going out? Where exactly?"

"Shopping," you answered, a hint of defiance in your tone. "I need new clothes, I didn't have time to pack my things."

Natasha shook her head. "No." You opened your mouth to argue, but Maria, who had been silently watching the exchange, stepped forward. "Natasha, maybe it's not such a bad idea."

Natasha gave Maria a warning look. "Excuse me?" Maria insisted. "Y/N needs to have a sense of freedom. Keeping her locked up here will only make things worse. We can make arrangements. I'll go with some of the men. It will be safe."

Natasha gritted her teeth, clearly torn between her protective instincts and Maria's reasoning. She shot you a look that hadn't faded from her defiant expression. Finally, she sighed. "Fine. But there will be conditions.”

“Of course there are,” you murmured quietly, although a spark of satisfaction shone in your eyes. “You will not walk around alone for a single second. I will be behind you at all times,” Natasha continued, her tone leaving no room for argument. “And you will always remain within sight. Understood?”

“Understood,” you agreed, your head already thinking about how you could use this trip to your advantage.

A short time later, you were ready to leave. Natasha had chosen a handful of her most trusted men to accompany her. The convoy of elegant black cars drove through the city, attracting curious glances from passersby.

When you arrived at an upscale shopping district, you wasted no time putting your plan into action. You entered the most expensive boutiques and chose one item after another with almost reckless devotion. Dresses, shoes, jewelry - nothing was forbidden to you.

Natasha lagged behind you, her expression a mask of icy self-control as her men carried the growing mountain of purchases. You took particular pleasure in handing heavy bags to Natasha, which she accepted with a stoic expression, her eyes never leaving yours.

Despite your anger and resentment, you couldn't help but feel a thrill at the sight of Natasha with her purchases. It was a small victory, a way to gain some control in a situation where you often felt powerless.

As the shopping spree continued, you decided to up your game. You had noticed the subtle tension in Natasha's demeanor and the fear in her men's eyes when she got too close. It was time to tighten the thumbscrews even more.

After hours of shopping in high-end boutiques, you led the group to a discreet, upscale lingerie store tucked away on a side street. Natasha's eyes narrowed as she read the shop sign, but she didn't object, just following you inside, her men and Maria behind her.

You browsed the shop with deliberate slowness, your fingers running over delicate lace and silk. She selected a series of slinky outfits, your expression one of concentrated contemplation as you walked to the dressing rooms.

Natasha stood at the entrance, her arms crossed and her face a mask of controlled impatience. Her men, however, looked decidedly uncomfortable, their eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

You tried on the outfits one by one, each more revealing than the last. After putting on the first set - a sheer black lace teddy - you left the dressing room and went straight to the large mirror in the middle of the shop.

You pretended to inspect the outfit, turning this way and that, making sure to give Natasha's men a look. The guards, visibly nervous, looked away, aware of the danger of looking at their boss's girl.

Maria, who was standing nearby, must have noticed your plan and had to suppress a laugh. She covered her mouth, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

You caught Maria's gaze in the mirror and grinned before looking at Natasha. The mafia boss's expression was a textbook example of barely contained anger. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes flashed with dark intensity.

"What does it look like?" you asked in a sweet and innocent voice as you turned to Natasha.

Natasha's eyes studied you, the heat in her gaze unmistakable. "You know exactly what it looks like," she replied in a low and dangerous voice.

Undeterred, you returned to the dressing room and came out a few minutes later in a barely visible red satin babydoll. You repeated the image, turning slowly in front of the mirror, making sure every angle was visible to Natasha's men, who were becoming visibly more uncomfortable by the second.

One of the guards, a young man with a nervous twitch, glanced up briefly, only to catch Natasha's murderous gaze. He quickly looked away, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

"Maybe this one?" you wondered aloud, your eyes sparkling mischievously as she turned to Maria. "What do you think?"

Maria nodded, fighting to keep her composure. "It's... quite something," she managed, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter.

After a few more outfits - each more scandalous than the last - you decided you had made your point. You gathered your selection and walked to the counter. Natasha's men were visibly relieved to see the end of your ordeal.

Natasha approached you, her expression a mix of frustration and something darker, more primal. "Satisfied?" she asked with a low growl.

You looked up at her, feigning innocence. "Almost," you replied in a defiant tone. You led the group into a side street where a group of homeless people huddled together, their eyes tired and hopeless. Your heart softened at the sight and you felt a twinge of guilt for your previous pettiness.

With a determined look in your eyes, you began to hand out the expensive clothes and accessories to those in need, ignoring the confused expressions of Natasha and her men. The recipients accepted the gifts gratefully and incredulously, their faces beaming with joy.

Natasha watched in silence, her eyes narrowing as she tried to understand your motives. When you had almost given away the last of your purchases, you turned to Natasha, a hint of defiance still burning in her eyes.

"Money can't buy everything," you said quietly, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and conviction. "And it certainly can't buy my forgiveness."

Natasha took a step closer, her expression unreadable. "You think that makes up for challenging me? For risking your safety?"

You lifted your chin and met Natasha's gaze directly. "I think it shows that I'm not just a pawn in your game. I'm my own person and I won't let fear control me."

For a moment, the two women stood in a tense standoff, the air filled with unspoken emotions. Then, to your surprise, Natasha's expression softened ever so slightly.

"Let's go home," Natasha said quietly, turning to lead the way back to the cars.

After you all arrived, Natasha asked you to follow her. You paused and followed her to a room where a bench stood in front of a bed.

The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls, adding to the tension in the air. "Sit down," Natasha ordered, pointing to the chair next to the bed.

You obeyed, your mind racing with a mixture of defiance and questioning. You tried to appear casual, but the intensity of Natasha's gaze made your heart beat faster. Natasha leaned forward, her eyes boring into yours. "What was all this about today?" she asked in a deceptively calm voice. "You parade around in those outfits and make my men stare at you?"

You crossed your arms and tried to keep your composure. "I wanted to have a little fun," you answered, a hint of defiance in your voice. "I wanted to show you that I'm in control now."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering in their depths. "Did you like it?" she asked quietly, her voice menacing.

"Did you like them watching you?" You grinned with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Yes, I did. It felt good to turn the tables for once."

In an instant, Natasha was up from the bed and standing in front of you, her expression a mixture of anger and something darker, more primal. She grabbed your arm, pulled you up, and dragged you to the bed.

"You think you're in control?" Natasha hissed, her voice deep and threatening. "Let me show you what real control looks like."

Before you could protest, Natasha tied your limbs to the bedposts, the restraints cutting into your skin. "W-What are you doing?!" Your heart raced, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through your veins.

Natasha stepped back, never taking her eyes off you. She clapped her hands and the door opened, revealing two women entering the room with hesitant steps.

Your eyes widened in shock and confusion as Natasha led the women to the edge of the bed. "Watch." Natasha ordered you, her voice cold and commanding.

The women sensed the gravity of the situation and began to undress each other, their movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught, your emotions a chaotic storm of jealousy, arousal and helplessness.

Natasha leaned close to you, her breath hot in your ear. "This is control," she murmured, her voice dripping with seduction. "See how they obey? How they submit to my will?"

Your body tensed, your mind reeling. You tugged at the bonds, your need for release growing more desperate by the second. The sight of the two women pleasuring each other, their moans filling the room, was unbearable.

Natasha's hand caressed your cheek, her touch soothing and electrifying at the same time. "That could be you.." she whispered, her lips brushing your ear. "You could be the one I touch, the one I satisfy. But you have to understand your place."

Your eyes met Natasha's, your gaze defiant "No," you spat, fighting against the restraints. "I won't beg for you if that's what you want to achieve."

Natasha's smile grew wider, darker. "Oh. Detka, We'll see about that," she said quietly. She stepped back and handed one of the women a vibrator, then nodded at you. The woman approached, her eyes filled with curiosity and fear.

"Show her," Natasha ordered.

The woman turned on the vibrator and began to use it on herself, her moans growing louder as she neared climax. Your eyes widened, your own body reacting involuntarily to the display of raw, unfiltered pleasure before you. You tugged harder at the restraints, your resolve wavering.

"Do you still think you're in control?" Natasha asked, her voice as soft as velvet. "Look at her, Y/N. Look at how easily she submits."

Your breath came in short, ragged gasps. You tried to look away, but Natasha's hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to watch. The other woman joined in, their bodies writhing together, the sounds of their pleasure filling the room.

Natasha's lips touched your ear. "You want this, don't you? You want me to touch you, to make you feel this good."

You bit your lip, refusing to give in. You could feel your body shaking with desire, your core aching for release. But you wouldn't beg. You wouldn't give Natasha that satisfaction.

Natasha's hand slid down your stomach, stopping just short of where you most wanted to be touched. "All you have to do is beg," she whispered. "Beg for it, Y/N. Tell me you want it."

Your pride fought with your overwhelming desire. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fought to maintain your defiance. But the sight of the two women lost in ecstasy was too much. Your body betrayed you, arching towards Natasha's touch.

Natasha grinned, her fingers brushing your inner thigh. "Just say it," she purred. "Admit you need me."

Your resolve crumbled, your voice breaking as you whispered, "P-Please..."

Natasha's eyes gleamed triumphantly. "Louder," she commanded, her fingers moving closer.

"Please!" you repeated, your voice stronger now.

"Touch me, Natasha." Natasha's smile was cruel and victorious. "Good girl," she murmured and pulled her hands away. She untied your bonds and you looked at her in confusion. Then she ordered the girls to leave and looked at you again, "Good night, Y/n. See you tomorrow."

And left the room.

AAAAAHHH

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souliebird · 11 months ago

Text

[[and then I met you || ch. 24]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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Words: 6.8k 🌶️

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It is by some birthday miracle Minnie has yet to run out of energy.

Usually, once she has her bath and changes into her pajamas, she starts to wind down, but today is a special, exciting day, so she just keeps on going.

It probably does not help that as part of her massive birthday haul, she got a new onesie pajama that makes her look like an oversized mouse - including big ears and a long tail. As soon as you finished zipping her in and pulled the hood up, your daughter went absolutely feral. She started scampering around on all fours - pretending she was indeed her namesake.

That was ten minutes ago, and you don’t think she’ll stop anytime soon. Especially not with Matt encouraging her.

You watch from your spot on the couch as Minnie scurries over to the dining table, crawling under one of the chairs to hide. In the kitchen, Matt is dramatically pretending to look around while he holds up the butterfly net that came with a toy bug hunting kit.

“Here, mousey, mousey, mousey,” he calls out in a low voice, which only serves to send Minnie into a fit of giggles. “Here, mousey, mousey, mousey.”

You, of course, play along and muse out, “I don’t know Mister Exterminator, this mouse may be too smart. I don’t know if you’ll be able to catch her.”

“You’re right,” he says, straightening up and he turns to face you. He rests the net on his shoulder, then taps at his chin with the index finger of his opposite hand, “I think we are going to have to set a trap.”

“A trap?” you question. You appear to keep your full attention on Matt, but in reality, you are sneaking a picture. Mouse is crouched in her hiding spot, hands covering her mouth. It takes everything in you to not start laughing.

“A trap, my Queen. We’re going to need some cheese, a stick, and a bucket.”

“I’m bigger than a bucket!” Minnie suddenly protests before realizing she’s given away where she is and clamps her hands back over her mouth. Matt whips around and starts towards her, raising his net with a mock menace.

“Gotcha!”

Minnie tries to dash towards you and the couch, but Matt, gently and with amazing precision, brings the net down on her head. Your little one instantly collapses to the floor like she has no bones. She reaches towards you, and with a performance worthy of an Oscar, declares, “Tell Scooby I loves him!” before falling over.

You do your part by gasping as Matt scoops up her limp little body. He brings her over to you, presenting her with a slight kneel, “The Mouse Princess has been slain, my Queen.”

Minnie is trying her best to keep her eyes squeezed shut and suppress her giggles, so to make it even harder, you take on a blasé attitude, “Oh, how very sad. Now she can’t come to the super-secret dance party.”

Little eyes pop open and Matt sets her on her feet as she squirms back to life, “I wanna go to the super...super secret dance party!”

The Dance Party is your scheme to get the last of Minnie’s energy out. You do not want her to stay up too late past her bedtime, or she is going to be grumpy tomorrow. No one wants a grumpy toddler at the zoo.

“You want to go to the super secret dance party?” Matt confirms, a large grin starting to form on his lips, and Minnie nods so hard her eared hood falls off.

You go to fix it, fluffing the ears so they properly stand up, “What song should we play first, Mouse Princess?”

This is a hard decision, and as she thinks over her options, Mouse sticks her fingers into her mouth. This is a behavior you are beginning to think you should address, but you want to do more research and consult with Matt as well. You have been wondering if it helps her focus - her own way of limiting out the various inputs she must be constantly receiving. You think that maybe having her hand in her mouth helps to mask other smells, because you have noticed she doesn’t actually suck on them - they just are inserted - and it's something she does when she’s thinking.

Or it may be that she's a toddler and likes the taste of her fingers and you are once again overthinking everything.

“R-B-S-T!” Minnie finally declares, throwing her hands up in the air. Matt looks absolutely baffled by the decision, but luckily, you speak Minnie, and know exactly what she wants. You grab your phone, open up your music app, and go to your daughter’s playlist to select the requested song.

You get up as Aretha Franklin begins on the speakers.

This is one of Minnie’s favorite songs to sing and dance to, and yours as well. You have listened to it so many times you almost have little routine together. You begin to shimmy your shoulders at your daughter as she does the same to you, leaning forward and singing in sync.

“What you want. Baby, I got it! What you need, you know I got it!”

Matt lights up and it takes him less than a beat to jump into bopping along. It is one of those songs you think everyone knows the lyrics to, so you aren’t surprised when he joins in singing at Minnie. You quickly become a dancing circle, grooving together. Minnie stumbles over some words but her toddler heart is completely in it. She belts out the song, the biggest smile on her face as you mime some of what is being said.

You continue to dance as the song changes to one that filled your childhood. You carefully curated the playlist to be free of any Disney Sing-a-longs or other toddler centric jams - these are strictly songs you actually enjoy that are safe for Minnie to listen to. You picked one-hit wonders and things that tend to fill the radio airwaves on a Friday night.

The song is popular enough that Matt seems to know some of the words - or he is shamelessly making them up. You aren’t going to fact check him. You are too caught up in watching him dance - he’s completely thrown himself into it. He even has a little bounce in his step.

His t-shirt is tight around his chest and when he raises his arms, his shirt rides up, showing off a belt of skin above his pajama pants. You can see the band of his boxers - a brand you aren’t aware of - and it makes your skin warm. You know you should not stare, but it is hard not to.

Especially when he does a spin.

Your eyes drop down to his behind and you feel like an absolute pervert ogling him. How does he manage to choose clothes that emphasize how wonderfully fit he is while still looking so casual?

You tear yourself away from his perfect physique and try to enjoy the playtime with your daughter. You need to wear her out, which means you need to be more enthusiastic with your dancing.

You have found a strange upside to Matt being Blind and that is you are more comfortable acting a bit of a fool around him. He isn’t going to stop and stare at you for doing something silly for Minnie and the idea that he can’t perceive you in that way is doing wonders for your anxiety. You are very much aware that he knows what you are doing because of those amazing senses of his but you don’t feel judged in the way you do if you know someone is seeing you. It is probably Ableist in some way, but you like being able to relax more around him.

You don’t need to hide who you are or pretend to be someone you are not.

You begin to move your hips, swirling them as you throw your hands up into the air. You get a full body motion going, quickly adding in a few twirls.

Mouse is quick to copy you, arms up, spinning, and rocking side to side. You slowly add in some arm pumps to get her little muscles really going. Matt seems to catch on to what you are trying to do, as he starts to add in some leg kicks to his dances, which Minnie instantly incorporates into her movements. Soon enough, she looks like she’s either in a mini mosh pit or - since she’s in a mouse costume - she’s a tiny kaiju trying to ravage an invisible town.

You go through two more pop chart toppers before Minnie shows any signs of slowing down. As soon as you sense that her enthusiasm is dipping, you move onto step two of your devious plan.

“Do you want to dance with Daddy?”

The answer is obviously a yes.

The Mouse Princess gets scooped up and set on Matt’s hip and he takes one of her small hands in his so he can guide her around in a dance. You let them have one bopping dance, where it is all energy and Minnie shimming like crazy before you sneakily switch the playlist.

The next song has a beat to dance to, but it is nothing like the previous ones. Matt gradually slows so he is rocking in place, pretending to slow dance with his daughter.

You stop at that point and stay on your phone, holding it up to record him mouthing the words to ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ while Minnie slowly starts to sink against his shoulder. You can’t help but sway to the music, a soft smile spreading across your face.

You never thought you would get this - not just seeing Minnie’s father being so absolutely sweet with her, but having a family where these sorts of moments can happen. You didn’t think this was the type of life you would get to live.

Instead of indifference, you are surrounded by love. It may not be love for you, but you get to soak it all in and enjoy how your daughter is absolutely spoiled. Matt is so clearly head over heels for her, wrapped around her little finger more than you are, and it seems like he is dragging his entire network along with him.

His friends went hog wild in terms of getting gifts for your little toddler. Not only did Foggy give her the pogo stick, but she got all sorts of stickers from him and coloring books - and his Mom - who you really need to meet at this point - sent home baked cookies and Scooby Doo themed puzzles. Karen was not to be outdone, though, as she and Frank went the doll route. They entered your apartment with a two-story wooden Victorian style dollhouse that the Punisher apparently refurbished. They had full Princess themed furnishing to go with it and you can only imagine that poor Karen is going to be getting doll ads for months.

Sister Maggie sent along more practical things - some learning to read books. To your great surprise, all of the simple stories come with print lettering and Braille, and Minnie now also has a big letter board that has the same. You want her to learn the language and now she and Matt can read bedtime stories together.

You still have trouble comprehending that all these people are in your daughter’s life now. It so effortlessly went from being just the two of you to an extended Family.

And even Minnie is understanding that.

While Foggy is Froggy and Sister Maggie is Daddy’s Mommy, Miss Karen has been officially upgraded to Auntie Karen. You do not know what triggered the change in title, but she was lording it over Foggy and Frank like it was a status symbol.

You have promised to take so many pictures to send to them while you are at the zoo and the sheer idea that other people want the photos makes you giddy. You know you are going to end up printing some out to frame. You want to send something to Sister Maggie and you just know Matt will want one - or fifteen - for his desk.

You are dragged from your thoughts when Minnie finally, finally yawns.

You stop the music before it can go onto the next crooner and step towards your favorite pair, “Are you getting sleepy, baby?”

She nods against Matt’s shoulder before turning her head so she can use him as a pillow.

“Okay, let's get you into bed,” you coo. Luckily, she does not protest - she is completely petered out and you are not sure if she’ll even make it to the bed before she's in a deep sleep.

The Dance Party was a complete success, and you decide it will be something to keep in your back pocket when Mouse is too active at night.

You follow Matt as he carries Minnie to the bedroom. He is still just barely swaying her in his arms still, tempting her closer and closer to Dreamland.

You slip around him to get into the room first so you can make sure the sheets and covers are turned down. As the dead weight that is your daughter is slipped into bed, you turn on the air conditioner, so the room gets nice and cold. By the time you get back to Mouse’s side, Matt has gotten her sleep headband on and secured, and you can't tell if she's awake or not.

Apparently, she is still somewhat conscious, because Matt asks in the softest and sweetest voice, “Did you have a good birthday, my love?”

Minnie’s lips barely move as she mumbles out an, “uh-huh.”

“I'm glad. Mommy and Daddy love you very much. Sweet dreams, my little angel.”

He gives her a kiss to the cheek, then steps aside so that you can do the same. As you pull back, she weakly smacks her lips together and breathes out, “Luff.”

Your heart grows three sizes, and you truly feel like the Grinch when you have to pull Matt from the room. You know, if he could, he would stand there all night, standing dutifully by her side as she slept.

But Mouse Princess Minnie needs her rest, and you need help cleaning up the aftermath of the party.

The dining table is covered in various arts and crafts projects. Minnie had practically run a little sweat shop with how she had multiple adults sat and focused on painting and building things with popsicle sticks and pipe cleaners. Luckily, everything is dry now and can be moved. You have a scrapbook you are going to put some pieces in, and others are going to be hung up around the apartment.

You want to keep everything Minnie makes - you have no relics from your childhood, and you don't want that for her. You want to sit down with her when she's an adult and laugh together about how cute she was.

As you start to clear the table, Matt begins to walk around the room, picking up any lingering trash. You've been good at cleaning throughout the day and not letting things sit, but you still had things like empty birthday bags and toy boxes out. You can see him snapping out of the corner of your eyes as he gathers things, and it makes you smile. You are always fascinated about how he navigates the world and using echolocation to clean isn’t something you would have thought possible.

“I didn't picture you as the dancing type,” he teases across the room as you sort arts and crafts.

“Oh, I am not,” is your instant reply and you can’t help but screw up your face at the idea of you being a dancer.

“Really? You seemed to know what you were doing.”

“Definitely not,” you insist. You feel yourself start to flush as Matt chuckles behind you.

“I think you are selling yourself short. I bet there were more eyes on you than you realized when you went dancing.” You know he is being sweet and trying to boost your ego, but you’ve never been out dancing. You didn’t even go to your prom. In fact, the last time you danced with someone who wasn’t Minnie was in middle school, at one of the in-school dance events.

That isn’t something you really want to admit, so you go with, “I don’t really go out dancing.”

He gives the faintest of sighs from the living room, so you decide to try and humor him and add, “I don’t think I’d enjoy a club, but I always thought learning ballroom would be fun. Less people and..you know,” you motion up and for some reason twirl your hand, “less bass.”

“That does seem more your style,” he replies, and you heat up even more. You know he can’t see you, but you duck your head to try and hide how you must be blushing.

As always, when you feel yourself start to get flustered, your brain takes a backseat to your mouth. You muse out, “I always wanted to learn to slow dance.”

You instantly start to mentally berate yourself. You sound like a complete idiot - as far as you know there is no method to slow dancing beyond swaying. You equate things like waltzing and other partner dances with slow dancing - even though the terminology isn’t right.

“You’ve never slow danced?”

He sounds surprised and you want to smother yourself with the artwork in your hands. You are digging a hole of pathetic-ness and you need to abandon this topic of conversation before Matt realizes how lame you truly are. To do this, you tell him, “I told you I’m not the dancing type.”

Matt doesn’t respond, so you think you are in the clear. You don’t dare look over at him, instead keeping your focus on Minnie’s painting of Max you’ve just picked up. Her drawings are getting more and more defined - you can actually tell this is meant to be a dog as opposed to her usual circle-based creatures. You are so proud of her, and you can’t wait until she’s more comfortable with writing. You think her toddler handwriting is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Siri,” Matt suddenly says from right behind you, making you start with fright and drop the painting back to the table, “play ‘At Last’ by Etta James.”

You whirl around to find Matt impossibly close, holding his phone up to speak into it. You quickly start to shake your head, just barely chanting, “no, no, no, no,” at him.

“Getting that from your Music Playlist,” the phone traitorously replies before the song starts to play. Matt reaches past you to set his phone down on the table, then that same hand goes to your waist.

You try to protest by saying his name, but he cuts you off, “Humor me.”

Your anxiety can’t fight that as much as you want to, so you very reluctantly let him pull you away from the table and towards the emptier area of the kitchen. You cannot look at him as he guides you into position - you can only stare at your feet and pray for the internet to cut out and turn off the music.

But of course, that doesn’t happen.

Matt slowly begins to sway, and you force yourself to awkwardly follow along. He must know how uncomfortable you are, as the thumb that is on your hip starts to rub in slow circles and he starts talking in a soft voice, “they never played a lot of music at St. Agnes’, but Father Lantom used to have a radio in his office. He’d have it going after hours, when he was doing paperwork or working on sermons. I would focus on it to help me sleep - they’d always play the same things over and over and it became like white noise to help dampen everything else. He used to hum along with this one.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you listen to him and not the lyrics to the song. You don’t think you’ve heard him refer to this person before, but you are guessing this is the man who ran the Church Matt grew up in.

“It’s a good song,” you mumble, trying your best to engage with him instead of being overwhelmed.

“It is,” he agrees. He steps a breath closer to you then oh so gently, just barely touches his forehead to yours. All of your embarrassment evaporates, and you are very hyper aware of everywhere you and Matt are touching. Your throat tightens a fraction, and your heart begins to pound so loudly it drowns out the music.

You want to apologize because you know Matt must be able to hear your heart becoming a drum and it must be annoying, but all you can do is sway in his arms.

You feel his breath on your cheek when he asks in a whisper, “is this okay?” and you can’t do anything more than get your head to nod up and down once. His response, for some unknown reason, is to give a pleased hum. The noise is like lightning down your spine, making you shiver against him and instead of letting you go like you would expect, he becomes even closer.

Your reaction is to curl your fingers tighter around him and you don’t understand why. Part of you wants to run and hide under your covers and never speak of this moment again, but another wants to stay like this forever, because despite your panic, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?

To be held?

Even if it is a ruse.

Matt is taking pity on you and dancing with you as a bit of a tease, but he’s not being cruel. You told him you don’t dance, so of course he wants to dance. You’ve seen the interaction in film and television plenty of times - Matt is a good man and wants you to have fun.

And you are, aren’t you?

You’re having fun.

You had a wonderful day filled with laughter and joy, and now it is ending in a sweet moment.

You can let yourself enjoy this.

Matt breathes your name against your cheek and the lightning feeling is back, “you’re overthinking again.”

“I’m trying not to,” you promise him, because you truly are trying to tamper down your thoughts. It is just hard not to when your mind won’t stop spinning.

“Do you want this?” he asks after a moment and you have no idea what he means, but honestly it doesn’t matter. Every fiber of your being screams the same thing as soon as the words leave him.

“Yes.”

The world comes to a sudden halt as Matthew Murdock’s lips press against yours.

They are soft and warm and as sweet as you remember them being. They are hesitant, almost delicate, as they move against yours. A gentle hand comes up and cups your cheek and it snaps you back into reality.

The dam inside you breaks and you do not think - you only act.

Your hands launch up to tangle into his short hair and you kiss Matt back with a hunger you did not know you had.

His reaction is instantaneous - within a moment you are backed against a countertop, and he is practically devouring you. He is groaning low in his throat, sounding almost animalistic, and the hand that was on your hip is now on the small on your back, keeping you pressed firmly against him. Gone is the sweet, innocent moment - you need him in a biblical way, and you think he feels the same.

To your own surprise, it is you who pushes things further, biting at his lower lip. He opens himself easily for you and you reward this by licking into his mouth.

He may have you pinned to the counter, but you do not feel trapped. You know if you showed any doubt about what was happening or indicated you wanted to stop - consciously or unconsciously - Matt would be across the room in a second.

You don’t need to be scared with him - you know that now - and that only fuels your fire.

You need to be touched.

You need to be held.

You need Matt to fuck you stupid.

And by the bulge starting to press into your hip, you think he is more than happy to do just that.

Matt breaks the kiss, only to move his mouth down to your neck. He drags his tongue and teeth over the sensitive skin there causing obscene little noises to come out of you.

“Sound so good,” he growls into your throat and all sorts of heady reactions course through you. “Smell so fucking good. Drives me crazy.” He emphasizes his point by burying his nose into your pulse point before biting down. Your cunt clenches around nothing and you whimper out his name, but he isn’t done with his praise yet, continuing on between lapping at your skin, “Sit there so innocent and sweet, not knowing I want to bury my face between your legs. Can’t think when you get all flustered. Want my tongue on you at all times.”

His words wash over you, but you can’t contextualize what he is Actually saying. All you can hear is his current need and desire and you want his tongue on you as well. You know how well he can use it and your body craves him.

You don’t know how to tell him what you want beyond hiking your leg up to wrap around him and pressing your hips forward with a needy, “Please, Matt.”

It seems that is all he needs you to say.

Like you weigh nothing, he lifts you up and sets you on the counter. You lean back to push your sleeping shorts and panties down and he is there to help, practically tearing them off your legs and sending them across the kitchen. As soon as that barrier is gone, Matt wastes not one second - he drops to his knees between your legs and drags you forward by your hips, throwing your thighs over his shoulders.

Any shame you may have is gone the moment he drags his nose from the bottom of your cunt up to your clit and only then do you realize how absolutely soaked you are.

He starts to mumble something under his breath, but you can’t hear him over how heavy you are breathing. The hot puffs of air against you are the worst type of tease and already making your muscles quake. To keep yourself from slipping, you place one hand on the counter, then use the other to grab onto Matt’s hair. You must grab too hard as he shudders under your fingers, but he keeps up his soft words.

He’s so close and you haven’t been touched in so so long that you cannot take this.

“Matt, please,” you beg and again he shakes under your hand.

“Amen,” you just barely hear before his voice raises just enough to be actually audible, “Don’t worry, my darling, I’ll take care of you, now.”

You nearly lose it when he finally puts his mouth on you. You are already worked up and so sensitive, that a few flicks of his tongue has you mewling. That only serves to encourage him, and he buries himself deeper into your core, moaning shamelessly like he is the one being pleasured. You grip tightly onto his hair to try to keep some composure, but you are already right on the edge.

Your hips start to twitch, and your abdomen starts to tighten before you realize it. Your head rolls back as you start to chant Matt’s name in a pant, begging him to chase your incoming orgasm.

He, of course, happily obeys.

It is not mind shattering, but it has you rocking forward to curl around Matt’s head, your other hand coming around to claw at his shoulders as you come. He keeps his tongue working until your thighs stop quaking, then he pulls back. He grins up at you like he’s a kid in the lewdest candy store - his mouth and chin and glistening with your juices and it’s clear he couldn’t be prouder of himself.

“One,” he purrs out and you start to laugh a little from how cute he is in your giddy state. You remember in your night together all those years ago, he had also counted your orgasms. It didn’t come off as smug then and it definitely doesn’t now.

He effortlessly raises up to his feet and you let your legs fall from his shoulders to wrap around his waist instead. His hands glide down from your hips to your thighs before he tugs you forward so he's holding you up. He slowly starts to back away from the kitchen and you secure your hold on his shoulders, so you don’t slip as he carries you.

You can’t help but lean forward and kiss him. Your slick tastes tart on his lips, but you don’t care - especially when you can feel him melting into your touch. You keep things slow and languid as he brings you to the couch. You pull away as he gently lays you down, but not fully. Your hands drop to his stomach, and you tug at his shirt, “Off.”

“Yes, My Queen.”

He fluidly pulls it off before crawling over you and boxing your head in with his large arms. You loop yours around his neck again as he dips to kiss you again.

The feral need inside of you has been temporarily satiated, so you can enjoy this slower exploration. Your hands smooth over his neck and back and you cannot believe how muscular he is. His suits do a good job to keep him looking lean so that you often forget how much raw power he holds. You feel like you could get lost in just touching him - tracing along his skin to feel each little freckle and scar.

It seems like he could do the same for you. While keeping one arm down to keep himself held up over you, the other makes its way between you. His hand pushes up under your oversized t-shirt and up to your ribs. You aren’t very ticklish, but you still shudder and arch at his touch. He easily finds your breast and massages it a few times before pinching at your nipple.

You gasp into his mouth, and as he begins to tweak and play with it, you have to turn your head away because you can’t keep up with his kissing.

“So sensitive,” he teases in a whisper. He nips at your ear before starting to make his way down your neck again.

“Feels good,” you reply, trying to not whine, but you are pretty sure you fail.

Matt hums in response before scooting down your body. You hook your legs around his waist as he pushes your shirt up to reveal your breasts, then watch as he bends to take one in his mouth. You close your eyes as he begins to suckle and pleasure washes through you.

You bring a hand up to scratch lightly at the base of his skull as he starts to worship your chest. He is sure to make sure your other nipple isn’t neglected, pinching and flicking at it in time with his tongue. It doesn’t take long for your core to start pulsing and gushing again, but Matt stays focused on his task. He starts to alternate which breast gets the attention of his mouth versus his hand and soon enough you are thinking you can cum again just from this.

You start to squirm and pant under him, but it is when you rock your hips into him that he changes course.

You feel him move and adjust, but you don’t know how, as he never neglects you for a second. Once he is how he needs to be, the hand not already preoccupied slips between the two of you. He runs one finger over your slit, pushing between your labia to coat himself in you. You can’t help but moan at the teasing.

But he doesn’t do it long - as soon as he’s slick, he pushes into you.

His finger is thick, and the stretch feels perfect - it isn’t too much, but a little more might be too uncomfortable. He starts to pump his finger in time with his tongue and all you can do is lay there and take it. You are on the edge of being overwhelmed, but right in the state of bliss.

Praise starts to tumble from your mouth this time, as you keep up scratching at his neck and shoulders.

“Feels so good. Already so close. Please, Matt. Need you.”

Before you even realize you are ready for it, he pushes a second finger into you, and you are nearly seeing stars. You know his cock is big and you need the stretching, especially after so long, but part of you just wants him in you now. He’s always so sweet and he’s not going to hurt you in that way, so you know he’s going to make sure you are ready before fucking you.

But you are still going to be needy about it.

You start to roll your hips, wanting more and more and more. It takes you a few tries to match his pace, but once you do, the buildup is quick. You can feel it in your thighs first, tingling and spasming as your release gets closer.

Matt releases your nipple from his mouth long enough to encourage you, “Cum for me, darling. Cum on my fingers.”

He crooks his fingers as he latches back onto you and you white out. You shake and curl as your orgasm rocks you and Matt doesn’t let up at all. His fingers pump and work your way through it until you cannot take any more stimulus and you have to try and crawl away. He takes pity on you and pulls back and slides his fingers out.

They instantly go into his mouth, and he licks them clean in the most obscene way possible. You watch him through half lidded eyes, admiring everything about his physique.

Only once he’s finished his task do you reach for him. Your fingers skate from his chest down his abs until you can grab his boxers and pajama pants. You tug them down enough to free his cock and it is a thing of beauty. It’s thick with a slight curve and one pulsing vein running along it. The head is swollen and red and leaking pre-cum like a faucet. You wrap your fingers around the base and slowly stroke up. Matt’s head rolls back, his lips parting just slightly, and he looks like he is in absolute heaven.

“Didn’t get to taste you last time,” you tease, and you are practically salivating at the idea of having him in your mouth. You want to return all the pleasure he's given you. He needs to be the one to lay back and enjoy your mouth on him.

He groans before rolling forward, so he is hovering over you again. “There will be time for that later, can’t wait for you any longer,” he says in a low voice, and despite his eyes not functioning as they should, you can see the hunger in them.

You more than understand that and lean up to meet him in a kiss. Your hand is still wrapped around him, so you give a few pumps to smear his pre-cum, and as you do, he quietly swears.

“I don’t have a condom.”

The words hit you hard and your eager and horny mind of course throws out the first thing you think, “You already got me pregnant once with one.”

Matt’s nose flares at that and his cock twitches hard in your hand. He swallows thickly before asking, “Are you clean?”

“I am,” you promise. “I haven’t been with anyone since you. Are you?” He gives a jerky nod and when he does, you rub your thumb over his head, teasing the slit, “then I’m okay without one.”

He surges forward to crash into your lips, and you release your hold on him so that he can position himself. You tangle your fingers into his hair again, and to test a little theory, tug at it. He all but moans into your mouth and you can’t help but ask, “Do you like that?”

“Yes,” is his instant reply. It’s his turn to tease when he rubs his cock over your needy cunt. “Bite me, scratch me, do anything you want to me. I’m yours.”

Then he pushes into you and all the thoughts and ideas in your head turn to dust.

Even stretched out, there is still a slight burn, but it feels so wonderful. He starts with slow, shallow thrusts until he is fully inside you, only to settle for a moment. He noses down to your ear and nips at your lobe. He repeats, “I’m yours,” in a low growl before pulling out of you and slamming back in.

The pace he sets isn’t brutal, but it's clear he’s as eager and wanting as you. You drag him back into a kiss, biting at his lips as he gives you exactly what you want - what you need. One hand goes to your throat, wrapping around it but not squeezing. You respond by digging your nails into his shoulder. He hisses into your mouth, but you can tell he likes it by how he reacts.

His other hand grabs you by the hip and tilts your pelvis up so he can drive himself deeper into you. You gasp at the sudden change - his cock is hitting the perfect spot and with each stroke, you feel like you are going to lose your mind and Matt seems to know that. He begins to pepper bites and kisses along your shoulder, sending shocks of pleasure to your core with each one.

Your anxiety is nowhere to be found, so there is nothing to hold you back from clawing at his shoulders and tugging at his hair. You guide him back to your neck, where his bites feel the best, and give breathy pleas. He digs his teeth into you as your third orgasm starts to build.

The arm around his shoulder drops to the couch and you reach for the hand that is holding him up. He allows you to tangle your fingers together and you squeeze his hand as you clench your cunt around him.

“I’m close,” you whimper, just as he starts to lap at your neck.

“Me too,” he pants in reply, “needed you so badly. Need you so badly.” He turns his head to press it hard against your shoulder, and asks the most ridiculous question you’ve ever heard, “do you want me to pull out?”

You shift so you can hook your leg around his waist and dig your heel into the small of his back in response while also tugging hard at his hair.

“Fuck,” he moans into you, instantly starting to pick up his pace to the point the couch is starting to rock, “Yes, I won’t. Fuck.” He starts to chant your name in between swears and you try to use the leverage of your leg to rock your hips to meet his thrusts.

You bite into his shoulder, so you do not cry out as your orgasm takes you by force. It feels like every muscle in your body tenses up and your hips twitch violently and euphoria rushes through you. Matt’s hips sputter once before he buries himself in you.

You lose yourself for a few moments as you quite literally sink into bliss. Your leg relaxes around Matt, sliding down to keep around his thigh as you settle into the couch. He lets go of your hip to allow you to do that, but he follows you down, putting only some of his weight on you like a heavy, warm blanket.

You lessen your grip on his hair so you can begin to give him light scritches and that makes him nuzzle into your neck with a pleased little noise. You return the noise, then use all the effort left in your body to turn your head to kiss his temple and squeeze his hand at the same time.

“Stay like this,” you request. Your eyes are getting heavy, and you don’t fight to keep them open.

“Anything for you, My Queen,” he replies, sounding just as gone as you feel. You manage a chuckle and another kiss to his hairline.

“My sweet knight.”

You fall asleep under Matthew Murdock, your legs, hands, and hearts tangled together.

---

a/n: :3C Next chapter is the zoo.

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

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@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #and then i met you

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cherryredstars · 2 years ago

Text

1K Prompts

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fingering, Fear Play, Dubcon, Choking, Slapping, Mean!Miguel

Summary: He can’t decide if he likes when you cry from pleasure or from fear more.

Word Count: 1.5K (Not Edited)

Maybe this arrangement was not so bad.

Miguel knew nerds were full of fun. It was fun to pick on them and watch them tremble. But, that by no means meant he wanted to spend his weekends hanging out with one. He had other things to do, like go to practice and trash abandoned spots with cigarettes and beer cans with his group. But if it meant staying on the team, he could suck it up. Especially when the freak tutoring him is so easy on the eyes.

A pretty, delicate thing, too. Always trembling like a deer caught in headlights look plastered to your face whenever he appears. Tail tucked between your legs when you spot him on campus with his friends, alarm bells ringing as you try to pass him unnoticed. It is so cute. So precious. And it is so unbelievably easy for you to shrink in on yourself. It is a fucking power trip. It feeds him, makes him hungry for more.

His favorite pastime is scaring you. Making sudden, jerky movements so you flinch. Loves how you almost fall over yourself, bumping your knees or elbows on the table and dropping shit everywhere. Always making a fucking mess. Always making a mess of yourself. He is extra loud, displaying his power. He is throwing his bag on the ground rougher than needed to. He is pulling his chair out so hard that it flies out and scrapes marks into the carpet. He is tossing his notebooks onto the table and slamming his hand down to the point that it stings his skin. You always yelp, jolting and squeezing your eyes shut. Turning to him with glossy eyes and shaky lips. So delicious. So pretty for him.

He needs more. More and more and more. He gets everything he wants, and he knows exactly how to get it. It is simply, easy. You are a pushover, you fold easily (a theory he is happy to test in his bed). All it takes is a call, a low tone of voice that is so purposely dark and menacing that you stutter out incoherent babbles. Perfect, absolutely perfect. You are there in an hour, fidgeting when he opens the door. You have that shy, ready to run look in your eyes as you look up at him. You are a fucking prude, gulping and scared at the sight of his bare torso. It makes him want to laugh in your face. This is the most innocent thing you will be seeing once he is done with you.

When you walk through the door, you are so focused on taking in what his home looks like that you scream when he shoves you up against the wall. You are panicking, hips squirming against his cock just right, making him harder than he already was. He is about to punch a hole into his fucking pants when his hands hold your wrists above your head. You are whimpering, stuttering variations of his name as he holds you there. His head falls into the crook of your neck, sucking and biting into the skin so hard it bruises. He can feel how fast your pulse is under his lips, and he licks at it.

He is whispering horrible, dirty things into your skin. Sounding like an absolute lunatic as he murmurs how pretty you look so scared and glassy eyed. Rambles about how he has fantasized about the scared look on your face as he pushes his cock into your weeping cunt. How he cannot wait to make you cry as you try to get away from him. He is an absolute predator and he is dead set on making you his prey. And even though you are so terrified, even though you can feel your body shaking and something instinctual in your head telling you to run away, you cannot help the slick liquid spilling into your panties. You cannot help the way your body arches into his and how you whisper his name with something bordering on a plea.

You spoil him with those noises. His free hand moves to your shorts, a sinister smile as you freeze up. That fight returns as it becomes more real, your hands trying to claw at his in an attempt to free yourself of his hold. It just makes him press up against you harder, causing you to whimper. You are fighting two battles: him and your own body. As his hand slips under the band of your shorts, caressing the wetness that is collected in your panties, you are more and more confident in the fact that you are losing to both. His fingers are cold, sending shivers over your body. When his fingers push your panties to the side and plunge into your dripping hole, you know you are a goner.

You scream at the intrusion, body completely unprepared to be taking his fingers so quickly. He plunges them in and out of you rapidly, and you can feel how his hand pulls your panties down with the movement. His hand leaves your wrists, and your hands fall onto his arm as you continue to cry out. His hand comes down to rip off your shorts and panties, leaving them as a pile around your ankles. Your nails are digging into his skin, trying to stabilize yourself as his fingers hit against your walls. You can feel his blunt nails against the gummy areas inside of you as he curls his fingers. It stings slightly, causing you to whimper and uselessly push him away. It only makes him speed up.

You scream again, getting cut off when a sharp slap lands on your cheek. You gasp, head whipping to the side before one of his hands wraps around your neck. You panic again, hand leaving his arm to claw at his hand. He whispers darkly into your ear to shut up, that you'll scare the neighbors and he’ll have to tape your mouth shut. You are so focused on his words and his touch that it takes you a minute to realize he is not really pressing down. He is definitely applying pressure, but just enough so you know his hand is there and he can make it tighter around your neck. When the fear dies away you can feel yourself clench around his fingers, causing him to groan. You like it, you realize, and you whimper up at him.

He chuckles into your skin, fingers still moving at that relentless pace as your pussy sings out wet noises for him. Your walls keep fluttering around him, and you let out a sob. He tears his eyes away, watching the way water begins to build and flow from your eyes as the pleasure becomes too much. He gives a few more punishing pumps until you are clenching hard around him. He hisses at the tightness, paying back the favor by choking you harder. Your mind is lost in between panic and pleasure as it tries to process your ongoing orgasm and the fact air isn’t reaching your lungs. You are letting out dry moans, eyes darting around his face as your hands weakly claw at his hand. Your head is just beginning to feel fuzzy when he lets go, a few seconds after you stop coming around his fingers.

He pulls away from you entirely, hand leaving your throat and abused cunt. He takes a step away from you and you crumble on the floor pathetically as you try to catch your breath. Your wet, doe eyes look up at him from the floor, whimpering when you can still feel your cum dripping down your thighs and leaving drops on his floor. Your hand, your entire body, is shaking as you reach for your throat. You hold the skin gently, rubbing at it to get rid of the ache and feel of his hand around it. You almost flinch back when he bends down in front of you. He looks at you with an amused look, before it becomes bored. His hand comes up near your face, and you try to press yourself against the wall. You think he is about to slap you again, but instead he wipes his cum covered fingers against your cheek. You flinch from the feel of it, it's sticky and warm and it reminds you of what you just did.

He cherishes the wide-eyed look you give him as your chest moves up and down with your breaths. He hums as he stares. Pretty, so so pretty. He gets up, hand ruffling your hair like a dog. Your eyes track him, watching as he picks up your shorts and underwear. His fingers take your panties and shoving them into his pocket. He throws the shorts to you, vaguely telling you where the bathroom is so you can clean up the mess you made. In a dismissive tone, he tells you to hurry up and meet him in the living room to study.

You watch him go, looking like a broken fairy as another rush of involuntary arousal drips to the floor.

Part 2 Part 3

I think this is the darkest thing I’ve written?? Is this considered dark? It’s definitely not nice.

1K notes · View notes

eldritch-spouse · 2 years ago

Note

after some sort of “accident” in the shop, there comes to be a fleshlight that is bound to admin. everything that happens to it, admin can feel! <3 admin attempts to hide it but has to go deal with some important business and leaves it in the break room. what’s going down?

[Oooh nice!! I changed the source of the fleshlight a bit though. Fem reader.]

TW: Sex toy sharing (unsanitary); Dubcon; Double penetration in one hole.

You have absolutely no idea what this is.

It felt like a joke in poor taste, at first.

This... Fleshlight -Because it can only be that- Appeared in the break floor. A deep violet case with golden swirls around the rim, featuring an uncannily realistic mold of none other than your pussy.

So many things went through your mind as you picked it up. Who could have done this? Certainly, to be here on display, only one of your staff team could have concocted such an insult.

Perhaps Santi. He did always have the strangest and lewdest gifts for everyone. He'd offered sex toys molded after notable figures before, this wouldn't be entirely uncharacteristic out of him. Did he simply forget it here or is he planning to give it to someone?

If not Santi, then maybe Nebul. He does operate the shop, and toys of all kinky kinds hold no secrets for him. He could easily make a custom one, right? But he's not the type of monster man to have such a careless lapse and forget his fleshlight on the kitchenette counter like this. This would have to be intentional of him.

It could also be Fank-e. Lord knows that robot will get his metallic little hands on any kind of genital attachment and weird toy he can find. Maybe the creep wants to use a model of your vulva as his own genitals. You wouldn't put such past him. It's a lot more likely the mechanical menace could have gotten distracted by something and left the toy out in the open.

Humming, morbid curiosity makes you gently touch the depraved imitation, fingertips dipping to scissor the thing open when you notice that it's clean.

Instant regret washes over you.

The moment you do such, it's as if phantom digits pierced into your covered cunt and physically spread you out. The thing is dropped back onto the counter and you bend to clutch your panty-covered privates as a sting of pain punishes you.

For a blank moment, you almost believe that Lord Krulu had been the one to finger you. Even if he usually likes to announce their presence before using your form. But it can't be! Your higher has been busy all day, you can feel how diminished his connection to you is right now. This is not his doing.

Paranoid, you glance behind you just to be sure that there really is no one somehow screwing with you. Predictably, you're alone.

Eyes narrowed, you pick the toy up again and reshape your approach, this time making a slow stroke up the left labia, feeling it in your right with a scary level of intensity. The quality of the material itself is strikingly life-like, not just cheap silicone. It's even... Warm? Dear Lord, it's probably the same temperature as you, as your insides. The thought has a gross kind of shiver racing up your spine. Daringly, you thumb over the imitation of your clitoris, met with direct feedback in your own body which perfectly corresponds to the tentative circular motions of your index over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You stop the moment your knees reflexively press forward.

This... Is magic. Which puts a new candidate on the table. The thought alone makes you scoff, could Patches truly be audacious enough to do this? No. Not at all. You don't doubt he'd take a toy molded in your vague resemblance to pathetically rut into- But actually connect said thing to your body? That's already a level of courage that can't be expected of the dullahan in question.

Unless... Ah, this can be the work of his trickster counterpart. That you find more believable.

A pulse in your pocket has you setting the plaything aside to check your phone, reading the text detailing your esteemed guest's arrival.

Maintaining ties to the Rings is imperative in this stage of Krulu's vision for the future. Hell and its denizens are apparently sources of great potential in your Lord-Master's eyes, and he's been very keen in keeping close ties to the fiendish rulership of said location. You're only too happy to help forge bonds with these demonlords, which means scraping around and trying to get to know them. Ironically, it falls upon you the responsibility to tempt them into seeking contact.

Your latest endeavor of this sort involves establishing an explorative partnership with one of the demonlords' sons. He's quite the character, and now that you know he has arrived at the front of The Clergy, you can't just leave royalty waiting.

Both hands busy with texting back a hasty reply, you panic as you try to guess where you could stuff this gross little thing away. Taking it with you is not an option, there's no pocket large enough to conceal the thing and its depraved outline.

Time is not on your side.

The meeting can't take that long, can it? What if you just... Left it in one of the cupboards above the kitchenette?

Yes, and then you'll come to retrieve it, interrogate the team to find which of these losers thought it was a bright idea to play with fire.

That'll do. Hopefully.

Opening a cupboard loaded with small plates and cups, you quickly stuff the fleshlight inside and make your way over to the elevator, fixing your hair and clothes to go greet someone of great importance.

Vinnel almost barges into the floor.

More of his coworkers had caught the ride up, talking amongst themselves idly, but the jester wasn't preoccupied with their small talk, he was ravenous.

The first item on his shift was a show he had been particularly looking forward to, an opportunity to test some bizarre new weaponry and a game whose rules he deliberated on for more than a week prior to the event itself. Needless to say, it was a display that took a lot of work, tears sweat and love poured into it- And fucking Hell did it pay off! He's ecstatic! And hungry. Starving.

Doing a good show always gets his stomach riled up.

Some flecks of blood still covering his suit, Vinnel is quick to dart to the kitchenette, ignoring anything and everything as he rummaged around for snacks that aren't there.

His temper spikes when the fridge is devoid of meals.

" Chef! " He barks, turning to the blue shroom monster in question, who is only now just setting his apron aside. Morell rises a brow. " You're slacking! "

The large monster scoffs into his scarf. " None o' you assholes got a fuckin' hint of shame, do ya?! " His locker door slams shut. " Ah ain't gonna cook for ya every single day! "

" But- What are we supposed to do then? Starve? " The waiter whines, making big twinkling magenta eyes at the other.

" Not fallin' for it. " Is Morell's flat response.

" Have you tried making your own food? " A bartender chimes in. " I know doing anything for yourself is challenging for you, but give it a try. "

" Rich coming from someone that can't cook for the life of him. "

The jester has entirely disconnected from the banter going on, a shred of hope driving him to keep searching fruitlessly. It's not as if he believes anything to be in the top shelves where cutlery is stored, but maybe one of them could be hiding some type of candy?

Slamming cabinets and cupboards open, the last thing he expects is for something to fall off them. So he nearly jumps in the air when a sizable object tumbles from the cupboard shelf right onto the carpeted ground.

The floor becomes silent, everyone stares blankly at the item in question for a pregnant pause.

Gloved orange digits pick the thing up, Vinnel bringing it closer to his mask. " Huh. "

He knows what it is exactly.

It looks very high-quality, and clean thankfully. Vinnel swears something about the model itself looks... Almost familiar. Hm. Nevertheless, laugher starts bubbling out his chest and he sways his head, juggling the thing.

" Ohohohoho!! " The next time the toy falls, Vinnel grips it viciously and points the thing right at-

" Morell! Such interesting kitchen utensils you have here... "

" Wha- That ain't mine! " The shroom retorts a little too fast.

" Suure. Then why was it in the cupboard, buddy? "

There's a glare, people around the chef are beginning to murmur amongst themselves.

" Like Hell ah know! For all I fuckin' know, ya could'a been tha one to put it there and fake tha whole thing- 'S yours! "

Vinnel titters, clapping as best as he can with his occupied hand. " Oh no, you think that lowly of little old me? " A feigned gesture of offense is met with no sympathy from the rest of the staff team, who do, in fact, think that lowly of the jester. " Unfortunately no, I don't usually perform tricks with fucktoys... Not the silicone ones anyway. "

" Well it ain't mine. " Morell insists. " Which one o' ya little sickos put a fuckin' pocket pussy in the kitchen? "

The suited performer, still vaguely examining the thing, finding it to be a little heavier than most of these toys tend to be given the materials involved in their manufacturing, swivels his head towards the next suspect.

" Sex pest! "

Santi, already very interested in the turn of events this day is taking, smiles as if just having been complimented. " Yes? "

" Why did you put your fucktoy here? " The performer looms over his demonic coworker, accusatory and demeaning. " So we could find it? So you could be gross about it, hm? "

The incubus hums, eyes on the toy rather than his frilled coworker. " Mm no, that's not my toy sweetheart. Though do let me have a closer look, maybe I can find a trace of our dirty little culprit... "

" Liar! " Vinnel spits.

Santi chuckles, making a move to grab the object yet thwarted when Vinnel angles it away.

" And why would I lie, love? If it was mine I'd tell you readily. I've brought toys to work before, haven't I? Never lied about it. "

And he's right, much to the jester's chagrin. The incubus could bring a cum-soaked dildo into this floor shamelessly, he wouldn't lie about a fleshlight.

Vinnel growls and floats back to point it directly at Nebul, but the shopkeeper beats him to the punch.

" I do not bring items from the shop into the break floor. Furthermore, I don't recognize that model. Does it have a brand? "

The jester checks, flipping the thing in all angles only to find neither words nor numbers printed anywhere. He glances to the crowd around him again, gears turning, machinating, until his attention falls on the dullahan, making Vinnel dart to him.

" You've been far too quiet this whole time, gourd brains... " He accuses, painted eyes narrowing.

Patches flusters, arms raised and leaning back. " What- What do you want me to say? I don't- "

That vegetable expression shifts suddenly, going from uncomfortable and anxious to complete focus. It's enough to make the jester tilt his head. " What? "

" That thing is brimming with magic. " He points out, leaning closer as if the gesture could reveal more by itself.

" ... Is it now? " Vinnel won't lie. It's a possibility. The fleshlight looks and feels anything but normal.

" You- You do know what that means, right? " Patches fumbles, squirming in mild discomfort. Those green cheeks acquire a tint that makes the jester's eyes roll in irritation behind his mask.

" Oh do fucking enlighten me, you masochistic kabocha. "

" Boys, boys- " Santi starts, tail wagging as he wedges himself between the two men. " We're missing the point. I've seen this before. That little thing is connected to some poor sap. And, if I'm not suddenly visually impaired, it looks extremely human to me. "

Another moment of silence stretches across the room

The jester's inked grin widens, and armed with a brand new realization, he starts feathering his digits along the edges of the pocket pussy's entrance, paying close attention to it. His mask nearly falls off when the thing physically seems to twitch. Uhuhu!

" No. " Belo begins, pointing a trembling finger at the demon. " You wouldn't dare suggest- "

" That our lovely Administrator has sent us a gift? " Santi challenges, tone sultry. " But of course, Belo! This is a reward for our hard work, and ohh, I just can't wait to make the most of it. "

Vinnel has now managed to slip one finger inside, completely tuned off to the conversation happening right next to him. Shock of all shocks, the thing hugs his digit as if it were real. And, as he experimentally removes the intrusion, a sheen of what can only be arousal wets his gloves. It really is you. He just fingered you. Hah!

" Filthy beast! You shall not touch that, this can't be right. " The angel's wings flex and twitch in growing agitation. As always, he seems very eager to try to choke the life out of Santi- And he would, if he didn't already know that the demon would immediately salaciously get off on it.

" But what if it is? What if she wants us all to take turns, experience her supple little cunt? " He taunts, surfing the room, gouging the reactions of his coworkers as most of them flush with sudden want at the idea. Yes, they like it as much as he does, Santi's just honest about it. " Would you reject her gift, Belo? "

The power in question is puffed like an angered parakeet, a myriad of emotions warring in those expressive, large eyes. " Control that foul tongue of yours lest I rip it off your worthless mouth and make your depraved clients very disappointed. "

" One day you'll revel in your own perversions. " He says it calmly, as if it were fact, grinning when the angel prepares another outburst.

" Guys. "

Vinnel is now two fingers deep into the magical fleshlight, a stupefied look on his face as he finds the toy -You- Welcoming him without resistance. You clench around him. Gods, he can't wait to stuff his cock in there, to fuck you, to rail you knowing that you can't do anything to stop him. At least not until you find him. Oh, he could make a game out of it!

" She's practically dripping. " The jester pulls both fingers out, spreading them to showcase a film of arousal between both digits.

" She's... Enjoying this. " Patches murmurs, breathy, fixated on the dirty gleam.

" Alright, if you're done being manchildren, I want to go first. " The slime suddenly pipes up, moving in on the stage performer.

" My ass you will! " Grimbly gets in the way, scoffing.

Vinnel finds a crowd of monsters suddenly gather around him, hands twitching for the item in his hands, eyes glinting like wolves corralling a chicken in its coop.

" Give me that, jester, it needs to be secured somewhere safely- "

" No no, give it to me, I'll make her feel so good! "

" Maybe if I have it, I- I can tell whose magic this is. "

" It was in mah cupboard, maybe she wants me ta be first! "

" Nuh uh!! " The jester suddenly shouts, floating higher in the air. " Finders keepers! Piss off! "

An ashy hand clamps around his ankle, jostling the bells there. " Were you not accusing us of being perverse? Let us take that dirty thing off your hands. " Nebul beckons.

As he's tugged down, Vinnel deforms his limbs inside his suit to twist away from the hands pawing at him. Growling, he pulls away, towards the window, towards the outside. If he can make it through the window, a significant portion of the staff team will be halted in their pursuit. He might get to hide with the toy and keep it all for himself.

Gallon, anticipating this, moves fast. Yellow tendrils coil over both the jester's legs and waist, trying to pull the extended arm back into the room even as Vinnel tries his damndest to keep it at out, his arm bending weirdly inside its red sleeve.

" Fuck off! All of you sad sacks of shit- This is MINE! " The slime gargles and screams, other hand clinging to the tall window's edge as tightly as possible. " I found it! "

" Stop strugglin' boy. We gonna talk this out. " The chef chuckles, successfully using brute strength to start pulling him inside.

The others help. He's fighting a losing battle and he knows it.

As soon as the performer feels a disturbance in the fabric of his suit's composition, he freezes. Primal, soul-shaking terror, grabs a hold of his body and he gasps, shrieking as he drops both hands to instantly claw, kick and try to mangle whoever's about to possibly rip his suit.

There's a chorus of pained cries and he's thrown to the ground, clinging to his form for dear life. Literally. Because if anything opened, he would potentially leak to the carpet and meet his end very quickly.

" Gah-! You useless clown! He dropped it! " The bat squeals, a high-pitched noise that grates on everyone's ears.

Vinnel startles. His possible panic attack and frantic body checking is halted by the sudden realization that yes, he did drop the fleshlight in his panic. That means...

The orange and purple menace stumbles to a stand shoving the group bent over the window aside to poke his head out and see for himself where the sex toy landed. After a few grunts and curses, the view is revealed.

On the grass of the garden outside the building, the toy landed sideways, rolling aimlessly over mutated flowers that lean away from the unidentified object. There's a beat of stillness.

Everyone knows it's only a matter of time until the thing is retrieved, possibly by a client, which means they'd have to waste time hunting for a random loser before getting to their prize. They exchange stares, aware that as soon as someone moves, the hunt is on, the game starts.

And yet, before even a step towards the elevator is taken, the scene below them changes.

A bench sat some distance away uncurls, black iron body turning into a grayed gangly mass with a wooden chest for a head, teeth poking out of it. Said monster seems to stretch himself before moving on all fours to inspect the thing.

Sybastian squats, picks up the fleshlight. Although his eyes are hidden in the great darkness of his objectum head, everyone can practically see the gears turning in his head.

The mimic glances up, perplexed yellow eyes staring dubiously at his coworkers.

" Syb. " Patches calls, reaching a hand out. " That is very special, leave it there. Do not touch it- "

Too late.

" No! No!! "

He found a toy, he's going to play with it. Sybastian starts hurriedly moving out of view.

" Motherfucker! I'll gut you! " Vinnel screeches, banging uselessly on the building's exterior.

" Blasted mimic... " Belo is the first to peel off the window. " What do we do now?! "

" Well... " Morell sighs, pulling his apron back on while everyone sulks and simmers.

" We go huntin'. "

Huh.

Isn't that one way to wake up...

Sybastian's nap had been disturbed when he sensed an impact nearby. It couldn't have been something very large, but part of his hunting routine involves being in that fine line between resting and alert enough to sense the faintest vibrations, categorize them as noteworthy or not on a subconscious level. His curiosity had him rising anyway, shedding his disguise and following the direction of the sound until he found...

A sex toy.

In the middle of the grass.

His eyes don't deceive him, he knows what kind of toy this is, has seen them in the undead's shop. They're the kind you can fuck into, small and convenient.

He was unsure as to why such a thing had been tossed out, so he looked around and found most of his coworkers already fixed on him. It didn't take a genius to piece together the fact that they had been likely squabbling over the thing.

Yet, oddly, it didn't smell used. In fact, it featured an odor Sybastian could swear he's had his face buried in before.

The mischief of his nature acted up, and the mimic crawled away with the toy held in his maw.

He knows the rest of them will come looking for him immediately, so the mimic scurries deep into the less stable parts of the garden- Where Hellion tends to dwell. The parts that can shift, remold and relocate themselves in the blink of an eye as the establishment periodically "refreshes" itself. It's a gamble, he admits, but it's the only place staff will hesitate to enter due to its volatile nature. Sybastian is more well-equipped to deal with these areas, given he spends most of the time in the garden, has learned many of its tricks.

Let them bump around like blind moles.

Eventually, Sybastian finds an area dense in plantlife, a good distance away from the main building already, and sensing no approaching threats, the mimic seats himself next to a wide trunk, spitting his conquest into his hands and taking the time to examine it.

It's a fancy fuck-pocket alright.

Curious about the scent, he drags the thin end of his tongue across the length of the artificial pussy, eyes widening when taste hits him. Not just any taste, arousal and wetness and- Human. A human he's put that same roving muscle upon before.

You.

Sybastian is certain these things aren't meant to have such specific tastes. He's not sure how such a thing came into being, a carbon sort of copy of your cunt, but he understands why the others were fighting over it. Syb would too.

A little thrill crawls along the length of his spine.

No time to waste, he better make use of this before he's accosted by a swarm of angry monsters.

The mimic drools and smiles as he pushes a good portion of his deep blue tongue past sweet folds and into the surprisingly warm, hugging insides of the toy. He removes his loincloth hastily and palms his already chubbing cock to the thought of you flipping your work outfit up and spreading yourself out so he can have full access to that puffy pussy. The mental image of your provocative, inviting smile while you grab onto the fat of your ass has him moaning, dick pulsing.

Fucking the pathetic little escapists is one thing, but nothing beats your delicious, perfect holes. You have everyone here by the balls and Sybastian is no different.

Releasing a filthy murr of anticipation, the mimic's shackles rattle as he brings the now thoroughly slobbered pocket pussy down, teasing it along the head of his cock.

Oh, if all of them feel this real then he really has to bother Nebul for one.

Sybastian swears he feels it quiver against his length, panting as soon as he starts sinking it onto his thick length. The moment his tip pops in, he rumbles, feeling its walls immediately clinging to him, spasming in such a life-like manner he can't help bucking into it, greedily and impatiently stuffing more of himself into the exceptionally pleasurable fucktoy.

He couldn't take it slow even if he wanted to, claws curling viciously around the purple tube as he starts jerking himself off with it in earnest, loud groans echoing amidst his panting. It feels exactly like you! Hot and tight and spongy and so so good, he loves to fuck you- This is going to be his favorite toy ever.

Syb's hips snap into a grossly desperate rhythm, a lurid plap of skin on wet artificial skin as his balls hit it with every senseless rut upwards. His maw closes slightly, the mimic's eyes glaze and he pictures you there. On his lap, back turned to him, juicy ass on full display while you put both palms on his gangly knees and ride the monster for all he's worth, milking his cock and drooling like you've never had better.

Gods, if Sybastian focuses enough, he can almost feel the softness of your rump on him with each thrust. He wishes he could grab onto your waist, onto the cushion there, and use you the same way he's using this copy to breed into.

You're the hottest, prettiest little human he'll ever have the opportunity to stuff himself into.

There isn't a single intelligent thought in Sybastian's head when he starts grinding the pocket-pussy down, the tensing of his legs and abdomen bringing him ever closer to that sweet release, and he's looking forward to flooding the fucktoy full of his cum, feeling it clench heavenly around him the same it has been for a while now.

With one last, obscenely loud slap of his meat into the fleshlight, Sybastian howls and throbs hard, coming undone with great intensity and melting onto the grassy ground, the feeling of his own hot jizz spurting out the toy and leaking past his balls to coat this thighs a depraved sign of his victory.

He lies there, boneless from his own orgasm, hand still clumsily dragging your toy up and down his now spent cock, and all is well for a blissful moment.

...

Until-

" Bravo. Mm, good show... "

Sybastian peers up, not as sharp as he would be now that he's disoriented from cumming. A pair of glowing green eyes poise on him, and none other than the incubus makes it past the foliage of this part of the garden.

He's vaguely surprised the other was brave enough to come here.

" What? " Santi places a hand to his hip. " Thought I wouldn't find you? I could smell you getting off like a rabid animal, you need more than greenery to hide from me. "

Fair. Syb was being loud too. He doesn't let go of the toy however, suspiciously allowing the demon to lewdly scheme the dirty mess between his legs.

" Hand me the fleshlight, love. "

There's a growl. Santi frowns.

" Oh come now, you greedy slut, I'll make sure you get something out of it too. " He lulls, drawing closer slowly, to the point where he stands in front of the mimic, before crouching.

Sybastian keeps growling faintly, pulling out of the fleshlight to hold it away from the high-ranker, a gross pool of cum still oozing off the recently used thing. He doesn't miss the way the incubus' nostrils flare.

" Why, I'll even tell you a little secret, hm? "

Santi crawls between the mimic's legs, collecting a bead of the monster's cum and putting it to his mouth, luridly sucking the fluid off his finger before spitting onto his palm and using it to stroke Sybastian.

What begins as overstimulated shocks that force his legs to twitch and squirm away is forcibly turned into a brand new wave of arousal and need. He doesn't fight it, letting himself get stimulated anew and only offering a little bit of resistance when Santi pulls the fucktoy out of his grasp.

If he's here... Where are the others?

" What if I told you this little thing here- " Santi starts, selfishly and deliberately fingering globs of cum out of the toy for his own amusement. Syb notes the rigid length bobbing between his coworker's dark thighs. " Is loaded with magic? "

A toothy head tilts in confusion. Sybastian kind of assumed there was something unknown at play here, he just can't tell the implications.

" You can smell it, right? You know who this reminds you of. "

Syb's eyes widen.

" Did you also know that this fleshlight is connected to our Admin? She felt everything you just did to her, Sybastian. " The incubus chuckles, letting his drool seep onto the rim of your pussy, then spreading the aphrodisiac fluid over your lips, circling you clit with it languidly.

Sybastian doesn't need to be a scientist to know you're probably losing your mind by now.

" Oh you fucked her open like a rabid bull. I wish I could see her state right now- I bet she's sweating a storm in her clothes, her own cum and wetness dripping down her legs, too cock-drunk to speak! What a good job you did... "

Sybastian spaces off slightly, picturing what the results of his careless and selfish fucking must have reduced you to. He almost feels bad, if the image the Lust demon painted in his head wasn't so awfully erotic. He literally used you.

" Mmm, now, let's give her something to really scream about, big boy. "

In a blur of movement, Santi presses against the gray monster, both lengths squeezed together, pumped hastily a couple times but with practiced precision that makes Syb groan. And then, much to his growing amusement and shock, the incubus hovers your toy above them both, strings of falling seed used to further lubricate both of them.

The demon looks to be burning with anticipation, shuddering as he presses the thing down.

" ... Won't. Fit. " The mimic eventually mumbles, wondering if Santi's intent is to actually rip you open.

" Don't be silly- " There's a rasped snicker. " I've seen her bounce on Lord Krulu's lap. Just lie back and let me make this memorable for the three of us. "

It's a stretch. A fat stretch, but it seems the magical properties of the toy are indeed aligned with your own physical limitations, because the fleshlight gradually accepts both monsters, clenching with mind-melting pressure against both leaking cocks.

Santi is the first to moan low and needy, claws sinking into the bark of the tree his coworker leans against so he can steady himself in the face of such sudden ecstasy. Sybastian follows with his own trill, their members twitching and pulsing, trapped against each other, within you.

When Syb makes a disoriented motion to try and grasp the thing, make it move over them both, the incubus snaps his teeth at him in a language the other understands, determined to control the pace. And control he does, viciously pumping them both off, twisting, grinding the thing frequently.

A pace that would otherwise certainly chafe both males is now sloppy and soaked, lubricated by Syb's seed, your wetness and Santi's precum. They fuck themselves silly, trading groans and frantically bumping their hips, one moment thrusting in perfect sync, the next selfishly seeking their own pleasure.

The incubus' tongue hangs and he tosses his head back when a certain familiar pace of contractions around him is felt.

" Oh- Ohhh fuck- " He calls to the other. " Feel that? Yeah? " Sybastian nods and makes a strangled ambiguous noise. " She's cumming. Hard. "

Both of them grow fevered, preening at the knowledge.

" I hope she's fucking screaming. I hope she's trying to guess who we are. "

The fiend had always been too good with his obscene little comments, Sybastian's second, overstimulated orgasm is flayed out of him with no ounce of mercy. Santi gets almost hysterical with the conquest, getting high off the power he's exerting over both you and the mimic, climbing to his peak and letting his eyes roll back when the first pulses of an approaching end seize him.

The only reason he doesn't scream when he's suddenly grabbed by the horns is because there was already little breath in his lungs to begin with.

A pair of metallic, sticker-adorned arms loom from above, rigged hands wrenching his head back to face a slightly cracked visor displaying a deceitfully friendly face.

" 1'll B3 t4k1Ng 7H4t N0w. :] "

Fuck.

His robotic coworker uses superior reflexes to grab the toy, wrench it off both monsters, and bolt out of sight with surprising speed for a being of such immense density.

Instincts claw at the hellish monster. He only stands there for a stunned second, clutching nothing but air, before he's snarling like a feral creature and racing after the party bot, pushing many of his other coworkers away.

Grimbly gains on all of them, but when the incubus drops onto all fours the two collide and roll away in a mess of shouting limbs.

Gallon passes by them and laughs, then gets lashed aside by a whip lit on dullahan fire.

Vinnel is thrown across the garden, apparently launched away by Fank-e cackling in the distance.

This isn't ending any time soon...

#Santi oc #Fank-e oc #Sybastian oc #Belo oc #Vinnel oc #Patches oc #Gallon oc #Grimbly oc #Morell oc #Nebul oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monsterfucker #terato tag #not sfw #monster x reader #minors dni

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